"You're telling me you've lived in this area for four and a half years and have never been north of Redwood City?" Peter asked, incredulous. He took his eyes off the road a moment to glance over at Blaine with a sort of disbelieving pity, then resumed focus much to Blaine's relief. While the 101 wasn't nearly as crowded at nearly 10 pm on a Saturday as he imagined it might be during rush hour, he still would rather not be splattered across the highway because a certain eccentric young man wanted to ask about his travel habits.

"No - the airport's north of there," Blaine pointed out, and Peter shook his head.

"Airports don't count. I've been to airports in all sorts of places I've never been. You never went up to San Francisco? Or checked out Berkeley?"

"Why?" Blaine asked. Of all the things he might have chosen to do if he had no other obligations - no schoolwork, no important parties to go to, no rehearsals - none of them took him that far from campus. He certainly didn't need to find someone to drive him to another campus more than an hour away.

"Because they're there," Peter replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Because there are all sorts of people to meet who would never just happen to wander through Stanford. We live in one of the most interesting places in the country and you don't venture more than a mile outside your home?" He sighed and shook his head, shooting another piteous glance Blaine's way. "You'll never meet Kerouac that way."

"Isn't it unlikely I would meet him anywhere else?" Blaine asked. He'd heard of Kerouac enough to understand Peter's reference, but from what little he knew, the author was kind of a wandering writer who ended up any number of places but never stayed for long. Or at least, that was what "On the Road" implied, right?

He really hoped this wasn't shaping up to be Peter's version - he hadn't brought anything with him except his wallet, and he should at least have a few changes of clothes if the guy was going to insist on a road trip. Besides, while he could miss a class or two, he really couldn't be out longer than a few days and-

"Do you have a destination in mind?" Blaine asked, and he was relieved when Peter nodded. "Where?"

"A place up in the city I've heard great things about," Peter replied simply but with a genuine smile. At least that meant it was something Peter believed and wasn't just telling him to try to calm him. Blaine wasn't sure if that was much conslation, considering his companion had a much lower sense of both danger and propriety than he did, but... He took a deep breath as he reminded himself that he had honestly said he trusted Peter. He did.

He just hoped tonight didn't destroy the trust...or anything else.

The buildings were much lower than he expected as they drove into the city. Blaine guessed he was used to associating the idea of a sizable metropolis with places like New York - or Chicago, but mostly New York - with gleaming modern-looking skyscrapers and office buildings that towered over crowded narrow streets. The street was wider than he would have imagined, lined with structures that, while taller than the homes in Palo Alto, were not nearly as imposing as he had envisioned. Most stood four or six stories, unable to reach much higher without facing certain destruction in the next big earthquake. Technology was better now than it had been in 1906, Blaine was sure, but apparently not enough. New York didn't have to worry about things like that.

Peter turned off the wide street, car bouncing slightly as they crossed the streetcar tracks, onto a more crowded, hilly boulevard. He turned again, leaning forward to peer through the windshield at the dimly-lit street as he mumbled, "Now, let's see...it should be...hmm...ah! Yes." Blaine looked around, still unsure of where precisely they were or what possible thing there could be in the area to be excited about. Peter turned for a final time and parked the car.

Blaine stepped out of the car, looking around. It was clear the area was full of mostly restaurants and taverns from the people milling around at such an unsual hour, though not one of the dozen or so buildings he could see looked as though it had been painted recently. Signs crumbled above dingy doors and old windows, but it didn't look like a dangerous area in the least. It reminded him of areas near Dalton that had been roaring in the 20s but had been unrenovated since the stockmarket crash of 1929: the food inside was no less tasty than at the diners with shiny chrome edging on each new red booth, but the downtrodden appearance made the prospect of eating there seem less appealing. "Where are we?" he asked Peter. The young man didn't seem disappointed by their surroundings, glancing around and peering at distant signs as though getting his bearings. "Peter-"

"Just off Polk," he replied.

"Why?" Blaine asked, not sure how else to ask for clarification because the street name meant nothing to him.

"Because that's where people like us go, my boy," he replied. His face split into a proud grin, and Blaine's stomach suddenly went cold and queasy. That was where Peter had brought him? To somewhere they were bound to get caught, be arrested, put in the paper like those men in Ohio-

"You know, I don't think I can stay-" he tried as he fought the urge to panic. How dumb had he been, just getting in the car with Peter when clearly the boy was trying to surprise him with something? What in the world had he been thinking, coming when he wouldn't even have a way of getting home until Peter deemed that they had spent enough time risking their lives and reputations?

Peter's grin faded, but he simply replied in an even voice, "Of course you can." It lacked the enthusiasm of his previous statement and seemed more resigned, as though he had known Blaine wouldn't like this. Why he had insisted on bringing him anyway, Blaine wanted to know. "Now come along. The one we want is out on the main street." He turned and started down the hill away from the car, but Blaine couldn't. He felt frozen, wanting nothing more desperately than to be able to get back into the vehicle and go back the way he had come. There was no way this could end in anything but disaster - if he were arrested, for one thing he was sure his parents would find out somehow. He wasn't entirely sure how, but they would. And his career- they didn't let homosexuals teach children, did they? Not even music? Did they let homosexuals hold any jobs? Because he was pretty sure that as soon as he was in the newspaper for being arrested-

...But he couldn't very well go back without Peter. For one thing, the older man had the keys tucked in his pocket; for another, he certainly couldn't steal the car Peter had borrowed from his friend. He had exactly two options: Wait beside a locked car all evening in a city he had never been to, in a part of the city that looked rundown and potentially strange as the bars nearby closed...or...

He drew in a deep breath and followed Peter down to Polk Street, then left. "Here it is," Peter stated, veering toward a heavy wooden door. The windows on either side of the door were small-ish and dark...like a couple bars back at school, he tried to reassure himself. It was probably just to keep the inside dim and intimate. Or maybe they hadn't been able to build something bigger - that was all. Peter wouldn't lead him into a trap, at least not knowingly, and so whatever was on the side of that door had to be perfectly safe.

Right?

Peter tugged on the door handle and seemed surprised when the door opened. "With a door like that, I thought for sure it would be speakeasy-style," he commented. "A few of the bars in Europe are that way, it gives them a fantastically dangerous atmosphere."

"Is that a good thing?" Blaine asked. This felt more than dangerous enough for him without a bouncer's eyes peering through a small opening in the door and passwords to say.

"Why not embrace it?" Peter replied with a slight wave of his hand as he ushered Blaine through the door and into the entryway. "They may have been criminals in the 20s, but they were standing up for what they thought was right. Flouting an unjust law that shouldn't have been passed. Taking pride in their right to control their own evenings." That didn't sound at all like what Blaine thought had been the moral of the era - that excess led to a horrible Depression and that mobsters used an illegal market to live outside the law and just shoot entire groups of rivals - but he was too distracted to challenge the assertion.

The entryway was small, just large enough to fit three or four people and allow the second door to swing open. Every surface appeared to be covered in thick dark wood like the door - weathered to a point of uneven smoothness, the grain exaggerated in the dim light from the tiny globe lamp above their heads. Peter reached for the second door, and Blaine was able to speak up. "Is this really a good idea?" he asked around the lump of panic in his throat.

Peter's smile gleamed white even under the dark shadow cast by his fedora. "The best," he replied. When he saw that the answer didn't satisfy Blaine, he added, "You said you trust me, remember?"

"I- I do," Blaine replied. "It's not that, it's just..."

"Just what?" Peter prompted, fingers tightening around the door handle. "You trust me except what?"

Blaine didn't know how to explain to Peter how he could simultaneously trust him and distrust their situation so deeply, so he simply forced the best grin he could. "Except nothing," he replied, and Peter's grin stretched wider.

"Perfect," he replied and tugged open the door, leading Blaine through quickly before the door swung closed with a heavy-sounding whump. "Oh- perfect."

The inside of the bar was certainly dim, especially through the smoke that hung thickly in the air and gave the entire place a hazy, half-hidden quality. Blaine was pretty sure that wasn't deliberate - at least he hoped not. He really hoped the bar's last line of defense against a raid wasn't a group of chainsmokers because that didn't seem very foolproof. The lighting came from a combination of wall sconces - glass globes mounted every five or seven feet with warm but insufficient light inside - and almost-matching candle globes on each table, as well as from the stage area that took up the front quarter of the room. The platform was barely raised six inches off the floor - maybe not even that much, Blaine concluded as he peered further - but the girl performing didn't seem to notice. She was singing like every record executive was seated at the front table and this was her chance to impress them. Her dark complexion contrasted heavily against her bright pink gown, so much so that at first glance from the back of the room only the dress showed up as the light caught the sparkling fabric rather than her skin. She wore her hair in a short black bob that made her round face look even rounder and drew attention to just how much makeup she was wearing - but her confidence shown through so clearly that for a moment Blaine's panic subsided enough to allow envy to creep in.

"Over here," Peter urged, and Blaine tore his eyes from the stage for a moment to allow himself to be led to one of the tables in the center of the room. There were about fifteen of them, though Blaine didn't care enough to count, round and the right size for two chairs - three in a pinch. Peter removed his jacket with a bit of a flourish and hung it carefully over the back of the chair as he asked, "Will you be okay here for a minute?"

Blaine had no idea what the truthful answer would be, since for all he knew the police could burst in at any moment, but he knew what Peter wanted to hear. "Of course," he replied with the best smile he could muster. "I'll just watch," he added, indicating the stage.

"Hm?" Peter glanced up as though he hadn't seen the performer before - how could he not? Blaine wondered. How could she not be the first thing everyone noticed? "Oh - absolutely. 'E's great."

Between the way Peter turned as he said it, and the music playing loudly over the speakers, and his naturally somewhat muddled accent that Blaine thought was probably the product of trying to sound elite in too many different regions, he could have sworn Peter had said he.

Blaine blinked in confusion but kept watching. She strutted across the stage in a way that managed to look powerful but still undoubtedly feminine in her high heels - black, to match her gloves and the underlining of the wide piece of fabric draped over her shoulder. He did cringe as he saw a bright white tag dangling from the side of her dress - it must be new. If he ever forgot to take the pricetag off something he wore to perform in, he would be mortified, but she didn't seem to notice.

Her voice grew in power until by the end of the song, she was practically belting the notes - not quite, her tone was coming from a different place that Blaine wasn't sure he'd ever heard before, much more like head voice but still not exactly...maybe he just wasn't used to a black woman sounding like that and kept expecting either the sweet girls from when he was younger or the powerful voice that Aretha had. In any event, her uniqueness just made her even more captivating of performer.

Blaine couldn't help but applaud wildly as she finished, beaming and trying to catch her eye. It was something he liked to do - as a performer, it was easy to forget the applause was coming from individual people, but every so often he would catch the gaze of someone who had so clearly enjoyed the show, and it always gave him a rush to know how much someone had liked his performance. He wanted to be sure she knew how incredible she had been...though from the broad grin on her face, she certainly had some inkling.

He looked over, hands pausing, as he heard Peter set two glasses on the table and retake his seat. "Welcome back."

"Thanks," Peter smiled, and as the applause died down Blaine shifted to face him instead of the stage. Peter raised a double scotch to his lips, and Blaine reached for his own drink but found a glass of Coke instead.

"Where's mine?" he asked, confused. Clearly tonight was an evening that Peter saw fit for a little relaxation, they were at a bar that Peter had not only condoned but dragged him to, why-

"Oh no," Peter chuckled, shaking his head so his lips dragged lightly against the rim of the glass. "None for you. The last thing we need is for you to start hitting on the lesbians."

"Oh come on, I wouldn't-"

"Really?" Peter asked dryly, clear from the raise of his eyebrow that he didn't believe a word of it.

"I may have done some dumb things in the past, but I've never-"

"That you know of," Peter pointed out with a faint impish smirk, and Blaine's confidence faded a little. Peter did kind of have a point...especially since he couldn't really remember every girl he'd made a pass at. He settled back in his seat a little and sipped his drink without complaint, glancing around the room to try to get a better sense of his surroundings. Men occupied most of the tables, twos and threes mostly with a few individuals at their own place, and several more sat on stools at the long bar that took up most of the right side of the room. It wasn't hard to guess who these men were, even though in the dim light very few of them looked like the men he remembered his father treating. He didn't know what the difference was, especially because both groups had certainly been varied but there was something...different. Not better, definitely not worse, but there nonetheless.

He looked up onstage, where three oddly tall performers were mouthing and dancing along to "In His Kiss," choreographed to perfection but without any innate spark. In fact, the only glimmer in the act appeared to come from their dresses, which were black with silver beads up around the neckline and down around the hem-

And all of which sported the same white tag he had seen on the singer's gown.

"Are they all doing a tribute to Minnie Pearl?" Blaine asked.

"What?" Peter laughed, and Blaine guessed he could understand why since the question had kind of come out of nowhere.

"Their dresses all have the price tag on them. So did the last one. Why would anyone do that on purpose?"

"Queens fighting idiocy," Peter replied with a proud grin. When Blaine stared at him blankly, he set down his drink and explained, "There's a very old law out here that prohibits men dressing as women with intent to deceive someone. One of the local big-deal drag queens decided to start handing out tags that said 'I am a boy' so that if any police officers tried to harass them, they could point out that they were being honest. Ergo, no intent to deceive." He laughed to himself as though it were still the most delightfully clever thing, but Blaine couldn't help but be nervous as soon as law enforcement was mentioned. Police harassed-...well, cross-dressers, men who wore sequins and wigs and heels-...he assumed they harassed homosexuals, too, and if he were caught-

"Do you think maybe we should go?" he asked, fiddling with his straw.

"Don't tell me you're that afraid of a boy in a gown," Peter chuckled, then paused and looked at him. "Why are you so scared right now?" he asked, his voice gentle enough to show he wanted an actual answer and wasn't trying to belittle Blaine, but firm enough that Blaine knew no answer he could give would convince Peter to leave.

"If there's a raid-" he began, but Peter shook his head quickly to cut him off.

"That doesn't happen out here," he stated."Not anymore. There's...well, sort of an understanding. The police try to put a stop to our kind, but we're cunning. We know the laws, and we get around them. It's a cat-and-mouse game. Or, on good nights, Wile E. Coyote." The smirk, combined with the reference, seemed almost juvenile for Peter, but he continued. "They fight back out here. All these bars and restaurants on this street are for us - well, almost. None of them used to be, but one of the older gentlemen at the bar was telling me about how the neighbourhood used to be exclusively blue collar, family places that didn't even like single men hanging around, but after they started to see how many homosexuals were about, how many wanted a place to eat and drink and be out on the town with their friends, they changed." He looked Blaine in the eye as he added, "There's that many of us out here, Blaine. And they can't arrest us all, now, can they?"

"Probably not," Blaine allowed, head spinning at the thought- people knew there were homosexuals, and in great enough numbers to justify entire restaurants? The only place he'd known of before with more than two of them had been the hospital his father frequently took patients to. But really, the entire street?

He hadn't seen any police as they walked, he recalled; if there were so many of them here-...if there were entire restaurants full the way Peter seemed to say...then surely if the police wanted to catch people breaking the law it wouldn't be hard. They could just drive through and pull the first people they saw, but there...there hadn't been any. Did that mean Peter was right about it all?

"Now there are still rules," Peter pointed out but with a wave of his hand and a sip of scotch as though dismissing the importance. "The tags, obviously. And when I mentioned I was new in town, the bartender was quick to inform me there's no touching because they could lose their liquor license - they lost a bar like that last year. But it's nothing like Chicago - or New York, they arrest people by the cart-full there."

And just like that, the warmth and security Blaine was starting to feel turned back to an icy block in his stomach. "Is it bad in New York?" he asked, managing but only barely to keep his voice even by keeping it quiet, tense just below the surface. "Do they really arrest people?"

He didn't mean "people," of course, but saying the name out loud in the same sentence as 'arrest'-

Kurt had been so certain they would be safe there. He had sworn up and down that things would be safe because it was a big city on the coast, and that was what Rachel's father's...whatever-he-was had told him. He hadn't been able to stop talking about the things they would do and the places they would see when they lived in a place that was safer than Ohio, in a place that didn't arrest homosexuals and splash their photographs across the newspaper pages to embarrass and condemn them-

Peter nodded, lips together in a firm, grave line. "One of my flatmates in England had lived there during college. He said it was barbaric, the way police harassed the population. More like something Stalin would do than anything that should happen in a country founded on principles of freedom and equality. But then, so was slavery, wasn't it?" he added mirthlessly. "There was this ridiculous law about clothing having to be menswear, and the police would count the garments- I don't remember precisely, but it sounded like the most ludicrous thing I'd ever heard. At least here they can fight back, tongue firmly planted in cheek."

Blaine knew that somewhere in all of that should have been a consolation. After all, he was safe - they both were, while sitting at a table in a public bar while men in gowns and wigs danced onstage, but-...but he wasn't.

Kurt had always been so sure of himself, so willing to be eccentric no matter the consequences- he had to wear a uniform at Dalton, of course, but whenever they had off time or when he had come to visit Kurt in Lima, he'd had such interesting jackets and strange shirts and vests with odd patterns...and that had been what he'd been able to find in Ohio with nothing but a few mail order catalogs and the local mall. Imagining what he could create in New York, with all the designers and fabric stores...and what those things might look like to a police officer who didn't know what a mens Edwardian jacket looked like-

He swallowed hard, picturing Kurt's defiant stare through prison bars-

"I'm sure there's somewhere safe," Peter offered sincerely. He reached over to take his hand encouragingly but paused, palm hesitating over the back of Blaine's hand. He pulled it back and set it on the table instead, lightly nudging the side of Blaine's thumb in a supportive gesture the best he could. "Every city has one. They're just underground. Not literally, like the bar in Berlin was back in the 20s, but only for people in the know. I'm sure he's found somewhere safe."

Blaine wished he could be so sure, but he remembered Kurt too well. The last thing Kurt cared about sometimes was safety, especially when someone tried to tell him not to be so proud of who he was. Kurt would go out of his way to prove that he could go somewhere - he had wanted to go stand side-by-side with Mercedes when they integrated McKinley, for crying out loud, that wasn't the sort of thing that a person did if they were comfortable hiding. Blaine certainly wouldn't have wanted to wade into the racial firestorm, even though he was so proud of the people who did...just like he would never have picked "Somewhere" to sing as a duet with another boy in front of an auditorium full of people. It wasn't that Kurt necessarily wanted to push the envelope, he just...didn't mind that he did and refused to smooth himself over. And the police-

Well. Blaine doubted they liked that much.

"There was a bar underground?" he asked instead, trying to distract himself.

Peter's eyes lit up at Blaine's question, and he nodded as he leaned forward, engaged. "It was - down in essentially an old wine cellar, with arched doorways and low ceilings, multiple rooms full of young men who-"

Blaine tried to pay attention and enjoy the fantasy Peter was clearly reveling in, but he couldn't help but be distracted by the drag queen who stepped onstage next. Tall and waif-like, with long thin arms and a neck that could have been graceful but instead looked awkward, he wore a slinky evening gown �n midnight blue that just emphasized his lack of natural curves. He was heavily maquillaged, foundation appearing to almost sag under its own weight, blush lines obvious even from this far back in so little light. Nothing about the presentation was pretty, not the way the group of drag queens doing Betty Everett had been, not even in the same way as the first number he had seen, though Blaine guessed maybe it was due to age - he looked older than the others. Maybe the thick pancake was covering more years of weathering than the others had lived yet. Maybe he was just more tired.

A familiar piano vamp began, and life seemed to fill the tall man at the front of the stage. He drew in a deep breath, and as he let it out it was like flipping a switch - the awkwardness didn't merely melt away, it vanished in an instant. His face animated, eyes engaging so clearly and intensely that Blaine found himself unable to notice the oddly heavy makeup or poor blending. The crowd came to life then, too - stopped their conversations or at least put them on hold, even though they had never stopped chattering and enjoying their friends' company for the other performances.

"Oh- yes. Watch this one," Peter said, interrupting his own story, and Blaine glanced over at him - as though he wouldn't have now that his interest was piqued by the surprising, sudden stage presence.

When you're alone and life is making you lonely
You can always go-
Downtown

The man's octave was incongruous against the gown, too low for the feminine imagine he was trying to convey, but the presence more than made up for it. Blaine guessed he shouldn't have been surprised - Kurt's voice had always seemed more captivating and shocking coming from the boy. His mouth, ringed in crimson lipstick, moved exaggeratedly as he sang, but instead of looking ridiculous it seemed almost enthusiastic, like he couldn't control himself fully because he was so into the song.

When you've got worries
All the noise and the hurry
Seems to help, I know-
Downtown

Blaine froze as Peter leaned over and whispered against his ear, breath hot over his cheek, "She's meant to be one of the leaders to replace Jose, who was this groundbreaking performer they lost last year when one of the bars closed. He's off now being a chef, and everyone wants to be the new it-girl. I think her makeup needs work, but she certainly something worth watching, don't you think?" He sat back, and Blaine glainced over at him questioningly, trying to gather his thoughts from where they had scattered at the low voice so intimately near to him. Peter simply smiled and tipped his drink in Blaine's direction, as though saying 'you know I'm right, my boy,' before taking a quick swig and setting the empty glass back on the table.

"Are there a lot of them?" Blaine asked. At least five that he had seen, but were these the only ones in the entire city, or-

Peter laughed. "Not remotely. Some don't perform very often, some just walk around when they want to be someone else for awhile...Halloween up here was incredible."

"You came up here then?" Blaine asked, surprised. How had he not known? Where had he been while Peter had been here? When Peter nodded, he added, "Why didn't I know?"

He chuckled warmly with a broad, patronizing smile as he replied, "If I had asked you, would you have come?"

Blaine's eyes widened a little, and he managed to sputter, "Maybe, if you told me-"

"You were terrified until an hour ago," Peter pointed out with a fond nudge of his shoulder. "I thought it would be cruel to pull you into the most raucous night of the year when you're still easing into all of this."

There was something kind, maybe even merciful, about the thought, and Blaine found himself unsure what to say. "Thank you," he offered stiffly.

Just listen to the music of the traffic in the city
Linger on the sidewalk where the neon signs are pretty
How can you lose?
The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares
So go downtown

The sound swelled around him as the other patrons joined in on the word "downtown," much to the delight of the drag queen, who blew the room a kiss as he continued.

Things will be great when you're
Downtown
No finer place for sure
Downtown
Everything's waiting for you
Downtown, downtown

Blaine looked around in surprise, watching the crowd more than he was watching the performance. He had seen people sing before - albeit not in an outfit quite like that - but he wasn't sure he'd seen an audience like this. As he glanced from table to table, he still couldn't put his finger on why they felt so...different. Sure, they weren't his usual crowd, they weren't his age - most of them were quite a bit older, though some were only a few years older than the other students in his department. And he didn't think he'd ever had an audience sing back at him except maybe - okay, probably - at a party when the whole crowd of music students was drunk and merrily singing backup...but neither of those were that strange of an occurrance.

But an entire bar of homosexuals singing along with a man in a sequinned gown was something new entirely.

Don't hang around and let your problems surround you
There are movie shows-
Downtown
Maybe you know some little places to go to
Where they never close:
Downtown

A large group of people like that- like him - was strange enough to think of, let alone to see. He'd seen more than one in his life, of course, and he'd seen plenty as a child, back when his father knew he was young enough to be taught what not to be but too young to be truly corrupted. There had been a couple desperate young men who had even shown up at the house late at night because they were in the midst of a horrible medical crisis, which Blaine was pretty sure meant they had been about to seduce another man before they came enough to their senses to seek help. There had been plenty of miserable souls with which he had become acquainted, these weren't-
...they weren't miserable at all.

The revelation felt so much larger than the tiny, dark-paneled bar. These men weren't miserable because they weren't sick. They were homosexuals, but they didn't hate themselves for it and spend every day and night trying desperately to rid themselves of their urges. They didn't drink bottle after bottle of vodka and scotch and rum to bury their symptoms deep enough to get through the day and find a wife. They sat at a table with their friends and watched people sing their hearts out while wearing glamourous clothes and tongue-in-cheek tags. They sang and chattered and sipped a single beer all night, and they were happy.

Just listen to the rhythm of the gentle bossa nova
You'll be dancing with them too before the night is over
Happy again

He wasn't even sure he remembered what that felt like anymore, happiness. It mostly just seemed like everything he wasn't; being able to sleep and feel right, not constantly feeling afraid or regretful or...or wrong. It was lightness and being able to be excited about things even when he wasn't singing, it was-...god, it was everything he wanted. What he wanted more than anything was to be able to just feel that way.

To feel the way these men did. These men who had the same urges as he did, who his father would say were just as sick as he was...they were enjoying themselves as much as Peter was. He had thought that his companion was an oddity - for many reasons, but for his attitude in particular, for his easiness, his willingness to just be himself and be happy even as people stared at him and noticed him for things...but these men all looked perfectly contented with themselves.

They were happy. They were safe. And they weren't alone.

The lights are much brighter there
You can forget all your troubles, forget all your cares
So go downtown
Where all the lights are bright
Downtown
Waiting for you tonight
Downtown
You're gonna be all right now
Downtown, downtown, downtown

He had never believed he would see something like this. Who could have imagined it?

...Except Kurt, of course.

Kurt would love this, Blaine thought, fighting the urge to beam as he imagined Kurt's smug expression at having been right all these years. With the men just being themselves with friends...he would have a dozen other dress designs in his head, Blaine knew, and more options for the 'I am a boy' signs - each more clever than the last, because that was the sort of boy Kurt had been. He would feel so at home - not just here, but at the other places, surely. Peter had said there were restaurants all down the street, bars, places that once didn't want homosexuals around but now let them in droves.

Kurt might have been wrong about New York, especially with what Peter had said about the clothing laws and the police harassment, but here...here he could have everything he'd sworn he would have. Everything Kurt had thought they would have.

And they could be happy.

Blaine imagined it, sitting beside him at the table, with Peter and maybe other friends of theirs, enjoying the show. And Kurt would know all of the performers because he would have made their dresses, and they would all be talking about the upcoming soiree at their small apartment, and-

...And he had to get Kurt back.

And you might find somebody kind to help and understand you
Someone who is just like you and needs a gentle hand to guide them along
So maybe I'll see you there
We can forget all our troubles, forget all our cares
So go
Downtown
Things will be great when you're
Downtown
Don't wait a minute more
Downtown
Everything's waiting for you!