Blaine considered his reflection in the mirror for what felt like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes. He had no idea what he was meant to wear to a party like this. When he had asked, Peter had stated that it was "nice but no tuxedos and certainly no tails," but that still left a lot of options that Blaine knew would be met with varying degrees of disapproval by the other guests. He had certainly felt more confident when buying the outfit than he felt staring at the mirror. He liked the suit fine - with its narrow lapel and slim cut that flattered his shape and made him look taller and a bit slimmer than he actually was, he thought it fit him well, and the dark grey colour should be good for all but the most formal pre-tux parties, so he guessed-

What was he doing? Blaine admonished himself as he tried to tie his bowtie for the third time. Its red, white, and grey paisley design was maybe a little Christmasy, but he thought it looked nice anyway - now if he could only get the ends even- He had no idea how to go on a date with a man. This was a mistake. What if he was awful at this? What if he was so hopelessly awkward and awful at this that Peter realized he had made a mistake in asking Blaine to go with him? What if Peter realized they were much better as friends then as-

...Would that be the worst thing?

Blaine blinked, hands stilling on the silken tie as he thought a moment. Maybe that was the key to tonight. After all, this wasn't the first time they had gotten a little more dressed up and gone somewhere Blaine had never heard of up in the city. And they had certainly spent enough time just being around each other in the past four months for Blaine to feel comfortable when it was just the two of them together. Maybe if he could just think of tonight like any other foray to a friendly nightclub, everything would be fine.

Blaine smiled proudly to himself as he finally tugged the loops of his tie into place. See? It would be perfectly fine. He could do this. He could-

He swallowed hard as he heard a knock on the door. Too late to turn back now, he guessed. He adjusted his tie and collar one last time, drawing in a deep breath to steady his nerves the best he could, then strode to open the door. Peter stood in the hallway, a nervous but sincerely excited grin on his face. His pinstripe suit was neatly tailored, a little less loose than his usual jazz-age fare, nipping in just enough to show his trim waist and emphasize his broad chest and shoulders. He wore a wide red necktie, held stiff against his rounded collar with a gold pin, with a matching band of red grosgrain silk around his black fedora. In one hand, he held a bunch of flowers - mostly red with a few white carnations and roses stuck in, as though the florist had been trying to finish up the holiday stock, but Blaine couldn't help but notice it also matched Peter's ensemble. He doubted it was intentional, but it did make for a nice first visual impression.

"Wow," Peter murmured, grinning. "You look fantastic."

Blaine glanced down, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve just a bit. "Thanks. I wasn't sure if it was what you had in mind-"

"It's perfect," Peter replied. There was a pause as Peter gazed at him, then seemed to almost interrupt himself as he said, "These are for you." He held out the bouquet, and Blaine took it slowly. He didn't think anyone had ever given him flowers before - and rightly so. That was the sort of thing a boy did for a girl.

But it was really sweet. A nice gesture, anyway, even if it made him even more nervous. This wasn't like every other time they had gone out. This wasn't an evening enjoying each other's company at a bar behind a row of storefronts. This was a date. There was no way around it.

"Thank you," he replied, taking the flowers with a renewed nervousness. "They're beautiful," he added, and Peter's grin grew wider at Blaine's approval. "Let me just put them in water, then we can go." He stepped back and moved over to the sink. He didn't have a vase, but he supposed a pitcher would do for tonight.

"You really do look great," Peter offered again, and when Blaine glanced over in surprise, Peter was gazing at him with a mix of fondness and something else Blaine couldn't pinpoint - something kind of like surprise or wonder. He shifted self-consciously, not used to this kind of attention, and Peter stiffened a little. "I'm sorry, my-...Blaine," he corrected himself, as though concerned his usual term of endearment would be too strong now that they were-...what< i>were they, exactly? Dating? Was it too early to call it that since they hadn't actually been on their first date yet? Boyfriends? "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I'm not," Blaine assured him honestly. "It's just...new, that's all. No one's really noticed before." He was concerned that sounded arrogant, as though he knew he was attractive and was waiting for the rest of the world to see it as well, but before he could clarify, Peter grinned and shook his head.

"Of course they did. But they were girls, and you were too drunk to notice them noticing you." The joke at his expense felt like before - before Peter's Christmastime revelation, before the painful trip to Ohio, before he'd had to really contemplate what dating a man would be like, and Blaine was grateful for the return to familiar territory. He grinned, head hanging self-deprecatingly, and Peter laughed warmly. "Believe me, my boy - not all of the Mendicants' fans are there for the music."

Blaine wasn't sure how to take that, replying with an awkward, "Thank you?"

Peter chuckled and grasped his shoulder, broad hand giving a fond squeeze, and Blaine inhaled at the touch. "Come on. We have a long drive, and it would be a shame to spend midnight somewhere on Route 1." Blaine smiled and placed the flowers in the pitcher before grabbing his jacket and keys and following Peter to the car.

* * * * *

Blaine was surprised his nerves didn't get the better of him during the drive. Part of it, he was almost certain, was that this part was familiar. They had driven up to the city together before, both in comfortable silence and engaged in conversational banter; this time, Peter had been kind enough to leave the radio on even though Blaine doubted a countdown of the year's most popular songs was really what the boy who loved jazz and obscure British chanteuses wanted to listen to. Even so, it helped Blaine relax to sing along to the Beatles and Supremes between eager little bursts of conversation. He even caught Peter singing along to "My Guy." It was quiet, almost under his breath like he was either self-conscious or had no idea he was doing more than hum. Either way, Blaine couldn't help but watch him with a smile. He had never heard Peter sing before, and though it clearly wasn't the boy's area of expertise, it was oddly adorable to hear him for the first time this way - casually drifting in and out of lyrics on their way to their first date.

After navigating the crowded streets of San Franciscans on their way to their own parties, they made their way from the car to California Hall. The four-story building loomed over the corner of Polk and Turk, dwarfing the rows of buildings in either direction. Blaine looked up, studying the unusual dormered roof as they waited for the light to change, expecting Peter to tug him across the street when they could walk safely. When it felt like he had been looking up for at least a full minute, he turned to regard Peter curiously. He wasn't very good at dating, but he was pretty sure it wasn't necessary to let someone look idly at architectural features for this long. Peter looked hesitant, like he had just remembered somewhere he needed to be. "Are you okay?" Blaine asked, and the question seemed to shake Peter from inside his head for only a moment before he went back to staring across the street at the awning-covered entrance.

"I was afraid of this," he mumbled, shaking his head.

"Afraid of what?" Blaine asked. He didn't have to look very hard to know they were in the right place; queens like he had seen at the club streamed past toward the hall, towering over him in their heels, dressed to the nines in ballgowns and dresses fit for the most popular singers. Most had slips of paper pinned to their outfits, often under the arm so it was accessible but didn't detract from their spangled gowns. Blaine had to admit that he did find a certain kind of playful audacity like theirs inspiring. Women - actual women, he assumed, based mostly on height and a lack of rhinestones - milled about in groups, some in neat-looking party dresses and others in boxy men’s suits. There were men, too - or, more accurately, men dressed as men. Some wore costumes, some wore masks, others were simply dressed up like he was, but they tended to stand idly more than the queens, as though they were unwilling to acknowledge their surroundings - or, at least, unwilling to acknowledge that they noticed any of the people clustered around them on the street corner. "Did you forget the tickets?"

Peter managed a faint smile and patted his jacket, just over where the interior pocket was, to indicate they were safely inside. "No, it's nothing, my boy, it's-..." he looked over at the entryway again, then sighed. "No use hiding it from you, is there? There are police outside with cameras."

Blaine blinked, peering and rising on his toes to get a better look. "Why are they here?" he asked, not understanding. "It's not illegal to go to a party, no matter who else is there - is it?"

"Not at all," Peter replied. "It's intimidation, my boy, plain and simple - and onerous, and illegal, all but for the fact that very few people can afford to challenge the police. They think if they stand outside and take our picture, people will fear embarrassment and go home. Vile, they are...but it means we have, really, two options."

Blaine swallowed, almost afraid to know what the choices were. He could see policemen in dark uniforms lurking around the small table set up outside, where a middle-aged woman took tickets from the nervous party-goers. With each man or woman or queen who stepped up, she forced a jolly smile, pained, as though she completely understood why so many of the men looked like they wanted to run and hide.

Blaine wasn't sure he could. He wanted to so badly - he still remembered the mugshots of the humiliated men from the drive-in back in Columbus, peering out from the newspaper page with such fear and regret, but...at the same time, Blaine couldn't help but feel more frustrated than scared. He couldn't put his finger on why exactly, but the irritation didn’t subside. "What are they?" he asked cautiously, not taking his eyes off the officers and the glaring bursts of flash from their cameras.

"Well. We can either cross the street, pass at least three cameras held by corrupt, bigoted officers imbued with the full power of the state and then some, risking humiliation...or we can go home and listen to albums. I bought a few new ones while you were in Ohio, I bet you'll like them." He sounded resigned, as though he knew what the night would hold. He didn't like it, clearly, and he was trying to force himself to appear upbeat about it anyway, but he knew.

And he should be certain about the night's change in plans. There was only one real option; still, Blaine felt compelled to ask, "Which would you do?"

The question caught Peter off-guard. "What?"

"If it were up to you-"

"It's not," Peter assured him quickly, glancing furtively across to the police before putting his hand on Blaine's arm reassuringly. "I want you to be comfortable."

"But if I weren't here-"

"My boy-"

"Peter." The elder sighed and looked at Blaine as he fell silent. "What would you do?"

Peter sighed quietly but replied, "I would go in. I would stay to show them they can't intimidate me. I would stay and fight for my right to go to a party, to ring in the New Year with anyone I want. I would stay to show them they can't do this - and that they won't win."

It didn't surprise him at all that Peter felt that way, not after the protest. Certainly it wasn't that Peter was reckless; he understood the risks and consequences but made a conscious decision that it was worth it.

Was this? Blaine had to wonder what was so special about a New Year’s Eve party that could possibly justify risking humiliation and even future job options. If a school did a background check on him and found an arrest...

But that wasn't the only thing to consider. Was this...date? Boyfriend? Friendship? Whatever they would call it - Was what he had with Peter worth going to the party? Blaine didn't know much about dating, and he knew even less about dating a boy, but from what little experience he did have he knew that running was a rotten way to begin a relationship - and a surefire way to end one.

Kurt wouldn't have to stop and think about this, Blaine knew. Kurt would adjust his fashionable jacket and jaunty cap, and with back straight and head held high he would march across the street to hand over his ticket. He would be right there in the middle of all the queens, who strutted and jabbered like wild parrots displaying their bright plumage to taunt the police, protected by the thick maquillage that would render them unrecognizable to anyone who saw them dressed normally. Kurt would have strutted across that street, determined that a few narrow minds wouldn't stop them from having a good time - he was so brave like that.

Peter just stood there patiently, waiting for him to admit he was afraid and wanted to go home. He was, and he did, but maybe...maybe he couldn't afford that anymore. Sure, Peter would be understanding about it. He would be kind. He wouldn't push, just offer a fond, sad smile and escort him back to the car. But the signs would all be there that Blaine wasn't ready. It would be an enormous step back toward Ohio.

He didn't want to do that anymore. He didn't want to run - and maybe, just maybe, the fact that two boys he trusted and admired so much would want him to go inside should be reason enough to believe that things would be okay. His life might not be ruined, even if the police and plenty of others didn't understand him. Even if they never came to understand him...Peter did. And keeping him had to be worth overcoming a few fears.

Starting now.

The light changed, and Blaine stepped off the curb into the crosswalk. He could do this. He could-

Peter's hand on his wrist tugged him back onto the sidewalk. "What are you doing?"

Doing was one thing; saying it was another, and Blaine drew in a deep breath before replying, "Going to the party."

Peter's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, eyebrows arching up beneath the brim of his hat. He studied Blaine before asking, "Are you sure, my boy? I don't mind, and this isn't the sort of thing you should fall into blindly."

"It's not blindly," Blaine replied. "I know the risks. I still want to go inside."

A brilliant, beaming grin crossed Peter's face for a moment, and Blaine's heart leapt at the look. Peter was proud of him for staying - he had chosen right. He sobered after a few seconds, seeming to think, then removed his hat. While he smoothed his perfectly-parted hair with the fingers of one hand, he placed the fedora atop Blaine's head with the other. Before Blaine could ask why, Peter replied, "Keep your face in the shadow of the brim. Don't duck - then they'll think you're an easy target, you see, because you'll look ashamed - but it will stop them from getting the best picture." Blaine nodded, somewhat reassured despite the nerves quivering in his stomach the longer they stood and planned. Peter grinned and added, "It looks good on you. I'll have to loan you my hats more often." he gave Blaine's shoulder a reassuring pat before stepping into the street. His stride was even, confident, self-assured, and Blaine kept up easily, trying to emulate Peter's strength and calm power despite his own nervousness.
The entryway awning was crowded with people; keeping his face as neutral and semi-obscured as possible, he tried to listen without looking like he cared to hear. He couldn't get much - not over the camped-up squawk of the queens, the brusque taunts of the officers as they tried to bait some of the men into a confrontation or being humiliated enough to leave - everything from "Smile, doll-face," sneered at an attractive young man to "Betcha the wife will like these" snarled at a gentleman in his 40s who did his best to scurry away from the cameras unnoticed. Blaine swallowed hard and kept his shoulders back as Peter maneuvered them past a lawyer arguing with a police lieutenant about the rights of private gatherings, up to the ticket table. It took Blaine a minute to notice that Peter's path was far from random; he was trying to keep his own body between the cameras and Blaine. He reached inside his jacket, producing the tickets and a bright smile for the harried, frustrated woman. "Happy New Year."

Blaine wished he could be a fraction as cool under pressure as Peter was. No matter how many flashcubes exploded in his face, Peter didn't flinch or back down. Blaine felt ready to run, to push past the crowd and dash to safety - either inside the Hall or back in the car. By the time the woman took Peter's tickets and directed them inside to the main ballroom, it was all Blaine could do not to bolt, the cloying anxiety about what this would mean for the life threatening to choke him. Peter thanked the ticket-taker and nudged Blaine's arm as he headed for the entrance. Blaine let out a sigh of relief as he felt the squish of plush carpet beneath his shoes as they entered the lobby, reaching up to remove the hat.

"You did it," Peter whispered, his mask of indifference shattering into pure and unadulterated proud. He reached over to squeeze Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine wished he could express how much that meant to him to hear. How incredible it felt to have the boy he liked - really liked - be proud of him. How desperately he had wanted that for so long- "My dear boy," he added, grin softening into something more lovestruck, adoring, and it made Blaine ache.

Of all the times in his life he had felt like he might well up, this was the one Blaine understood the least. Nothing was wrong; he had made it inside. Peter was with him. Things were fantastic. But everything just felt so enormous all of a sudden, too big for words, probably even too big for a song.

"Come along," Peter urged, holding out his elbow. "Let's go to the ball."

"Are we allowed to-" Blaine began. Even where homosexuals could congregate, they couldn't touch - the bars were strict about enforcing that rule because it was apparently the easiest way to get shut down. With the police just outside, it seemed a bit risky.

"I should say so. Why would they call it a ball if we wouldn't be allowed to dance?" Peter pointed out as they took the stairs toward the ballroom. Blaine supposed that made sense; it would be silly to have a ball without dancing. They wouldn't have a dinner and not serve food, would they? "The one and only advantage to an upbringing like yours is that I'm sure you can dance," he added, grinning.

Blaine shifted a little. "Not with another male," he replied awkwardly. He had no idea how to dance a girl's part, let alone who was supposed to hold what part of the other's body - where would his hands even go? Let alone his feet. How were they meant to decide who would lead, anyway? And what if-

"Don't worry - you're overthinking it. It's not nearly as different as you think," Peter assured him, flashing a grin as they entered the ballroom. Blaine peered around, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting provided by wall sconces and two chandeliers turned low. Unlike the bars and nightclubs Peter had taken him to, the atmosphere was split between the very nervous - men whose eyes darted over to the door every few seconds, women who stood practically glued to the wall and avoided eye contact entirely - and the exceedingly comfortable. While there were no overt displays of affection, some of the homosexuals danced with one another - men swaying with arms around each other's waists with lovesick expressions on their faces, looking like the world's oldest teenagers at prom.

Blaine had sworn this couldn't exist. He remembered fighting with Kurt outside their own formal while Rachel and Mercedes attempted small-talk inside with the other Dalton Dates. He had been so indignant, so angry, at Kurt for...for what? For wishing? He remembered laughing at him, chiding and insisting that two boys would never be able to dance together.

And yet here they were.

Peter's hand pressed gently into the small of his back, leading him between two women in their thirties beaming at one another and a cluster of costumed queens. Stopping in a pocket of darkness near the wall, he observed, "Here looks good. What do you think?" Blaine wasn't sure he knew enough about the question to give an answer, so he simply smiled, which made Peter grin. "Outstanding. I'll go get drinks - wait right here." with a quick flash of teeth, Peter wove through the crowd. Blaine lost sight of him quickly, so he settled back a bit to take in the others. The group in the center of the dance floor was a jumble of people of all types, but beyond that they broke down into groups of people who seemed alike, as though couples and individuals sought out only others who resembled themselves to stand in pockets across the room. Women had taken up a section of tables over in the far corner, laughing gaily amongst themselves; queens seemed to spend a lot of time side-eyeing one another from several tiny clusters around the room. The contingent of non-homosexual men and women over near the band surprised Blaine. He had never seen them - or people like them - at any of the bars Peter had taken him to, and he had no idea why respectable people would want to come to such a dangerous and...unorthodox party. Peter had said something about how the organizers were mostly non-homosexual ministers or something like that, so maybe they were part of the hosting group. But mostly his eyes kept returning to the men.

They were more sedate than the groups upstairs, for the most part, and while most of them seemed determined to keep a low profile several were actively socializing instead of looking like they wanted to disappear before anyone could know they were there. Many of them looked-...well. Like him. Like Peter, or any of the boys on campus - or even some of the professors. Most of them were older than he was by at least a decade; that made sense, eh guessed, since this wasn't really a party that would appeal to most college students. Some were dressed up, some wore masquerade masks with feathers and fake jewels, but most wore suits that looked like what any respectable gentleman with an office downtown might wear to work.

Because, he realized suddenly, many of them probably were. Most of the men in this room probably had completely normal jobs - and he bet plenty of the women did, too. He rolled his eyes at himself because it sounded so silly: Of course people had professions and earned a living during the week. Homosexuals who didn't consider themselves sick enough to take up residence in a sanitarium had to live somewhere. They went to work, they had jobs where people listened to them and trusted them and probably even liked them. They had families, or at least boyfriends, and houses and lives, and if the expressions he saw were any indication, they were happy.

A person could have all those things at the same time. < i>He could have-...he could be all those things. He could be the sort of fellow that other boys looked up to, be a leader, be a teacher…and be a homosexual. Because if there was nothing inherently wrong about being one, then why on earth would it have to stand in the way of anything else?

Peter returned with two flutes of champagne. "For celebration only, my boy, then you switch to water," he stated, holding out the flute, but when he saw Blaine's expression, he asked, "Are you okay?"

Blaine wasn't sure how to explain his revelation of what should have been the most obvious fact in the world, but he could only answer the question as posed. He smiled, chest and cheeks aching from the magnitude, as he replied, "Absolutely."

Peter smiled and handed him the champagne flute. "I'm so glad." he paused, then admitted, "I didn't expect you to make it half this far." his tone was light, affected, but Blaine understood what he meant.

"I didn't either." he wasn't about to say how many times he had almost called Peter to cancel. "But I’m glad I did."

Peter rubbed his upper arm, gazing at him intensely with overt fondness. "Good." the look made Blaine swallow hard, fingers gripping tightly around the flute stem. He knew the warm feeling in his torso wasn't a bad thing, and it definitely wasn't a new feeling. He just wasn't sure it had ever felt good before. Usually it came with nausea and the feeling of being strangled, like he couldn't stop his mind from racing long enough to be able to remember to keep breathing, but this felt...nice. It made him nervous, but in a good way - like before a big performance.

"Ten!" came a call from across the room, but Blaine couldn't bring himself to look away, even as the rest of the attendees began to chant the countdown. Blaine tried, he did, but ended up half-heartedly mouthing the numbers as he stared up into his date's pale green eyes. He knew something was supposed to come next, but he didn't know what. He knew he wanted to kiss him - or for Peter to kiss him, but he wasn't sure how to even go about that. He knew he had kissed Kurt, of course, but he had spent so much of that trying not to think about what he was doing that he remembered very little about the mechanics. What if they both tried to lead?

By the time the crowd reached "Two!", Blaine felt Peter's hand move from his upper arm to his shoulder, index finger just brushing against his collar. He drew in a deep breath as a cheer went up from the room and, with a tiny smile tugging at the right corner of Peter's mouth, Peter leaned in and kissed his lips softly. Blaine closed his eyes, not sure what to do beyond enjoy it. It lasted only a moment, then Peter pulled back. Blaine opened his eyes to see the young man stand upright, wearing a self-satisfied smile, then tilt his glass to clink lightly against Blaine's. "Happy New Year, my dear."

Blaine wasn't sure how 'happy' could begin to cover what he was feeling, but he replied in kind before taking a long sip.

Peter set down his flute on the nearest tray, reaching down to take Blaine's hand. "May I have this dance?" he smirked, playing more formal than either of them needed.

Blaine took another sip before placing the rest of his champagne on the tray. "of course you may," he replied as he allowed himself to be led out onto the dance floor. Peter chose a spot for them, then guided Blaine's left hand to his waist before pressing his own right hand gently into the small of Blaine's back. He took Blaine's free hand with a smirk of victory, as if to say "See, my boy? It's not so hard, is it?"

Peter had done this before, clearly; he could lead.

The musicians began to play, and Peter began to sway slowly. Blaine was certainly skilled enough to sway in time with another person - he would never have made it as a Warbler if he weren't, but this was different. The way a firm hand pressed him gently closer, the fact that he could feel the rise and fall of Peter's chest against his own with every breath, the scent of the man from this distance...the spice of his cologne and fresh scent of ivory soap on his skin that made it hard to think clearly...

Blaine had danced with someone more times than he cared to count. From the time he was eight there had been ballroom dancing classes with the children of other well-to-do families as an extension of etiquette classes and other forced social rituals that had been nothing but trying to emulate stuffy adults. All the movements had been stiff, forced, unnatural...until he had grown into them by the time the cotillions began. Dalton had helped him avoid a lot of those events as a teenager, but it had never made any more sense to him. Even college, with its much freer forms of dancing that were more of a prelude to sex than anything else, hadn't helped. He knew how, but it had never felt like this. He had always enjoyed dancing by himself, but as soon as another person got involved...

But this was lovely.

He had to laugh to himself because Peter was the only person - and certainly the only man - he knew who used that particular word. Apparently his date's influence was farther-reaching than he thought.

"What's funny?" Peter asked.


"You," Blaine replied, smiling more broadly.

"You're hardly the first to notice, my boy - though you're probably the best-looking," Peter replied, and Blaine looked down at the compliment, pleasantly embarrassed. "why now?"

Blaine was about to try to explain his thought process and how the word had ended up there - and why it amused him - when the lights suddenly flicked on at full brightness. He blinked, trying to get his bearings as the strings screeched into silence and couples jumped apart, trying desperately to remain unseen in the glare of a dozen new lights. Amid shouts of confusion and frustration, he heard a gruff voice bark, "Party's over, queers! Get outta here."

Blaine froze, disoriented by the jarring end to the evening, unable to move or react or do anything but watch as this safe haven of a ballroom was broken up. Wasn't it bad enough they'd had to brave a police force with cameras and taunts to get into the place, but now that they were here did the officers have to break it up, too? It was barely after midnight, couldn't they have one party of their own? No one was hurting anyone. But the throng of people, so jubilant only moments before, shuffled silently toward the exit, where officers stood on either side of each decorative ballroom door, nightsticks in hand as though ready to baton the first undesirable who stepped out of line.

"Why are you doing this?" called a female voice from across the room. Only Blaine and the police turned to look; everyone else seemed to collectively sight and roll their eyes, as though the question were too ridiculous to merit a response. She was part of the group hosting that he had noticed earlier - one of a dozen women dancing with a man, and she had never looked more out of place than she did as she stood with hands on hips, refusing to leave even as everyone else trudged out in silence.

"We rented the hall, you can't just break up a private party without cause!" called a man who looked a couple years older than Peter from where he stood beside the young woman. "What grounds do you have?"

"Blaine!" Peter hissed as he realized Blaine hadn't moved. "Come along, we'll have dinner." Peter wasn't even going to echo the cries of how unfair this was? Of all the people in the ballroom Blaine would have expected to protest something like this, he would have sworn it would be the gentleman he had picked up from jail during finals, the boy who had spoken so eagerly about the fundamental right of students - of a school he didn't even attend - to speak up and protest on their own campus. Why didn't this count just as highly in the boy's mind? Why wasn't he even trying to say something? "They're not arresting anyone, just clearing the hall," he added, clearly trying to reassure him. Blaine knew that should be reassuring, the word 'arrest' echoing in his head and accompanied by an icy chill in his stomach, but the cold was almost immediately replaced by anger.

He shouldn't have to leave. None of them should have to leave. No one was doing anything wrong, no one was doing anything but dancing and talking, and even the most raucous college party he'd been to hadn't been shut down so summarily. This must be what New York was like all the time, only worse, he realized glumly, and that was when it hit him.

The organizers were shocked enough to be upset. They were as mad as he was about the need to leave a perfectly behaved party for no reason. But none of the other homosexuals were upset because they knew they didn't have the right to be. They knew this was how the night would end, probably before they had even stepped out of their houses. They knew this was what happened any time the police decided they wanted to have a good time. None of his fellow homosexuals were angry about being taunted or photographed or made to leave because this was what they were used to; what use was there in being angry about something that was simply the nature of the world?

And that made him furious.

Why should he have to accept that the police were right? Why should he have to leave the party he and Peter had driven an hour and a half to attend, where they had bought tickets and gotten dressed up? Why should he have to simply live with the fact that the police- that the government had the right to shut down any party or bar or nightclub or restaurant based solely on the homosexuality of the patrons? It had been awhile since he had taken government, but didn't the Constitution say he had a right to associate with anyone he wanted? Didn't he have a right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - and didn't that right apply to< i>everyone? It didn't say anywhere that those rights were given only to homosexuals; they were inalienable. They belonged to everyone.

Even him. Even the party-goers who were trying to scurry out from under the watchful eye of policemen who were clearly disgusted by their existence. Even the women in pants and jackets being sneered at and leered at in a way that made Blaine uncomfortable even from across the room. Even Peter.

Even the two of them as boyfriends. Everyone.

They had every right to be here that any other person would have. That so many people in the room had been pushed down for so long that they didn't believe that anymore only made Blaine want to stay there even more - made him want to stand up on a chair and shout it at the top of his lungs, made him want to-...to get everyone back in there. There were more of them than there were of the police, he bet they could do something anyway-

Peter tugged his wrist enough to get him moving forward, tagging along the back of the crowd. "Why aren't you staying?" Blaine hissed.

"Because you're not going to jail tonight," Peter mumbled back.

"But it's not right," he pointed out. "You have to know that."

"Of course I do," Peter whispered, not looking at him. "But-"

"What's that, faggot?" a policeman demanded as they got close enough to the door for him to hear that the two boys dared to speak instead of shuffling out in silence like everyone else.

Peter started to say it was nothing, but Blaine couldn't help himself. "How dare you?" he asked, eyes narrowing as he stared up at the officer. The man had to be at least a full eight inches taller than he was, muscles peeking out under his short-sleeved uniform shirt, eyes full of rage as soon as Blaine opened his mouth to speak. "Is dancing against the law now?"

"Move along, queer," he replied, voice low and warning, almost a growl, but Blaine couldn't stop. He couldn't just leave and let it be okay. He couldn't let these men get away with destroying not just an evening but an entire group's sense of entitlement to basic enjoyment of life.

"You're awful, do you know that? People have the right to go to a party with anyone they want, and I'm pretty sure it's not against the law to touch another person's arm in public, so why-"

"You wanna push me, cocksucker?" he asked, hand moving to the pair of silver cuffs dangling from his belt.

"No - he doesn't," Peter replied. He grasped Blaine's wrist and tugged him away from the police, through the halls and past the stairs and into the entryway of the hotel, trailing the throng of homosexuals all just trying to get out of the disrupted ball without an arrest.

They burst from California Hall into the crisp night. Blaine drew in a deep breath, cool air filling his lungs as he watched the group scatter in both directions on Polk Street, then divide again on Turk. A row of police cars was parked on both sides of the corner, casting red and blue lights across the edifice, the sidewalk, the crowd trying to get away. Two officers tugged the ticket-taker toward the squad car, and Blaine's eyes widened - who would arrest a middle-aged woman for sitting in front of the building? Still, the policemen made no move to charge the crowd, and Peter tugged him left up the street, then right up Eddy and away from the group before the police could change their mind and decide to start thinning the herd by grabbing one homosexual at a time, like a lion chasing zebras on the African savanna.

Blaine lost track of where they were as Peter wove them around corners, and it wasn't until they were practically to Janie's car that he realized they were back where they had begun. "What was that?" Peter asked, breathless, though Blaine couldn't tell whether it was from rushing to get away from law enforcement or from the exhilaration of it all. He couldn't tell whether to be angry or laugh anymore, wanting to pound his fist against the car and burst into giggles all at the same time.

"What?"

"What on earth was< I>that?" Peter asked as he fished out his keys and fumbled to unlock the doors. "You barely agreed to come, I thought for sure when I showed up at your apartment you would hide and pretend you weren't there so you wouldn't have to cancel, and then you backtalked a policeman who wasn't even arresting you yet but could easily have changed his mind?"

Oh God. He< I>had. Blaine's eyes widened as he realized what he'd done - he hadn't meant to go quite that far, he just couldn't help it. He hadn't been able to stop himself, it had just< I>happened. Because if even people who weren't remotely homosexual could recognize that it was wrong, why couldn't the rest of them? And why couldn't they stand up and fight or try to do something about it? But at the same time...what had he done? It could have ended in disaster, he could have been on his way to jail right now. Jail. Where they would write up an arrest record that would follow him forever, and probably could have made its way back to his father somehow though he didn't know how exactly-

...But if he could reverse time, he didn't know that he could honestly say he would take it back. Not the way they talked to the people there, not the way they made the perfectly good people there react with so much fear and shame...

"I couldn't help it," he stated. "I couldn't let them just break up a party like that when there was nothing going on."

"Do you know what could have happened?" Peter demanded as he yanked open the door, and Blaine got inside.

"I had to," he replied. "They were so awful, I couldn't just stand there and let them. No one else even thought anything of it, it was like they< I>expected to be treated like dirt. And I couldn't let that happen anymore."

Peter got into the driver's seat, pausing as he stared at Blaine. "You..."

"I can't feel like that anymore," Blaine stated. He didn't want to feel like that anymore, and he didn't know if he could bear it if he had to: ashamed, resigned to whatever scraps of mercy a psychotherapist decided he might be worthy of, treated like he was sick. After all this time, he couldn't go back. He couldn't just accept it. He wanted more. He needed-

He deserved more. They all did.

Peter jerked the door closed, and in the blink of an eye practically dove across the seat, lips pressing hard and fast against Blaine's. He responded automatically, moving toward the kiss blindly, a soft gasp of surprise escaping as Peter grasped his jaw. He pulled back partway after what felt like an eternity, eyes shining in the shadows cast by the streetlamps. "You stood up," he whispered, white teeth gleaming through the dark as he beamed. Blaine swore he could feel the warm of Peter's hand on his jaw radiating all the way through him, pulsing through his limbs before collecting in his torso where it felt like his heart and lungs were swelling, pushing against his ribs and threatening to burst through his chest. "Oh, my boy," he added, such adoring tenderness making Blaine want to melt and well up all over again. "I am so intensely proud of you. Of all the crazy decisions you could have made tonight, you chose right."

Blaine didn't know if he had ever ached so completely, or if it had ever felt so overwhelmingly< I>good.

Peter's hand dragged down to his chin for a moment, cupping his face as the young man studied him, as though trying to make sure he was really okay and had made the decision for the right reasons. He then pulled back the rest of the way, settling back in his seat and placing the key in the ignition, still beaming so broadly that Blaine could see it even when Peter looked straight ahead.

He wasn't sure whether he believed that a single night could foretell the rest of the year; on one hand, he liked to think that there were too many factors in any life for things to remain stagnant over the course of a single calendar year, but on the other hand he had spent the past several New Years Eves completely drunk and trying to paw at some equally-soused girl in the corner of a fraternity party, and that had certainly been indicative of how the rest of the year had gone.

But looking over at his date's proud grin as he turned onto Market Street, Blaine hoped it was true. He couldn't imagine any way he would rather spend the year.