Blaine stretched slowly as he awoke. The bed beneath him was softer than he was used to, the sheet over him a little less stiff...but of all the times he had risen from a bed that was not his own, this was the first occasion on which he didn't have to think too hard to recall the previous night and figure out where he might be. It wasn't so hard to guess, especially not with the familiar scent that surrounded him. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the combination of spicy aftershave and soap-clean skin that eminated from the pillows, the blankets, the boy still asleep beside him with his very quiet snoring... it smelled homey and safe.

A person could get used to this. He smiled faintly to himself and rolled onto his side, cuddling gently against Peter's side. He had errands to run, he knew that; he needed to return books to the library and pick up a few things from the music shop downtown and drop his registration for the Selective Service exam in the first mailbox he saw and he was meant to meet up with Ted for lunch to talk about the best way to present the group with songs by female artists...but nothing seemed more pressing than feeling the slow rise and fall of his boyfriend's chest.

Peter stirred, snuffling as he tried to swallow mid-snore, and Blaine beamed as he felt a strong arm wrap around his back, tugging him close for a moment. He rested his head on Peter's bare chest and sighed contentedly, happy to wait and just enjoy these few moments to himself.

"Good morning, my boy."

There was something about Peter's voice first thing in the morning that got to him. He wasn't sure whether it was because it something so intimate, the sort of thing no one but him got to hear, or whether it had something to do with the fact that Peter sounded like he was less cloaked in bravado then. They probably went hand-in-hand, vulnerability and all that, but for whatever reason the four simple words felt like something so much more special when they were like this than when Peter greeted him the same way between classes.

Though that had been happening less frequently lately. The ability to wake up together made such a greeting on-campus redundant and kind of unnecessary.

"Good morning," Blaine replied quietly, beaming. He had never imagined this could feel half as good as it did. If he were being even a little bit honest with himself, he had never imagined he could lie this close to a boy - let alone unclothed as he was - and feel anything but regret and disgust. He was pretty sure he had never felt anything but queasy or vaguely triumphant when he awoke beside a girl. But this...

And to think he had worried that homosexuals would feel lonely forever. How wrong he had been.

"Did you sleep well?" Peter stretched a little, careful not to jostle the young man lying against his chest, and settled again with his arm around Blaine and his hand in his lover's hair, tugging absently at the unruly curls that were still half-stuck with yesterday's product.

"Very," Blaine confirmed. "You?"

"Mm - perfect." Peter's sigh of contentment rumbled in his chest, and Blaine cuddled just a little closer. "Plans for the day?"

"A few errands, lunch with Ted, and class."

"Time for breakfast?"

"Absolutely," Blaine confirmed. If he were going to have to leave the bed eventually, at the very least he could enjoy breakfast with his boyfriend before he ventured out into the world, especially since it turned out that Peter had a hidden talent for cooking eggs so they were the perfect texture and doneness. Blaine had never been able to get his to come out right, but somehow Peter's breakfast skills were - like so many other things about him - absolutely flawless.

Peter leaned in for a quick kiss before gently shifting Blaine out of his arms and back onto the pillows. Blaine was content to watch - he wasn't sure he would ever get used to the idea of just watching an attractive man walk around naked, even just for the few steps to the door where his robe hung. Just the sight of that much skin still made him feel a little scandalous, but in an electric way; just because he wasn't going to a sanitarium didn't mean it was something he should just be allowed to see like that, and it made him blush just a little and feel very adult all at the same time. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Choice of breakfast music?" he asked as he shrugged into his comfortable-looking robe and tied the belt loosely at his waist.

Blaine rolled over, savouring the last few minutes in Peter's bed before he had to rise as well. "Have you heard the new Bob Dylan album?"

Peter's eyes widened. "The one that came out last week?"

Blaine nodded. He never would have thought to listen to the singer, but a lot of Peter's friends did, and the music was so interesting that he got hooked - even if the man's singing voice left something to be desired. "I picked it up the day before yesterday - it's in my bag." He had brought it deliberately, planning on listening the night before, but things had escalated more quickly than he had expected and they never made it to the record player. "You'll probably like side A better, it's more political and message-oriented, but the first song of side B is just...incredible." He didn't know what a tambourine man was meant to be, but the harmony was just unexpected enough to intrigue him, almost as though it were played in one key and sung in another, and he wanted to spend an entire night locked in a practice room to try to dissect it.

Peter grinned and leaned in to kiss him again, a bit longer this time, adding quietly, "Sounds like the perfect morning, my boy. I'll put it on." He turned and left the bedroom, and Blaine stretched out again, allowing himself to just revel in how comfortable he felt. Not just physically - though he wished his bed were this nice - but...everything felt right. He could imagine being like this for years - decades, even, maybe - with a boy who understood him and loved him...they hadn't said it yet, but they both knew it was true.

Kurt had been right after all. There was such a thing as happiness in a life like this. But with Peter there was no risk that it would all turn into an imitation of the life he had run from - no soirees and elaborately-decorated rooms designed to impress friends. Just the two of them in a cozy apartment chock full of books and albums...and bowties. And fedoras. And-

"Blaine?" Peter's voice was just on the edge of panic, and Blaine hopped quickly out of bed, pausing just long enough to pull on his underwear as he dashed to the living room. Was something on fire? He didn't smell smoke- He found Peter standing in the middle of the living room, bag at his feet, envelope clutched in both hands. He was sickly pale, green eyes too bright and much too wide. "When- ah. I...that is, when did you-..." he stuttered, then swallowed hard, adam's apple bobbing, before finally managing, "When did you get something from the Draft Board?"

"What?" Blaine asked, then realized what Peter was holding. "Oh- no. I didn't. It's-"

Before he could explain what the envelope was for, Peter pulled him into a tight hug, breathing a deep sigh of relief. "Oh thank God. Oh- my dear boy. I thought for sure you'd been called up - they're getting too many deferment requests these days and aren't granting them all, and I thought-" He shook his head and squeezed Blaine closer a moment, then released him and offered a faint, almost apologetic smile as though saying he was sorry for being so undignified and scared.

It was unnerving to see Peter genuinely afraid, and Blaine jumped in quickly to explain. "No. Not at all. That's actually why I have to send this in." Peter's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, and he continued, "They've been getting so many deferments, like you said, so they're giving a nationwide exam. People who do well will move further up the draft hierarchy and be less at risk-" His boyfriend's face fell, a mixture of not understanding and disapproving. What was to disapprove of? For that matter, what was there to not understand? "I figure since I'm a graduate student, and on top of it I'm at a really great school with a more rigorous curriculum, it should be extra insurance just in case. Besides, it can't hurt you; they go by a combination of grades and scores, so based on my transcripts alone I should be fine unless they draft a slew of students - and they're not to that point yet, so I'm-"

"Collaborating," Peter filled in. That wasn't remotely what Blaine would have called it, and he wasn't sure why Peter would say- before he could ask, Peter shook his head and turned toward the kitchen, heading in to start breakfast. He seemed to forget he still had the envelope in his hand, and partway across the kitchen he flung it down against the counter in disgust before he began to make coffee.

"Why are you so upset?"

"I thought you of all people would know better," he mumbled. Blaine didn't think he had ever seen anyone pour coffee grounds into a percolator with such force before. "You, who tried to yell at a police officer for raiding a homosexual function. You, who sang 'A Change is Gonna Come' with a group of boys harmonizing behind you. You-" He made a disgruntled sound and shook his head as he plugged in the coffee pot then pulled the skillet out of the cabinet with a rough jerk. "I expected more from you."

"What do you mean?"

Peter turned to stare at him, incredulous. "You really don't know?" When Blaine shook his head a little, still not sure where he had gone wrong, Peter rolled his eyes and began to explain in what was possibly the most patronizing tone of voice Blaine had ever heard - and that included explanations about The Way The World Works from his father. "You're using the unfairness of the system to your advantage instead of fighting the system itself, my boy. You're making sure someone else is sent to war instead of you."

"That's ridiculous-"

"Is it?" Peter demanded, skillet in his hand as he waited for an answer. "You're taking this exam and betting on the idea that you score well enough because you're intelligent - and we both know that you are. And what you gain is that you move higher on the list, which moves someone else lower."

Blaine guessed that was true, and it made him a bit uneasy. Just because someone didn't do as well on a test as he did didn't mean they should be sent into a war if they didn't believe in it, but there wasn't anything he could do about that...was there? Was he missing some kind of solution he was meant to be able to fight for? "Isn't that true of all deferments?" he asked. "You have one, too, which moved someone else lower on the list. I don't see you volunteering to go instead."

"Of course not," Peter scoffed. "Because this war, my boy, is ridiculous and there is no way that I will participate in anything that involves sending young men from America to slaughter young men in southeast Asia just because our government has an irrational paranoia of all things red."

"But how is that different than what I'm doing?"

"You're participating in their system. They're administering the test. They're deciding who goes and who stays."

"Of course they do," Blaine replied, eyebrows lowering. "Aren't they the ones in charge?"

"Only as long as we allow them to be." Peter set the skillet on the stovetop with a heavy clang and moved to the fridge, tugging out the carton of eggs. "I refuse to let them control who lives and who dies."

That didn't sound quite right - Blaine was pretty sure he couldn't just tell the government they weren't in charge anymore and have that happen. "Don't they do it whether you tell them you approve or not?" he asked, trying not to sound as skeptical as he felt.

"I wouldn't expect you to be so patronizing."

"Well it sounds kind of...overly self-important of you," Blaine replied, choosing to be at least a little diplomatic. "You think what I'm doing is wrong because it means someone who isn't me goes and fights in a war. But you think you can stop the war with your deferment?"

"Of course not. It takes all of us. It takes a collection of people- the young men who are going to have to go fight this war - to stand up and say we won't go. We won't go kill other mothers' sons for no reason. We refuse. It takes us protesting and flat-out refusing."

"And what good are you going to do when they arrest you for all that?" Blaine blurted out. "You don't get to tell the government you call the shots and expect them to take it lightly. They run things. I'm just trying not to get caught up in their anti-communist fervor and wind up as one of the guys they send over there. What's so wrong with that?"

"What's wrong with it is that you're saying the war is okay as long as you're not fighting it."

"That's not at all what I'm saying!" Blaine protested.

"You are," Peter accused, slamming the fridge door closed. "You're fine working within the system as long as it will get you where you need to go."

It wasn't true. He wanted to be able to express all the reasons it wasn't true - to point out that nothing in his life fit neatly within whatever societal 'system' Peter despised; to add that Peter didn't exactly eschew rebellion in his 40-year-old suits and neatly-tied ties and since no one understood why he was such a 20s devotee he wasn't really bucking any kind of system even if he thought he was standing up for things; to assert that he had stuck up for himself in the face of men who wanted to arrest them both and it had been Peter who had pulled him back to keep him from getting handcuffed. But what came out instead was the product of frustration, a petulant, "Would you be happier if I just checked the disqualifying box so they couldn't draft me anyway? But I'm pretty sure even you haven't done that, have you?"

Peter looked stunned first, then torn, and as Blaine realized what he said he wasn't all that surprised. Which, in Peter's mind, was a bigger 'buzz off' to the government: registering for the draft, as required by law, but refusing to go when called; or rendering one's self completely unable to serve by using the law against homosexual service to get out of it? The box was right there on the form...but from the expression on his boyfriend's face, he had never even considered checking it. The consequences were too grave - to get any kind of financial aid or scholarships or jobs now, people were asking for proof of registration for the draft to try to keep the dodgers out of any government benefits. If you had a medical condition that kept you from serving, that was okay as long as you could give them proof...but for this particular so-called affliction...

Not even Peter was quite that bold or brazen, and from the way his eyes were narrowed and jaw set he wasn't too pleased with Blaine pointing that out.

"I'm not about to tell them I'm sick when I'm not," he replied shortly. "You may have believed that once, but I was never that blinded by bullshit."

Blaine wasn't sure which part to be furious about first - the insinuation that he was stupid and less than Peter because he had spent a decade rightly afraid his father would commit him and then give him a full frontal lobotomy, for one - and his fingers clenched into his fists at his sides. "Wow," he managed, voice tight with frustration and betrayal. "When you go in for a low blow..." he shook his head, turning toward the bedroom. He wanted to be anywhere but there - somewhere out and away from the boy he had trusted with everything who had thrown it back in his face over something so stupid.

He hopped into his pants, frustration growing by the moment. How dare he? How dare he say that when he knew how difficult it had been? And after all the reassurance he had pretended to give, too- Blaine rolled his eyes as he tugged on his shirt and fumbled to buckle it in his haste. What gave him the right to be so smug and superior about evading government rules anyway? He had registered too, hadn't he? So- what, was the rule that a man could sign up because it was required but couldn't participate in the "system" any more than that? He could sign up as long as it meant being able to enroll in school, and he could get a deferment to go to school and keep from being drafted that way, but taking an exam to make sure his deferment continued was a bridge too far? That didn't even make any sense.

He half-stormed back into the living room, grabbing his bag and letting it settle heavily on his shoulder. "Blaine-"

"Don't," he cut Peter off. He had no interest in whatever patronizing explanation the boy could give him, and from the expression on his face he had no intention of apologizing - just trying to explain all the ways he was undeniably right. He jammed his feet into his shoes and started toward the door, then turned back and snatched the envelope off the counter before walking out.

Blaine strode quickly down the sidewalk, his indignance fueling his steps. What kind of distinction of degrees was that anyway? It would be one thing to protest - really protest - and not register or in some other way tell the government where to shove their draft, but what Peter was doing was hardly as revolutionary as he wanted to pretend. For someone who for some reason fancied himself a rum-runner, he was just splitting hairs about what was or wasn't too much blessing by the government.

Not that there weren't problems with the draft. He knew he was lucky to be able to be in school, and plenty of guys didn't have that option. But no matter how the process worked, there would always be someone who wasn't selected and someone who was, and he didn't think there was anything wrong with acknowledging that. Obviously he shouldn't take advantage of something that was blatantly unfair, but if anything this was more fair: men who were doing well in school should be allowed to stay there, but college couldn't just be somewhere to go to avoid conscription.

And of course he hated that there even was a draft to worry about, that went without saying, but nothing he did would change that. Nothing Peter could do would make them stop calling young men up and sending them to fight in a war that probably wasn't a good idea in the first place...and participating in part-but-not-all wasn't even taking a principled stand. Certainly not a principled enough stand to merit what he had said.

...Had he actually cursed? Blaine choked on a laugh - that was what he noticed and cared about? Still, hearing the word from Peter's dapper, elegant mouth was new and probably would have been more amusing had it not been for the rest of the sentence.

The moment of something like levity paused his furious pace, and Blaine sighed softly to himself as he looked around, trying to figure out what to do now. He wasn't going to go back - he wasn't the one who owed an apology, for one - but the last place he wanted to go was home. He would spend the entire time sitting and stewing and going over everything Peter had said, wondering if he really thought Blaine was that stupid- he shook his head. He couldn't go dwell on it. But with no classes until mid-afternoon and not very much open in town at this hour, he wasn't sure what options he had. He didn't feel much like eating, which ruled out any of the diners and breakfast joints nearby. He started down the block toward Spin Me Round, but before he even reached the door he could see several bunches of teenagers milling around - was it their spring break? Some sort of school holiday? He had no idea, but it meant there was no chance he would be able to get a spot in a listening booth. Since he had just bought a few albums a couple days earlier, there weren't any new ones he could browse for, even if he could get past the groups of high school students - almost all of whom were taller than he was.

Blaine turned the corner, starting through the main drag of town, trying to find something - anything, really - that would keep him from having to go home and replay the fight over and over again. He tried window shopping but found it couldn't his interest, then paused outside the movie theater. An usher swept just outside the front door, and he could see the shadow of a figure inside the ticket booth, getting settled in for the day. A movie might be just the thing, he concluded as he dug into his pocket for his wallet and approached the booth. "One, please."

The older gentleman peered at him skeptically. "For what?"

"What's playing?" Blaine asked, realizing he had no idea. There wasn't anything the Mendicants were raving about from last weekend, so he didn't have anything in mind - he'd heard something about a big Bible movie coming out soon, but that wasn't really what he was hoping for, so maybe-

"This early? Sound of Music."

...anything but that.

He had been avoiding the movie the best he could. It was meant to be fantastic, he knew all the critics were giving it high marks, and it had been awhile since he had seen a good musical, because while he liked My Fair Lady well enough and Audrey Hepburn had been adorable in a few of her movies, she was a really horrible choice for Eliza Doolittle. But the last thing he wanted to do while sitting alone in the dark for three and a half hours (who made a three and a half hour movie?) was remember the mistakes he'd made to the soundtrack so many years ago. He really didn't need to be dwelling on his first kiss when he was so angry with his boyfriend, either, especially considering the reasons he had ruined things-

Still, did he want to go home and dwell on the same subjects for four hours instead? At least this way he could be distracted by the Austrian landscape and Christopher Plummer, who wasn't unattractive for someone so much older.

He forced a faint smile and nodded, sliding his money across the counter. The ticket booth attendant raised an eyebrow at him, and Blaine had to wonder if he was wondering what made a college-aged man watch the first movie he could get into at 10 in the morning. He took the ticket as soon as it was within polite reach, then proceeded through the doors and into the lobby where the movie theater was just beginning to stir to life. He passed the concessions stand, tempted to get popcorn because he had skipped breakfast but unwilling to wait while the first batch of the day was popped, then headed into the theater.

The silence of the empty room was oppressive, and Blaine had no doubt that were it not carpeted his footsteps would have echoed loudly through the space. He selected a seat in the dead center of the room and tried not to fidget as he waited. This had been a horrible plan - if the whole point of not going home was to avoid dwelling on things, what good did it do him to sit in a larger empty room where he could worry not only about the fight he and Peter had had but about things he had ruined five years ago? What was he going to do when that song came on - the one about being an ordinary couple? He had thought it sounded so impossible back then; Kurt had thought it sounded like the most wonderful thing in the world, two men being just like any other couple, enjoying each other's company and living a simple, beautiful life together. Now...now he knew better. He knew it was possible, with the right person anyway.

Was Peter the right man? There were moments when it felt like the answer was absolutely yes - where he seemed to understand everything that Blaine felt was crucial, where he could explain things in a way that was helpful, where he was so adorably fond and sweet... but how could the right man say things like that and mean them?

Blaine was grateful when the lights dimmed and the flapping sound of the projector began. The opening shots were spectacular, flying above the Alps, and when the music swelled he felt himself relax in his seat. He didn't remember the Broadway soundtrack by heart, but he was fairly certain they had changed at least this much because he would have remembered such a sweeping opening. Maybe this would be just the thing he needed - production numbers surrounding him had never gone wrong for him before.

For awhile it worked. The nuns' prelude was beautiful, and Maria's hapless attempts to show she knew what she was doing were funny and well-sung, and though he flinched the first time he heard the name "Kurt" - he remembered in retrospect his Kurt mentioning it, but of all the things about that day he recalled, the name of the middle von Trapp child wasn't one of them - he found himself genuinely enjoying the movie.

With one key exception.

He wasn't sure how he had missed that the entire thing was set during World War II, though he guessed it made sense because none of the songs were about the war - or even mentioned them that he could tell - and Kurt had focused mostly on the love story when explaining the album to him, so that the Anschluss was an afterthought at most. If there were a secondary story at all, he had thought it was about teaching the children how to sing and bringing them joy through music - something he completely understood. But then began a long section where music suddenly took a backseat to the Third Reich and Blaine began to wonder if this had been the best movie to come to after all.

Obviously the United States, no matter how much he disagreed with going to war in Southeast Asia, wasn't Nazi Germany. But it was hard not to see Peter's refusal to do anything to help facilitate or legitimize the draft a bit differently while watching Captain von Trapp refuse to serve in the German navy. Nothing he could do himself would stop the Nazis - or the oncoming world war - but he could refuse to participate. He could refuse to be quiet and just accept that his country had been taken over.

And really, that wasn't so hard to understand either. Nothing Blaine said or did could stop the police from being horrible...but he could stand up and say so. He could say he had the right to be himself, to be in love, and to not be afraid - even if it was as formally unrecognized as the war-era state of Austria. Wasn't that what Peter was doing - or at least, how he viewed it? There were so many things they couldn't change or fix, certainly not as two young men, but Peter was drawing a line in the sand to say he wouldn't do something he didn't believe in. He didn't have much of a choice about registering in the first place, Blaine had to admit, certainly not if he wanted to be able to go to school - which for Peter was never about trying to evade the draft but about an insatiable love of knowledge that Blaine really did love...but Peter took the one choice he did have, which was to not let the Selective Service pretend to offer him a liferaft.

Blaine couldn't tell if that was naive or really cynical, but at least it made more sense than it had a few hours ago. And of course it didn't do anything to soothe the sting of what Peter had said about the past, but it did make the first part of the fight feel a little less confusing.

They all had a choice, he realized slowly. All of them, all the time. Did they want to accept things the way they were told it was meant to be done, no matter how awful and backwards and cruel that way might be? Or did they want to, with full knowledge that they themselves could not fix the problem, stand up and say that at the very least they would not continue to perpetuate it? Wasn't that what all the boycotts in the South were about? And they had changed the laws...because when enough people resisted, things could really change. Thousands of people had said they wouldn't sit in the back of the bus, and now they didn't have to; tens of thousands had marched on Selma and had sit-ins, and the President had signed one law last summer and was on track to pass a voting rights law sometime this year.

Hundreds of young men had come through his father's office every year, hundreds and thousands, and that was only one office - he knew there were plenty of others. Too many. What if all of them just stood up and said they wouldn't be treated that way anymore? They might not be able to change what the law said, at least not yet, but- the idea of knowing that others were out there and they weren't sick...that would have meant so much to him growing up. He could have been okay, could have had a shot with Kurt, could have been in love without feeling so awful about it all. And if enough of them took a stand and said they refused to pretend anymore...he couldn't even imagine what they could do.

And if all the students, all the young people...he had no idea how many people there were between 18 and 27 in the country, but he knew it had to be a lot of them - just judging from the number of people at Stanford, or if he took the size of Dalton when he had attended and multiplied it out by the number of schools...if they all stood up and said they wouldn't help the government run the draft, that they wouldn't sit by and take the test and pretend it was fair...

They could do anything. If they stood up for themselves and fought, they could accomplish amazing things - things no one could even imagine yet. No one would have thought a law outlawing discrimination on the basis of race could exist even ten years ago, even after the bus boycotts, but now it was law in every state, in every county, in every backwater town that still referred to him as 'Malay' - the Warblers could go to Nationals now because Baltimore couldn't force them to stay in separate hotels anymore. All because people had refused to accept that the way it had always been done was enough.

"Hey kid - show's over."

A voice startled him, and he blinked; the house lights were up, the credits long since rolled. "Oh- sorry," Blaine managed, head swimming. He gathered his jacket and stood, hurrying out despite the janitor's dirty look.

He had to apologize for- well, part of the fight, anyway. Peter had certainly done his part, too, and that wasn't okay but at least Blaine understood where he had been coming from to get defensive in the first place. And maybe if he could be the bigger man and start the discussion, things could be okay again.

He had lost one love because of stubbornness and an inability to admit his role in things; he wasn't about to do it again.

He decided to go home first to change; he had missed one of his classes and his lunch already, and he doubted he would make it to the other class, but he knew if he went to Peter's and it went well he might not be home again until tomorrow and he really didn't like the idea of wearing the same underwear three days in a row. He fished out his keys, turned the corner, and saw Peter sitting in the hall in front of his door, a small bouquet of red and light blue flowers resting against his chest. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologize. Are you okay, my boy? I tried to find you on-campus but Ted said you stood him up - which is unlike you - and I thought something had happened."

"I'm fine," Blaine assured him. "I needed time to think, and the movie was long - just what I needed, but...really long." He paused, glancing down at him. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to worry?" Peter offered with a sheepish smile, and Blaine couldn't help but grin, rolling his eyes just a little. "Don't worry, no one saw me - everyone's out this time of day, so you needn't fear-"

"It's okay," Blaine replied, nervous but meaning it. The first part of standing up meant not being afraid of people knowing how you felt, right? "I was actually just changing to come over," he added as he unlocked the door and pushed it open, setting his bag on his desk chair. "I...wanted to apologize."

"My boy, I was the one who was out of line."

Blaine hesitated, but acknowledged, "You were. But...I didn't understand. And now I think I do."

"Really?" Peter looked skeptical as he toed off his shoes, still holding the flowers.

"It's about not doing anything to support something you know is wrong - isn't it?"

Peter's eyes widened in surprise as he began to smile, a mix of pride and relief at being understood. "Yes. Exactly. And while that didn't give me the right to say what I did about your struggles-"

Blaine offered a half-shrug. "It's okay," he replied. It had stung, but Peter knowing it was wrong did help ease the ache for the most part. Besides, was he going to do something silly like throw away an amazing man for one comment flung in anger? Not in a million years. "The flowers are beautiful," he added, reaching to run his finger lightly over the edge of a petal. Peter glanced down as though he had forgotten he was holding them, then smiled shyly. As much as Blaine found the man's bravado and patter charming, he was starting to enjoy seeing this side of him - it was more vulnerable, more human, and just as interesting. He thought a moment, then asked, "Have you eaten yet?"

Peter shook his head. "I was trying to track you down - I should have known when the record store was full that a movie would be the next best place."

"You checked the record store?"

"Of course I did," Peter replied as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Where else would you go when you're upset but into music?"

Blaine beamed, all concerns from earlier about Peter not understanding what things meant for him vanishing. "Shall we go get lunch?" he asked, taking the flowers from his boyfriend and moving into the kitchen to get water for them.

"Sounds lovely, my boy." He reached over and gently tugged Blaine into a soft kiss, arms holding Blaine close. Blaine pressed against him, reveling in the tight embrace, then reluctantly pulled back. "After you," he suggested, gesturing toward the door, but Blaine had a better idea.

Holding hands was definitely too far out there to be safe, but there was no reason he couldn't walk comfortably close to his boyfriend so their shoulders brushed every so often. And if people suspected there was something unnatural or funny about that...then so be it.

It was the least he could do.