That wasn't as high a bar as it might be if he were someone else, but it was high enough: he'd mouthed back to bullies who threw malteds in his face; he had worn practically everything a teenage boy in Lima should never set foot outside his door wearing, he had; he had tried out for the title role in No No, Nanette when he was 12, a choice that had not endeared him at all to the local theatre group; and he had moved to New York with nothing but a best friend an impractical dream. But if there was one thing he would not be able to forgive himself for, it would be going to a restaurant he'd never heard of, in a part of town he'd never been to, based solely on the word of a man with the power to ruin his career forever with whom he'd spoken exactly three times.

What kind of fool did that after being arrested twice already - once on the advice of a coworker who seemed trustworthy at the time, and once by following a scarf as one knew accessories were always trustworthy? Just how myopic could he be?

But what choice did he have?

As much as he knew he shouldn't believe Don, he knew he was going to go crazy if he didn't. If the extent of his communion with homosexuals had begun and ended with Blaine, he would lose his mind. There had to be more boys out there - there just had to be. And they had to be somewhere safe, because Don had met John somewhere and Man #16 had made a life for himself and there was meant to be an entire society of some kind in this city if he could ever figure out when or where they met. There were people, and they had to be somewhere other than a jail cell or passing in hushed whispers in the hall.

Even if there were just a few, Kurt concluded. Even a few might be worth it. More would be better, because he gathered from Mercedes that there was safety in numbers, but even just a few boys...

His bar wasn't even that high. If the evening didn't end in arrest, he would consider it a victory. He wasn't holding out much hope of that, given previous experience, but if there were other boys and he didn't end up arrested or beaten up in a back alley somewhere, that might be enough to give him a little bit of hope and let him try again another night.

Maybe.

He wasn't sure why Don seemed like the sort of man to be believed, a sentiment that intensified as he tried to find his way along the narrow, dark streets. This wasn't anything like the Upper West Side and certainly nothing like Midtown, with its gleaming lights and throngs of people and cars at all hours of the day and night. Nothing was numbered, there were no intersections at right angles, blocks were completely different sizes...he hadn't realized just how much he had come to rely on the uptown grid to figure out precisely where he was going without one of those silly tourist maps. Who needed a map when the address clearly said the building was on 47th Street, which would be exactly three blocks from where the person was standing on 50th Street? But these names bore no resemblance to anything he could recognize or figure out - West 13th ran into Greenwich and became Horatio; he veered left and went two blocks (two?) before coming to West 12th, but at least it continued on both sides of Greenwich so he took it. He had gotten off on Seventh and needed to get to Sixth - or stop before it, really, that much Don had told him, as if that explained everything...but then West 4th intersected 12th and he gave up even trying to know where he might be.

Well, he thought mirthlessly as he stared down at the address again as though that might solve his problems, as if directions might magically appear in hidden ink under the dim light coming from the window of that Italian restaurant. At least whoever found their way to this place must be safe, because he doubted the police could find it, either. He chuckled to himself even though it wasn't funny.

Peering ahead, he thought he saw an 8 on the street sign at the end of the block only a few dozen yards away, and he walked over quickly - at least then he would know if he needed to turn around and go back the opposite direction, if this were Eighth Avenue -...it was, but only to the right; to the left, it turned into Abingdon Street, and Kurt wasn't sure what direction that meant he was going. He turned down it, hoping to find West 11th Street eventually, and wondering if maybe he should have included a further qualifier in his definition of success for the evening: not getting arrested but also not wandering aimlessly through a crazy part of town. Because at this rate-

"Hey there baby." A familiar voice cut through the conversation and street sounds around him, and Kurt finally looked at eye level instead of up at signs and down at the scrap of paper twisted in his hands. An oddly-shaped pseudo-park filled the space between two crossroads, fenced off with a name Kurt couldn't read at this distance. He could hear high voices coming from further in, but the one that had signaled him came from the thin boy in a red jacket with fur trim, posed in the pool of yellow light from the lamp post. "Long time."

Kurt could never figure out what precisely it was about Ricky that made him want to let his guard down, especially now; the first night, it had been a sort of awkward forced solidarity, the sense that they were both in an untenable situation together and the only ones who could truly understand each other in a cell full of men who looked ready to pounce. But the other times, the same feeling had washed over him unexpectedly, until he found himself standing less ramrod straight, letting his grip on the slip of paper loosen a little, a half-smile crossing his face. Looking across the intersection, he swore he could see Ricky do the same thing - relax a little, move from an overly exaggerated pose into something that reeked of more sass but less faux-fashion. But maybe he was just imagining things again, seeing things in people around him because he felt them in himself. He had certainly done that the last time he had gone out, and he probably had with Don, and maybe now with Ricky, too. "Very. Christmas."

"Yes, you poor dear," Ricky replied, waving him over with a quirked eyebrow that Kurt could relate to immediately. "Get over here, I don't bite unless you pay extra." Kurt was too busy dodging traffic across the intersection to wonder about what that meant, tucking the slip carefully into his pants pocket. "So no shoe hat tonight?" he asked, looking Kurt up and down. He had opted for a particularly tame ensemble tonight, in part because he wanted to fill the night with as little humiliation as possible. If he were arrested - which he still believed was likely to happen - then at least he might not have to suffer the indignity of being forced to count his articles of clothing as he stripped slowly. He wasn't donning some boring woven shirt - never. He was still going to express himself. And he was certain no one else would be wearing his beautiful wool jacket that he had found at a secondhand store - he was fairly certain it was from the 1920s, which meant it was more than time for the style to make a comeback, and he planned to lead the charge. But it was clearly not a coat intended for a woman, there were far too many manly details - from the military inspiration, to the length, to the fabric - which would help him play it safer. Not too safe, at least not when paired with the bowtie he had made from scraps of camouflage fabric...but safe enough.

"It's at the cobbler's," Kurt replied without missing a beat, then laughed awkwardly as Ricky gave him a look that seemed to ask how dumb he was, but in a less-hostile way than most. There was almost a fondness to it, but at the same time...not quite. Enough distance to keep them from enjoying the same longsuffering back-and-forth he and Rachel had, but the sense that they could have that someday. If they saw each other not just in passing under streetlamps, inverts of twilight.

"Don't bring it around here," he warned with a knowing look. "Bitches will snatch it off your head and you'll never see it again. Vicious queens, all of them. I lost my best shirt that way." Ricky shrugged, a move that started with his shoulders moving one direction and his neck moving the other and worked its way down and up his body. Kurt had never seen anyone shrug in such a way that his hips and eyebrows both joined in the motion before. "You hungry, baby? It's been a good week if you need-" The bushes rustled down the path leading from the park and instantly Ricky stiffened. He stood up straighter until he was only an inch or two shorter than Kurt, shoulders held back as though trying to effeminately puff out his scrawny chest, then thrust his hip out to the side and planted one hand firmly on it. In reality it wasn't so different a position, but the change in body language and tension was startling, and Kurt looked quickly to see who might be coming, wondering just how far into the Village he could run before he would be so lost that he would run back into the police officers who were after them. He was surprised - and confused - to see a tall, scrawny boy wearing what looked like an old curtain as a dress, cinched at the waist by a belt, strutting down the path in beat-up black heels. The boy wore makeup, exaggerated dark and light stripes crudely drawn on his cheeks as though he'd dug his fingers into two different colours of blush and dragged them across his face, with lipstick and eyeshadow that were both too pink against his skin. Hardened eyes glared out from beneath the rose-tinted lids as he leaned against the fence a few feet away in an imitation of a starlet's seductive pose. "Don't even think about it, Mamas'," Ricky stated in a cool tone. "Keep walking."

"Even if I'm not here, no one's gonna want you," the boy snapped back, glowering at Ricky with such intensity that Kurt felt like there would be a brawl if someone didn't intervene. The look was one of pure challenge and anger, territorial, like what Finn's friends would look like because someone said something about one of the other guys' girlfriends, right before someone threw a punch. But instead the second boy leaned in a little, look flaring even more intensely for a moment, before spinning on his heel so hard Kurt worried he might break his ankle in those shoes and flouncing down the sidewalk a few feet - but only a few. He turned back to look at the two of them with a contrary look that wordlessly proclaimed, "You can't tell me what to do, I'm moving because I want to but you're not gonna make me go further."

Ricky rolled his eyes and turned back to Kurt, posture slowly deflating. "So how'd you finally find us?"

Kurt tried to find words, not sure how to process what he had just seen enough to comment on it or ask what in the world had just happened. He wanted to ask who in the world 'us' consisted of - just the two boys he'd just seen nearly come to blows over three feet of dimly-lit sidewalk, or the others he could hear chatting and laughing inside the small triangular park? The idea made him curious but even more uneasy. He wanted other people like himself, but he had fought his entire life and relished the idea of being able to give that up. He didn't fancy himself particularly territorial, willing to glare that intensely over a bit of fence to lean on, and he wasn't one for makeup - which even Ricky seemed to be wearing, on closer inspection. Not much, and far more skillfully applied, just a little bit around the eyes to highlight them and draw attention there. What was more, it didn't seem like the kind of place that would ever be safe - and considering he'd seen Ricky arrested the second time he was, and it didn't look like it had been sheer coincidence that they were each arrested for the second time on the same night. The boy had seemed like a bit of a pro at it by the time they saw one another again, and if this was where he was hanging out?

He hadn't meant to find this place, and he wasn't sure if it was anything like where Don and John were leading him. Or if that place was a trap, if maybe here was a better alternative. At least he knew it existed and the police hadn't shown up yet - not that that was much security at all.

"Well, once 4th crosses 12th I just gave up on finding what I was really here for, and here you are," he offered with a forced fake smile. Every second he thought about staying, about not trading in what he'd found - and the familiar face it led him to - for the unknown, but it didn't feel any better than Central Park. Less copulation but more tension, nothing friendly or inviting but whatever spark of something Ricky seemed to have...and even then only with him...

"You're an uptown kind of boy," Ricky surmised with a good-natured teasing smile. "I was, too, but it's better down here. More boys willing to come out in the darkness, far away from their bosses and wives and coworkers."

"A-actually I'm meeting one of mine," Kurt stated. He needed to get out of here, stop the growing need to look over his shoulder every few seconds. His actual destination might not be any better, but either way - his apartment felt safer than a street corner like this. "A coworker, not a wife," he added with a nervous chuckle.

"I didn't figure - what girl would think she could date you?" he shot back with a smug look up and down Kurt. "You're one of us. Be careful: coworkers are dangerous. I knew a girl who lost it all that way - twice. Dumb Mary didn't learn her lesson the first time." He rolled his eyes and gave Kurt a concerned look that felt equal parts real and fake. He wondered if anyone else's concerned look was have any realness at all - he doubted it.

"I know," Kurt replied, swallowing hard and trying not to take Ricky's lesson to heart. What kind of fool believed a coworker twice when the first one went so badly? But whatever quality it was that made him want to stay her and keep talking despite the ever-present danger of law enforcement, made him feel like there was something he could rely on with Don. He just hoped he wasn't as foolish as Mary - whoever she was. Probably a girl like Rachel who meant well but didn't know any better. "How do I get to Greenwich from here?" he asked.

"Which Greenwich?"

Kurt blinked at him. "Certainly not in Connecticut."

"Street or Avenue, baby?" Kurt had no idea there were two, let alone which one he needed, and he thrust his hand into his pocket to grab the address. "Where are you trying to go?"

"Some place called Mama's-"

Ricky's face lit up. "Oh, you'll like it. It's a nice place. She's a little..." he waggled his hand like he couldn't think of what word could adequately capture the person he was trying to describe, but added, "but much nicer than that fucking ice cream shop. They don't rip you off - or chase you out, like at Howard Johnson's sometimes."

It was a real place. And it was nice, not like that bar that apparently everyone but he knew was a dump. Kurt felt like he couldn't breathe, relief flooding over him, and he grinned. But it was shortlived as he realized there was a much more important question. "Are the police...?"

Ricky shook his head. "Paid in full." He didn't know what that meant, head spinning, but he managed to listen to Ricky's directions - Bleeker to Charles which would take him right there, Ricky swore - and nodded dumbly as he thought about it.

A nice place. And there were other places, too, that weren't so nice, but it was more places than Kurt had known existed and that cemented it: he didn't have to settle for skulking by parks. He was going to go meet Don and John at this Mama's place.

Assuming he ever found his way there.

* * * * *

Twenty minutes and a double-back to correct from a missed turn later, Kurt was ready to walk around with a horrible tourist map from now until the end of time if he could just find what he was looking for. If he could have found an open convenience store, he would have stopped in to get one - because they all sold them - but it was nearly midnight already and the only lights he could see came from the fronts of smoky restaurants and behind a few boarded-up windows in bars that looked as seedy and dilapidated as the place he had gone before his second arrest Just when he was sure he would never find his way out again - and that it would be no great loss because the place he was going probably had boards on its windows, too, even if Ricky did say it was nice because the boy was hanging around a park with a terrifying assortment of unsavoury characters, after all, so what did he even know anyway? - he came to a much busier, brighter intersection than the ones he'd been crossing. He looked up for a street sign and instead saw fogged-over windows, lit brightly from within. He couldn't make out much of anything inside, but it certainly seemed like life in the midst of a cold, dark, dank streets. He caught sight of the sign over the equally-fogged door: Mama's Chik n Rib.

Well. He had found it, at any rate. And it certainly looked nothing like the bar he'd been to. Maybe Ricky was right, maybe it really was nice.

Doing his best to keep expectations low, he stepped up to the door and pulled it open. He could hear the familiar beginning of the Ronettes' song - that one Mercedes rolled her eyes at, something about how the girls pretended to have sass but sounded just as thin and fragile as all the rest of them. A blast of hot air hit him, then a blast of cool, and he shivered as he tugged off his gloves but left his jacket in place. At least now he knew how they kept the windows fogged like that, he thought to himself with a roll of his eyes as he looked around.

Men. There were men everywhere. At tables and booths, at the counter, leaning against tables to talk to friends - friends! there were people here who clearly were friends and all of them were men and there was no indication that any of them were any less homosexual than he was. Some were more masculine, were more like Don or Blaine, and a few even reminded him of Ethel, with his beard and stocky frame, but some seemed just as inverted as he was. At a table in the corner, a group of three boys were bopping from side to side, tilting their heads to and fro with an affected flirtatious quality, mouthing along to the song and teasing each other. Everyone was talking and laughing, and then-

He had seen men together before, had watched them paw at one another through the darkness at the Ramble, had seen them flirt and dance and touch one another at the bar, but the sight of one man leaning over to kiss another made him freeze. It was so casual; the two were sitting at a table by themselves, hands touching occasionally as they drank coffee, and one of them said something that made the other roll his eyes with a look of complete adoration, nothing but fondness for the other man and all his quirks and bad jokes, and then he just leaned across the table and kissed him. Right there, in front of everyone...and it was as though no one noticed but him. It was a short kiss, just a chaste peck really, nothing remotely sexual or even all that romantic, but it was so free, and the single most beautiful thing Kurt had ever seen...until a second later when the first man gently squeezed the second man's hand as they both settled back in their seats and they shared the most incredible look. Even if this was the only place they had to be themselves, even if everyone else thought they were sick, they knew what they meant to one another, what they shared.

"Kurt!" The sound of his name pulled him from his trance, and by the time he blinked and looked again, the men were back to just talking to one another, but the intimacy of their shared gaze remained. He looked toward the source of the sound and saw John bounding over to him. "I knew you'd come. Don thought you might still be scared, but I knew." He threw an arm around Kurt's shoulders and led him to a small booth. "Look who I found," he proclaimed to Don, who smiled so genuinely it made something in Kurt swell - Don was happy to see him. So was John, apparently, though his effusiveness was confusing and a bit much for Kurt. He didn't remember Don's lover being quite this outgoing the only other time they had met...but in fairness, that had been at work, where a certain amount of decorum was expected.

Don's lover. He wondered if thinking that would ever feel less magical. He knew he had set out to find just friends, but suddenly more than that was seeming like a possibility again, if not his raison d'etre. It wasn't what he needed, but it might be nice - and he might be able to find one.

"Someone needs to renumber the streets around here," he stated, and Don laughed heartily.

"You've never been down here?"

"No. I stay where 84th doesn't cross 92nd."

"Just wait until you see where Waverly crosses itself," John teased, slipping into the booth beside him. "That really messes with you. Oh, hang on - Charlie!" John hopped out of the booth again, going over to greet a friend excitedly.

Don chuckled softly to himself. "He's a little much when we come sometimes - like a puppy when you first let them out after they've been cooped up all day," he said, but there was the same fondness on his face that Kurt had seen before. If John seemed more effusive and jubilant here, Don seemed relaxed, content to sit back and watch everything else going on around him. Kurt could understand why: it felt safe here. Comfortable. If he weren't so giddy, he might be relaxed too. But the sight of men everywhere, talking and laughing and just being together...he felt like he couldn't stop smiling.

He had known a place like this had to exist. He had pinned his hopes and dreams on it, after all - he had known that somewhere, in some city, in some building tucked in some neighbourhood, there needed to be a place like this. He had defended that to anyone who would listen, even - or perhaps especially - when the person was trying to tell him there would never be anywhere with that kind of freedom. But after a year of not finding anyone and another six months of finding nothing but rough, lewd contact between two men with primal urgency and no love or romance...and being arrested every time he so much as thought about finding a boy who might look at him like that...his confidence in his dream had faltered. But now, surrounded by men who nudged friends affectionately and looked at boyfriends and lovers and perhaps even homosexual husbands with sweetness and love, seeing boys and men interact with each other with openness and fondness for one another...

He had likened it to Dalton last week, when he went with Mercedes. Even as wonderfully supportive as those boys had been, they could never compare to this. Ever.

He just wished he could show it to the person who needed to see it the most.

"Are you hungry?" Don asked, waving a waiter over even before Kurt could reply. " My treat."

Kurt realized a menu had been sitting in front of him and he hadn't even bothered to look at it. He scanned it quickly and picked the first thing that sounded good, even though he wasn't all that interested in food; he was far more interested in watching the people around him. "Turkey sandwich and Coke please."

"You've got it," replied the waiter, a short boy who looked about Kurt's age who spoke with a high lilting voice. "John eating too?" he asked Don as he jotted down the order.

"Bring him a coffee, he'll come in for a landing at some point," Don replied, and the waiter laughed knowingly.

"As if he needs caffeine. For you, too?"

"Can I get a slice of that chocolate cake up on the counter?"

"Coming right up." The waiter nodded and flashed a hurried smile as he took the menus and strutted off toward the kitchen. Kurt had never seen a man walk quite like that before - it as more exaggerated than his on stride, and he'd gotten teased enough for it as a teenager. He bet Ricky walked about like that, remembering the way he talked proudly about his hips that night at the jail and everything. That book he'd found way back when, linking inversion to homosexuality...well, it might not have been all wrong, even if its assessment of the relative sickness was clearly wrong.

Clearly.

Because staring at all these men who looked so normal...a lot of them didn't look like anyone else Kurt had ever known, but they looked like any other man...and yet every few seconds, a voice in the back of his head would point out They're all like you! and he would feel giddiness surge through him again, because this was-

"I'm glad you came," Don stated, interrupting Kurt's thoughts, and he looked at his superior.

"So am I," he replied sincerely, then admitted, "I almost didn't. The last thing I need is another night in jail."

Don smiled sympathetically. "Especially after the newspaper... It's bad enough when it's just the officers taunting you all night, but when everyone stares at you with that smug look, like you're laid bare and they think you're the most vile thing they've ever seen..."

He had been trying to figure out if and how to talk about it since it happened. He knew he should just put it behind him because there was nothing he could do about it and thinking about it made him feel sick to his stomach, but there were times it would just come bubbling up - the anger, the hurt, the humiliation - and he couldn't say anything. Not only did he not know how, but who would he tell - Mercedes, who would tell him he shouldn't have been doing it in the first place? Rachel, who would somehow make the entire thing about herself even though she'd never been so much as questioned by a police officer, let alone arrested, let alone had it splashed all over the crime pages in black and white for everyone in the city to see. Would either of them even want to listen to the story? And even if they did...could either of them possibly understand what it was like, what he felt?

Don did. It was all over his face, and his words rang true. Don knew the look. He understood. He had been through it himself, after all.

"I never thought..." he began, but he realized as he got to the end of the three words that it encompassed so many things and he wasn't sure where to start. With the fact that he was sitting here with someone to talk to? That things would get as bad as they had been? That they would get better?

"I've gotta ask," Don said with a shake of his head as their food arrived. "Why in the world did you go there? The only way anyone knows that place is from news stories about raids, it's not somewhere anyone would be caught dead in unless they didn't know better. How did you even find that hole in the wall?"

"Because I can't help myself," Kurt mumbled, poking dejectedly at a fry. If he'd listened to his instincts, he would never have gone there. He would never have believed his jerk of a boss and could have just come somewhere like here instead. If only he'd known this place existed. ...Of course, without the bar, he wouldn't have found Don so he couldn't have found this place because there was no way he would have accidentally hopped the train down into a part of town he'd never been to in his 18 months in the City, so he supposed some good had come of it. Maybe. He sighed and began, "Stu told me about it. He suggested I go, so I wouldn't be so lonely and distracted - and he was right, I was. It's the reason I cut the thing wrong in the first place to earn three months of tulle hell, so-"

"Wait, back up. The reason you what?"

"The day after the first time I was arrested, I was exhausted and couldn't stop thinking about it. Next thing I knew, I had cut the wrong collar - and I was going to fix it," he stated, taking a long swig of his Coke. "There was plenty of silk left, so I left it on my table to do in the morning. I came in and it was already gone."

"Grey silk?" Don asked slowly, eyes wide, head tilted. "Dress and a jacket?" Kurt nodded. Of course Don knew what garment it was - he was high enough to see most things in the label, Kurt assumed, but he hadn't realized word of his careless mistake had traveled all the way up the company ladder. Great; now he really would be cutting ugly fabrics for the rest of his life. Of course he couldn't catch a break when it came to his career - but personally was enough, he told himself firmly, making it a point to let his eyes sweep over the room again. This was more than he had ever imagined a few hours ago, and it was certainly enough to make New York feel less. At the moment it made the city feel wonderful again, magical, full of possibilities - even if he was going to spend his entire career cutting unattractive silks and brocades for hideous dresses.

Then Don started laughing. Laughing, shaking his head, grinning like he just couldn't stop because it was too much - too funny, too uproariously hilarious to give Kurt a break, and he wondered if it was everyone in fashion who had a bit of a cruel streak to them, or just everyone in New York. "I was going too quickly, I hadn't slept, It was a careless mistake, do you really have to-" he began tersely, but Don shook his head more deliberately and reached out to place his hand over Kurt's forearm.

"You humiliated him."

"Yeah, he made that part clear."

"No, you don't understand," Don laughed, and Kurt rolled his eyes and wished that if there were a point, the guy would hurry up and make it so they could move on from a discussion of the lone error he'd made in his time doing absolutely menial tasks. "He tried to throw you under the bus for it, but everyone in the room loved the change."

Kurt stared at him as the music changed, trying to figure out exactly what that meant - where to start. They loved the new collar? Stu had tried to roll over on him - that was no surprise. But they loved it? They had seen the same thing he did, which was that the collar the jacket had was hideous and the incorrect scale and boring and so, so wrong, and they had liked his attempt to modernize it? They...they agreed with his design choice? "Really?"

"Oh yeah," Don nodded enthusiastically. "It went straight from cutting to sewing, who assumed the design had been changed and a new sketch just hadn't been done. By the time anyone saw it, there was an oversized turndown collar. We tried to figure out who had changed it, and in front of everyone Stu basically said he'd never seen such a horrible mistake and would make sure the one responsible for it was fired. My boss looked him in the eye and said 'Are you kidding? It's great - we're using it.' It's in four more looks this season"

Kurt didn't understand. That didn't make any sense. He had cut the wrong one, not what the people who were paid to design the suit wanted. But he had cut several more - deliberately, per instructions - in the past few weeks. And he had always thought it would look better. And if he was the reason Stu was dressed down by his bosses, then that-...that would lead to punishment, wouldn't it? Because Stu was insecure and obnoxious and had never liked him anyway, so that- "It is?" he asked, unable to keep the surprise and pride out of his voice. His collar was going to be seen by people. He had done it better than people above him in the foodchain...and his jerk of a boss had been yelled at because of it...and he had inspired the people above him to use his idea in more outfits. He had-

He knew it was silly to be so excited, he knew that of course he knew what he as doing. His ability to spot trends in fashion was one of his gifts, he knew that. It had just been so long, and he had started to think...

"You seem surprised." Don's expression was unreadable, a smile playing at his lips but concern in his eyes, and Kurt tried to sort through his pride and relief and confusion enough to come up with something to say - anything, really. He wasn't even aiming for something especially witty or impressive; the ability to express himself at all would be a plus after the evening he'd had, how dizzy and euphoric and amazed he felt.

Because it had been so long since he'd had anything good happen, and it was almost too much all at once like this.

"I...had my doubts," he explained very quietly, staring at his turkey sandwich because he wasn't sure he could explain why it came as such a shock without letting all his frustrations pour out, and he didn't want to let Don stare at him so bare like that - not yet. Even though there was a relaxed understanding radiating from the older man, Kurt had never been much good at confiding in people. "All I do is cut tulle all day, and that's not exactly what I dreamed of when I pictured living in New York. I thought I would have so many things, that I could come here and life would start, and then...when a year and a half went by and nothing happened, I thought maybe..."

"Kurt." When he didn't look up, Don added, "Look at me a second." Kurt reluctantly raised his gaze, not proud of how small and weak he knew he must look right now to someone he wanted to think highly of him. Don looked him directly in the eye and told him, "You're doing fine. You're way ahead of where I was when I was your age. I know it feels like everything should be set already - I remember when I moved here, I thought everyone must have lied to me because I spent my first five years sewing beads onto evening gowns. My fingers have only just recovered. I was dating some girl even though I knew who I was, I thought nothing would ever change because the longer it went on... but it did. It's slower than you want - I know. Especially when the city moves so fast and it feels like everyone else is rushing by on their way to something important, and you're stuck cutting out dress pieces." Kurt managed a very faint smile. "But you'll get there. You're on the right path, and you have the eye - I can tell. I see the way you dress, the way you put things together...you'll be a designer, and a damn good one. Just pay your dues a little longer. I promise you, you're going to have all the things you want."

For the first time in a long while, Kurt didn't feel stupid for believing something like that.

* * * * *

He shouldn't have been surprised he got lost on the way home. Don had tried to give him directions - he swore it was right up Greenwich and it would be impossible for Kurt to get turned around, but a few odd five-point intersections later he found himself wandering down 12th again. At least he knew where he was - sort of - or had been there before, at any rate. In truth, he wasn't sure he would even mind just milling down the dimly-lit streets all night, floating from restaurant to restaurant on the sound of people enjoying themselves while he was unable to stop smiling. It was taking intense self-control to not twirl around the street lamps like Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain.

He couldn't remember smiling so much in his life. Everything hurt - his cheeks, his chest, his feet because these shoes weren't the best for traipsing through the unfamiliar neighbourhood - but he didn't care. He was pretty sure he had never felt this good, this hopeful in his entire life. Everything Don said, every conversation he and John cycled through with ease and the kind of teasing affection that showed they'd been together long enough to really know each other, every friend of theirs who stopped by the table - and there were a lot of them. John seemed to know everyone who set foot in Mama's, and everyone came over to say hello to him and Don, and it was like a big homosexual Breadstix reunion, like when they would go out for dinner on a Friday and everyone stopped by to say hello to Finn or Puck or one of the Cheerios...but here there were men embracing and even a few dancing between the tables, all behind the safety of fogged-over windows. He had left only reluctantly as he realized it was midnight and he would be absolutely exhausted the next morning at work but was already planning his next trip. There were so many wardrobe options to consider - everyone had loved his jacket, especially Don. He had gotten actual compliments on his clothes instead of odd, put-off stares or suspicious glances as though he were trying to trick someone with his intricate garments.

It was perfection. If a night were capable of being flawless, this was it.

He couldn't help but laugh to himself as he passed 4th again - if confusing street names were the price he had to pay for this kind of Wonderland, he would endure it. He might have to get a map, but he was sure he would learn his way quickly enough if he came every night the way he planned on. Hell, he wouldn't even mind an extra-confusing Cheshire Cat sitting on the corner at this point, considering what an amazing mad tea party John would throw if given half a chance.

The street dead-ended into the park, and he found himself instinctively looking for Ricky, to thank him for the directions but really to gush about how incredible his evening had been. To talk about the fantastic people and wonderful conversations and the two men who just sat at a little round table and drank coffee and held hands right there in public with no one giving them a second glance. To invite Ricky to go with him next time, because he could only imagine how much John would have fun with him - boundless energy and sassy strutting from table to table. To see how Ricky's night had gone, because he didn't understand the appeal of the tiny park but maybe he was just missing something and...really he just wanted to talk to someone. The floodgates had opened on his emotions, and he found himself wanting to talk about everything he felt - good and bad, really, though tonight it was all good. He hopped onto the base of the streetlamp, holding on and gazing across the intersection into the park, too giddy to care how foolish he looked-

...and he stopped.

The slight figure curled up on the bench seemed too fragile to be his friend, but at the same time Kurt knew for certain he recognized the red jacket pulled tightly around the boy. His head was propped up on a seabag, hair tossled and falling over the green canvas. In this angle, the glow of the light over the bench made the jut of Ricky's cheekbones look almost dangerous, and Kurt found himself hoping he just hadn't noticed the boy's makeup before.

Why was he still here? Why wasn't he-...did he not have anywhere else to go?

Good mood dashed, he hopped to the ground and made his way quickly across the street with fear and determination. Maybe there was a perfectly logical explanation for this. Maybe he was waiting for a bus across town or something, or on his way to somewhere else, or...waiting for someone to pick him up, or...

Because it couldn't be that Ricky was sleeping here all night. Could it?

He had to do something.

He wasn't sure if he and Ricky were friends yet, really - they'd only spoken twice, and usually about the most superficial things, and while he didn't have much experience in friendship with boys he was pretty sure it required more than that. It had certainly required more than that with Rachel before he was friends with her - she and Mercedes both, he'd known them forever. But the idea of going home and doing nothing made him queasy. It was freezing out, and clearly no one else was helping.

There was something deeper, though. This was New York, he passed a dozen homeless people a day, and none of them made him ache like this. None of them made him want to take him in and make him dinner and get him a job at Mama's because surely they would have to do something to help, too, wouldn't they? They had to; they had to help each other.

He wouldn't have found any of this if it weren't for Don. Don and John had gone out of their way to make sure he knew there were places out here, and if it weren't for them he would never have had the kind of night that made him feel like there was a future out there. And he wouldn't have even made it to that point if it weren't for Ethel stepping in - he wouldn't even be alive, he was sure of it, and neither would Ricky. Those men would have torn the two of them limb from limb and pointed and laughed as the queers died on the floor of that disgusting jail cell, but Ethel stood watch over them all night and kept them safe. Those acts of kindness were the only reasons he was still here or had any reason to believe there was some chance of his dreams coming true. They tried to help, they...they gave him understanding and compassion when no one else would - or could even if they wanted to.

No one else was going to look out for them. If they didn't take care of one another, who would?

And even if he didn't understand it, he was connected to Ricky. There was something about him that made him want to open up and let his guard down, and it was clearly mutual. He couldn't just go home and do nothing.

He stood over the bench and reached out to awkwardly touch the boy's shoulder. "Ricky?"

He started awake, sitting bolt upright with a flustered, frantic expression - the picture of fight-or-flight. Looking around quickly, he blinked, and as his gaze fell on Kurt he tried to pull himself together as seamlessly as possible, to pretend Kurt hadn't found him asleep on a park bench in the cold. He crossed his legs at the knee and looked up at him with a put-on attitude. "Did you ever find your way to Mama's, or did you just keep walking in circles the last couple hours?" Kurt gave him a look as he sat down beside him, because who did the boy think he was fooling?

Maybe if they sat and talked awhile it would help. Maybe he could help Ricky swallow his pride and come with him - or at least find out what was wrong so he could help. He sat on the bench, crossing his legs as he replied, "I had a great night. How was yours?"

"Slow," Ricky replied with an exaggerated yawn. "No one interesting, I thought I'd just take a nap while I waited for the night to really start." Kurt arched an eyebrow skeptically, but Ricky didn't back down.

* * * * * *

Kurt woke up the next morning with a boy in his bed.