By the end of the second day without a phone call, Kurt was beginning to wonder if the duffel bag contained anything at all. It couldn't be anything too valuable if Ricky didn't care about getting it back. Sometime around lunch on day three, he was struck by the horrible thought that maybe Ricky was looking for the bag but simply didn't remember where he'd left it. After all, the boy was certainly seen all around town - what if he was trying to retrace his steps up and down the entire island of Manhattan in search of the bag and simply hadn't gotten to Kurt's yet? What if he just couldn't remember where he might have left it?

...What if Ricky didn't remember him?

He dismissed the fear quickly. Even if Ricky couldn't remember his exact address, he wouldn't be able to forget that kind of connection...would he? He had probably just lost the scrap of paper with Kurt's number on it. He had probably just lost the paper and couldn't remember exactly which block Kurt's apartment was on.

Kurt hoped, at least.

Mostly, as he sat at home for the third straight night waiting for the phone to ring, he wondered what exactly he was meant to do now. He wanted to see the boy again - not just to return the bag, but to talk. To ask him what he thought of Nancy Wilson's new Broadway album and to make plans to go see I Could Go On Singing because even though he was more of a Judy Garland fan than Ricky was, he had a feeling it would be more fun to go see the movie together than with Rachel sulking around him. Besides, she had a boyfriend - or a date, at least - to go see movies with, he thought to himself ruefully with a faint smirk at the empty apartment. But more importantly, he'd seen a new column with all sorts of rumours about what went on on-set with Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton while they were filming Cleopatra, and Ricky had mentioned how handsome he thought the leading man was the last time he was over, and...

It was silly, he knew that. He wasn't someone who fawned over boys, even celebrities. But there was something positively liberating about hearing Ricky talk about Richard Burton or Marlon Brando (before he got fat), even if he did so in a borderline crude way. Or not crude, exactly, so much as...proudly sensual. Ricky didn't just admire their acting or their eyes, he thought about all sorts of acts with them that Kurt would never in a million years speak of, and he admitted to them freely. The brashness of outright Ricky saying that he wanted to bed Marlon Brando five years ago but not anymore... For all Rachel teased him easily about getting a boyfriend, Kurt couldn't imagine ever saying something like that around her. But Ricky was different.

He wondered if maybe there was some way he could find the boy. Maybe there was something in the bag that would give him a phone number - Ricky had to have somewhere he was reachable, right? He had to have some place that Kurt could call and at least let someone else know - if not Ricky himself - that the bag was sitting on the floor of his bedroom on the Upper West Side. But the only way he could think of was to look inside the bag. Would that be wrong? Would it be an invasion of privacy to look through the possessions tucked into the tattered canvas bag - and if it would, which he might have to concede, would it be worth the invasion if he was trying to do the right thing? Because otherwise an unopened bag might sit in his room for who knew how long - and if Ricky had lost Kurt's phone number, what other choice did he have?

It would make more sense than wandering the city in search of him, wouldn't it?

But at the same time, it felt wrong. It felt like the act of unzipping the bag would automatically violate the fragile budding friendship no matter what his reasons. Ricky was so standoffish, so reluctant to answer anything more personal than his celebrity heartthrobs, and Kurt knew if anyone were to rifle through his things, he would probably be mortified - let alone if they touched or ruined his clothes...still it was so tempting-

The ring of the phone jolted him from his thoughts and he pulled his hand back in toward his body as though the person calling him could see what he had been contemplating. He was on his feet a moment later, hurrying into the kitchen to answer on the third ring. "Hello?"

"Do you have my bag?" Ricky sounded more brusque than Kurt had heard him before, a little rushed. Maybe he really had been trying to retrace his steps across all five boroughs and just finally got to where he'd spent the night a few days earlier and was panicking at trying to track it down-

"Right here," Kurt assured him.

"Can you-" There was a pause, then a sigh and a defeated-sounding question. "Can I come get it?"

Kurt's eyes lit up. Perfect. "Of course. Or I could bring it - no one's here all night-"

"Great. I'll see you soon." The phone went dead, and Kurt was left staring at it, wondering what had just happened. After a moment, he hung up and smiled to himself as he began to straighten up. Suddenly a night alone listening to the rain and reading Vogue didn't seem so dull. Not if he had someone to share it with.

With the apartment cleaned, all of Rachel's sheet music back in her room, and Mercedes' clothes back in her suitcase beside the couch, Kurt glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed since the phone call, but there was no sign of Ricky. He could feel himself getting more excited by the minute, anxious for the impending relief that seeing the boy would bring. Three days ago had been like a break of fresh air, and after worrying about his whereabouts for a few days, it was hard not to look forward to their evening together. Ricky had said last time that he had never heard The Sound of Music, or Camelot, or even south Pacific - that alone would be a great night. He loved opening a person's eyes to an entire genre, to watching someone's face light up as they heard a show for the first time, as the story unfolded...as Ricky let his cold exterior drop and could just enjoy the beauty of the story and the songs... It was a little late, but they might even get to My Fair Lady if they stayed up. Mercedes would probably be gone awhile, though he wasn't sure exactly when her sets were tonight, and Rachel's second date meant she would be gone awhile - more likely until morning, if it went well for her, and he could imagine sitting with Ricky on the couch all night, laughing over "Wouldn't It Be Loverly?", then setting the mugs aside to dance clumsily through the overcluttered living room to "I Could Have Danced All Night"...

The buzzer shook him from his thoughts, and Kurt placed the albums he had preselected on the table beside the record player. He practically skipped to the kitchen to buzz Ricky in. It occurred to him that he should have snacks - it was part of being a good host, and he wasn't sure if Ricky had eaten dinner yet. Sadly the lack of preparation meant the best he could do was a plate of crackers and the two cheeses he had been saving for finger sandwiches with Rachel and Mercedes during Sing Along with Mitch on Friday. He got as far as hurriedly making an artful arrangement of crackers when he heard a knock on the door. Beaming and ready to start the evening he pulled open the door-

Ricky stood in the hallway, dripping wet. His curls splayed messily over his forehead, water running in rivulets, down his temples and into his wide, dark eyes. In the yellowy light of the kitchen, Ricky's cheeks looked hollow, a little green - especially high on his left cheekbone, where it was hard to tell whether the dark areas were harsh shadow or a fading bruise. The collar of his red coat was matted, brown fur looking and smelling like a wet dog. The right side was dirty, and the right sleeve cuff was torn - not clean through, just enough to let the silver-grey lining peek through. Ricky's smile was too bright, painfully forced, and the look on his eyes was too tired...too defeated.

"Did you take good care of my things, baby?" The exaggerated tone was back, high and flouncy, with a cluck of Ricky's tongue that made him sound even more ridiculous than he had at the park. He pursed his lips as he waited for the answer, but the longer Kurt hesitated, taking in the entire pathetic picture before him, the more uncertain the look in Ricky's eyes became until he more closely resembled a half-drowned animal pouting at his condition than a young man who could strut confidently through a park like he owned it.

"Yes," Kurt replied finally.

"Didn't take any of it, did you? I'm sure not, you do tend toward a more fetching type of a look, you wouldn't have much use for jewels." the statement began as an accusation, and a paranoid one at that, before backing off as though in self-rebuke. "Besides, you're too good for that kind of petty crime - aren't you?" He sounded heart-breakingly desperate, like his entire world hinged on Kurt's answer.

Kurt answered with the only thing he could think of. "I didn't even open the bag to look."

It was the first genuine smile he'd seen from Ricky since the door opened. Kurt wasn't sure why that made him almost want to cry.

He couldn't let Ricky go back out there, not in this storm, not to whatever had him looking so alone, so Kurt offered the only thing he could. "The bag's in my room - why don't you come in for a minute and dry off? I was about to make tea."

Ricky's response was a put-upon, "Oh, well, if you insist," but he couldn't conceal the look of relief that crossed his face in the split second after he heard Kurt's question. Kurt stepped back to let Ricky in, and the boy shrugged carefully out of his sopping coat. he ore a thin white undershirt with the same pants he had been wearing a few days earlier. Apparently wherever Ricky had been, Kurt concluded he hadn't had access to clothes. But surely his entire wardrobe couldn't be sitting in that dilapidated duffel bag on the bedroom floor...could it?

"I'll make tea," Kurt suggested awkwardly as Ricky shifted uncomfortably int he middle of his tiny dining area. "And I was just putting together a snack when you came," he added, moving the plate of crackers over to the table. "I can go get the bag while we wait for-"

"It's okay," Ricky replied. He sat down int he seat closest to the plate, looking at the crackers hungrily. "Tea sounds good first - if you were making it anyway."

"Of course." Kurt moved over to the stove, putting on the kettle. "It looks like it must be bad out there." He looked over his shoulder at Ricky, who paused with a cracker partway to his mouth.

"It's not so bad - but I have to say that singing in the rain is a lot more fun in movies than in reality," he replied. "Or maybe it's just more fun with Donald O'Connor."

Kurt smiled faintly at the reference. "Really? I always thought Gene Kelly seemed like the better guy. Or maybe I just like a man who can dance. besides, he had my heart from the time I saw On the Town." It was an obvious thing to say - so simple, and no one who knew him would have thought twice about the truth of it. Practically everyone who knew him knew he was a homosexual, and it went without saying that his crush on a man in a sailor uniform came with the territory. Except that, in going without saying, it felt momentous to...well...say it. Even with Rachel, he wouldn't talk about things like this - he wouldn't lie, of course, and he never tried to hide his relationship with Blaine when he had one, and if he were to have a boyfriend now he wouldn't actively conceal anything, but gossiping about which boys he found cute was still largely unexplored territory.

Except with Ricky. Because Ricky understood. To Ricky, it wasn't even novel enough to stop the conversation. "Frank Sinatra in that - ooo, honey, I would take him up to my place in a heartbeat. He'd be sweet...naive, maybe, but earnest. That makes some of the best lovers." Apparently it wasn't enough to stop the conversation because there was so much further to go. Kurt blushed at the statement, but Ricky kept going. "They want to please, for you to like them, so they try hard, and they're gentle. Rare, but nice if you can find it." He fiddled with a cracker between his fingers a moment, then flashed a brighter smile in Kurt's direction - a more honest one, like admitting he wanted a nice boy was a secret he could share only with him.

He carried two cups of tea over to the table and sat down before admitting, "That's what I want. A nice boy - a boyfriend? Just someone I can love, who loves me...like a great romance in a musical. With bigger-than-life emotions and tender ballads, like...like Maria and Captain VonTrapp." It really was that simple, wasn't it? That pure, that uncomplicated - he wanted ordinary moments and a boy who would curl up on the couch with him at the end of a long day and listen to soundtracks and watch Ed Sullivan. To laugh and weep together while time goes on its flight - to kiss you every morning and to kiss you every night...

He hated that he couldn't hear that song without thinking about his first kiss. Not that it was a bad kiss - it had been perfect, to be honest - it was everything that came after that had been so horribly wrong. Maybe in another world things could have been different, if Blaine were less scared if he were a year older, if they could have at least made their escape from Ohio together, if only-

It wouldn't do him any good to keep thinking those things, though, and he knew it. It was just that he wanted the promise of that moment back.

"Who?"

Kurt blinked, trying to remember what city he was in. The lamps of his apartment cast a harsher light than the warm glow of late wintry afternoon he saw in his mind. "What?"

"Who are they? Some strong soldier?"

"From Sound of Music. They're-...it's a love story." When Ricky kind of stared at him, Kurt added defensively, "Maybe it's silly, but that's what I want. There are two men I work with, and they're so in love with each other - and at Mama's the other night, there were two men not that much older than us-" or at least, than him, he realized he wasn't actually sure how old Ricky was exactly "-who couldn't keep their eyes off each other. They smiled at everything the other said, and it was all so perfect." He still wanted it desperately, but the knowledge that it was out there for him - somewhere, at least in theory - diminished the urgency of the need. Even so, he could feel Ricky's judgmental gaze on him, and he sighed softly. Maybe the boy didn't understand. Maybe he'd been all wrong about-

"I wouldn't mind an Edward Rochester," Ricky admitted with a faint embarrassed smile. Now it was Kurt's turn to stare, confused, and the boy rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. "Didn't they make you read Jane Eyre at whatever fancy white school you went to? Even small-town boys should know that one."

"What makes you think I'm from a small town?" Or went to a fancy school, Kurt wanted to add, though both were true at least in part.

Ricky raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh please. Honey, you're cute, but you're not nearly the New Yorker you think you are. You're too naive to be one of us." When Kurt bristled at the accusation, Ricky soothed, "But it's okay. Dreams don't have to be practical - they can be as dumb as we want them to be. They don't hurt anyone. Don't cost anything, either, which is good if you got nothing to spend. Nothing wrong with wanting to be Lady Diana-" When Kurt was again confused, Ricky added, "from The Sheik - that one you should know, they made it a movie, it plays at one of those nickel theaters every couple weeks even though it's silent. But it's worth it to stare at Rudolph Valentino, he's got a great smoldering gaze and arms that can fling you around like a rag doll." Kurt didn't know that he understood why that would be a good thing, why it sounded like fun, but he liked the sound of Ricky's broader point, of dreams not hurting anyone or costing anything.

If only it had been the case for him. Dreams had hurt him time and time again, had come back to bite him...dreams had cost him dearly. But what choice did he have - giving up? Maybe that was all Ricky meant, that the cost of dreaming wasn't nearly as high as the cost of not dreaming, of not hoping, of giving up entirely on the idea of having wonderful things and an incredible life. Because if believing in something only to have it all come crumbling down around his head hurt, then the absence of dreaming had been agonizing. He shivered, thinking about the effort it had taken just to get out of bed every morning before he started thinking happiness was possible again. And now look at him - sitting in his apartment with a boy who understood how he felt and could talk about men to fall in love with.

"Now that I know you like romances, I really have soundtracks for you to listen to," he offered with a smile, and Ricky rolled his eyes a little.

"Ay, you and your Broadway, all the glitz and the bright lights, everything over the top - you couldn't be more gay if you tried."

"Gay?"

"Well, 'queer' is so nasty - true, maybe, but I have enough nasty words about me to fill the New York Public Library and don't need another. And 'homosexual' is something only doctors say - well, doctors and you," he added with a good-natured smirk. The smirk faded and he looked uncertain for a moment before asking, "Do you mind if I clean up?"

Given the state of the boy's hair, and the way he kept trying not to shiver in his undershirt, and the fact that he'd been wearing the same pants for several days, Kurt could certainly understand the question, and he nodded. "Of course. Go right ahead."

"Thanks, baby." He flashed a quick smile and excused himself from the table, darting into Kurt's room. Through the mostly-open door, Kurt could see him kneel and unzip the bag, a look of deep relief and comfort settling over his features. He rifled carefully through his belongings before retrieving a shirt of some kind - it looked like something blue and silky from where Kurt sat - and a pair of pants, then disappeared around the corner into the bathroom.

Kurt set to cleaning up, a strange uneasiness settling over him as he took Ricky's empty teacup and the mostly-empty cracker plate to the sink. The easy, relaxed feeling he had whenever he was actually talking to the other boy dissipated too quickly, the way it always did, and he was left with the sense that things didn't quite add up. Obviously Ricky hadn't had anywhere to go that night in the park, but that couldn't be a permanent condition, could it? There was no way that the bag in the bedroom contained everything Ricky owned - there was just no way. Because the boy laughed too much and smiled too broadly and joked too crudely, and there was just no world in which the boy who gave Kurt hope for his own future could have such a bleak one himself. That just didn't make any sense.

But what else could it be? Why else would he have been sleeping on a park bench? Why else had he not changed his clothes since Kurt had seen him three days earlier? From the way he had slipped cracker after cracker off the plate and into his mouth during the conversation so Kurt hadn't noticed the plate was mostly empty until after the fact, he wondered when the last time the boy had eaten was. Did he have anything?

It was all a ruse, Kurt realized slowly, heart aching as he scrubbed more quickly at the mug. The put-on effusiveness, the awkward over-ease, the too-bright smile, the flippant roll of his eyes...all of it was a cover. He should have recognized it before - he did the same thing. Not nearly as big, but he had his own tight grin, his own attempts at bad jokes, his tense stance and proud raise of his chin to tell the world he was fine when inside he felt like he was closer to dead than anything. No wonder they understood each other.

He smiled weakly as he heard the muffled sound of Ricky singing - who knew he was an Eydie Gorme fan? It wasn't perfect by any stretch, but it was more or less on-key and sounded...pleasant. Heartbreakingly normal. Like Ricky were any other boy singing in the shower and not someone whose bed for the past few nights had been some grimey bench in a park - or worse. God, what if it were worse than where he'd seen? What if he'd been in jail again or-

He heard something muffled outside the apartment, but before he could get worried that someone was prowling in the hallway - or that his neighbour was trying to spy on them again because the crazy old bat two doors down was convinced they were communists - he heard Rachel giggling. He glanced at the clock on the stove; she was back early again, which meant this was either the best possible guy for her or there was something wrong with him. Judging from the look on his roommate's face as she pushed open the door, he was inclined to say the former. Her eyes were starry, her smile broad and dreamy, and she leaned back against the door with a happy sigh to herself, hands clasped over her chest like a Disney character, before she noticed his presence.

"Kurt. I wasn't sure if you'd be home or if you had plans."

"I take it you had a nice time?" he asked fondly.

"It was lovely. He's perfect, Kurt, I-" she cut herself off, looking uncertain, and asked, "Are you sure you want to hear about this?"

Kurt looked at her skeptically. "You're home at a reasonable hour, it can't be anything too scandalous - can it?"

"What? Oh - no." She almost giggled, the very picture of a giddy, lovestruck schoolgirl. "I just wasn't sure if you wanted to hear about my wonderful night when you're alone every night." She looked at the two clean mugs sitting beside the sink, then listened and grinned broadly. "Unless you're not..."

"No," he replied quickly. "Ricky just came to get his bag, and he got caught in the storm so he's cleaning up."

"Why is he singing Eydie Gorme?"

Kurt stared at her, not sure what kind of question that was, and moved to change the subject quickly before Rachel could start in on all the questions that put him and Ricky in some fictitious, not-at-all anticipated relationship. "How was your date? Did he take you somewhere nice where he could show you off?"

"Of course," she replied with a grin and a roll of his eyes like he was silly for even asking such a thing. "He took me to Lutece, which was amazing - I think the bill must have been more than we spend on groceries all week. When I get my big break, I'm taking you there. You would love it, it's so elegant and everything is so rich and luxurious."

"Have you talked about your big break yet?" he asked. With Cal it had been practically the first topic of conversation, and considering how random the request for a date from the star had been, he assumed it had to be part of the package somewhere.

Rachel shook her head and put on water for her own tea. "It's not like that with Fred. He doesn't talk about it in those terms. Don't get me wrong, he certainly knows enough people that he could make it happen with the snap of a finger, but he doesn't want it to be quid pro quo. I can imagine that women must be throwing themselves at him because he's so accomplished - plenty of young ingenues looking for their first real job..."

"Women are throwing themselves at him because he's staggeringly attractive."

"I know," she almost giggled again. "His smile, Kurt, he lights up so brightly...whenever he talks about where he grew up, or his work, or me..." She hesitated before admitting, "I really like him. I know we've only been going out a few weeks, but I think he could be the one. We're so perfect together, we never have awkward lulls in conversation, and when I'm with him I feel so..."

Kurt knew he didn't need a boyfriend. That wasn't what he was craving - not anymore. He wasn't desperately trying to find someone to become his lover, or to share an apartment with as a fabulous little married couple (well, kind of). He admired what Don and John had, but the urgency wasn't there anymore as long as he could have someone who understood him.

But that didn't mean he didn't miss that feeling. The way a boy could look at him and make him feel like there was no one else in the entire world, like he made his life make sense even though things were terrifying and uncertain...He missed the adoration.

"...special," he filled in quietly, and Rachel beamed.

"Exactly," she replied. "I adore him. And he adores me. And he respects me, too, which I have to say is a much harder thing to find in this city than I would have expected. He hasn't even tried to do more than kiss me - chastely, I might add, just a sweet little goodbye peck - and he talks about the future like he thinks I'll be in it."

"Isn't it a little soon for that?"

"What makes it soon?" she asked. "If two people are moving toward the same things and are right for each other, why should they wait for their futures? If I know that we'd be good for each other-"

"Based on what?" Kurt asked. When Rachel just stared at him, he added, "Obviously he makes you happy, and you know I support you - I absolutely do." Rachel nodded that she knew, and Kurt continued, "But how well do you even know him?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you two really are made for each other - and I'm not saying you're not - then why are you jumping into-"

"We're not jumping into anything, it's not like he's tried to make anything official...not yet anyway. I just meant that he talks about us like it's not a casual date. Like I'm special. Like Cal never did."

The look on her face reminded Kurt of a kicked puppy, and he did feel bad for suggesting this wasn't worth her efforts - or her happiness. It was just that she jumped into things fast and wanted them so badly and wasn't always realistic about their actual prospects. But she deserved to dream, didn't she? She didn't have to be realistic all the time, she was allowed to have fantasies about how the world would be...even if his had been dashed and he was feeling his way slowly through reality in an attempt to navigate the devastating disappointments New York had to offer without losing all hope or joy. If she wanted to keep up the illusion, then why crush her spirit? Especially if she really wasn't making any actual, tangible moves or changes for this guy, what was the harm? Kurt did have to admit, he seemed like he was good for her, and he could certainly see the appeal.

"You are special," he replied sincerely, and she stopped looking quite so wide-eyed and sad. "I just want someone who's actually good for you. As your fake boyfriend, that is part of my role, right?"

She grinned at that, replying, "Well, there aren't any official rules for something like this, but I think so."

"Do I get to meet him?"

Before Rachel could answer, the tumbler clicked and Mercedes pushed open the door. She looked exhausted, hair mussed, her garment bag over her arm. "That was the longest single set ever," she replied exasperatedly. "These three white kids from Columbia showed up and were trying to pass out flyers for Freedom Rides, like they know anything about it. A couple of the guys who are really into the Nation tried to tell them to go away, and it turned into this huge fight. Then one of the kids threatened to call the police - all during my first two songs. It took four hymns before everything calmed down again, but even then the mood wasn't really great. Most people went home so they told me to come home early and-" she paused, listening for a moment. "Who's singing?"

Ricky had switched to something a little more up-tempo, and Kurt smiled to himself as he imagined the boy smiling and dancing as he sang it. He sounded positively exuberant, and when the sound of the water stopped Kurt could hear him whistling the instrumental break. Before he could say anything, Rachel filled in, "Kurt's boyfriend."

Kurt sighed. "He's not."

"Kurt, it's okay - you can be honest with us," Rachel replied earnestly, though the look on Mercedes' face was far less eager to hear about it.

"I am. He's not."

"Is it because one of you hasn't made the first move yet? I would have thought with two men the problem would be two people moving first, not neither person moving first..."

It was a ridiculous statement. At least, part of it certainly seemed ridiculous; he wouldn't know how to move first if he had to. He remembered trying to very hesitantly, tentatively nudge his way into a relationship with Blaine, and even then - even with the boy who was terrified of his own homosexual shadow - it didn't feel like he'd made the first move. Of course, he realized he wasn't entirely sure what making the first move felt like, so maybe her statement wasn't quite as dumb as he thought. But in either case, the first part of what she had said rendered the second part moot.

Was it really ridiculous to think about dating Ricky? He knew it shouldn't be, there was every reason to think it might go well. Ricky opened up around him, and he loved spending time with the boy just talking about anything and nothing. And the only relationship he'd been in before started as being best friends, hadn't it? Though as he thought about it...Blaine had always made him feel different. Even before he understood why, even before he had a name for what they were, the touch of Blaine's hand left him breathless. It wasn't like that with Ricky. It was more pure. Simpler.

If Ricky would let it be simple, that was. So far that part seemed less certain than he would have liked. Hopefully tonight would be a turning point and Ricky would give Kurt some way of contacting him in return so he wouldn't be forced to just sit and wait for the boy to call him. If Ricky even did call him, he had only called this time to get his bag back.

Although...what if the bag had been some kind of a ruse? What if Ricky had left it there on purpose, so he'd have a reason to come back? The more Kurt thought about it, the more that sounded like the most logical explanation. The bag contained all his worldly possessions and all his changes of clothes, and he just left it somewhere and didn't come back for a few days? What were the chances of that? None, Kurt concluded. Ricky had other clothes somewhere, but he had left the bag so he would have a justification to call Kurt and come back to see him. He must have. So he would do the same thing this time, he bet - and play it off like something silly, call after a few days with a roll of his eyes and that put-on tone and an "Oh sweetie, how dumb of me, I seem to have left my bag in your room again. Would you be home tonight so I could come get it? I'd lose my head if it weren't attached," and before long Ricky would just be a permanent fixture in their apartment with no further need for justification. He beamed, pleased with himself for unraveling Ricky's plan, happy to play along with a wink and a smirk if it would make them feel better.

"He's off-key," Mercedes pointed out stiffly as she laid her garment bag over the arm of the couch.

"It's a difficult song, not everyone has our skill," Rachel replied. "He was singing Blame it on the Bossa Nova earlier, though I'm not sure why-"

"What?" Ricky asked sharply as he emerged, dressed in a bright blue silk top that looked more like a blouse than a shirt, at least on him. His robins egg blue pajama bottoms were either too short for him or had been cut off to resemble pedal pushers, and they hung off his slender frame. He had wrapped the towel around his head like a turban, and Kurt could imagine he was mourning the lack of a suitable jewel and matching dressing gown. There was something very Norma Desmond about him, especially when he planted his hand on his jutted-out hip and fixed Rachel with a glare that seemed to dare someone to challenge him. "You thought I could only sing La Bamba?" he asked, deliberately slipping into a thicker accent.

"No, I-...well, I assumed you had different music, the way Mercedes does-"

"Oh, you did not just say that," Mercedes replied.

When Rachel turned to try to justify her comment to Mercedes, Ricky slipped out of the living room and back into Kurt's bedroom. As much as a part of Kurt did want to hear Rachel try to explain why she was not just right, but sensitive to appreciate Mercedes' unique culture, he had other priorities. He followed Ricky into his room, closing the door behind himself defensively. It was silly, he knew, as though Ricky were a stray cat that might escape if the door were left open, but he didn't want to leave things like this. What if Ricky decided he didn't want to come back after being insulted? It would be reasonable, especially since the boy didn't know Rachel. "She didn't actually mean that," he began, and Ricky looked up from his bag to stare at him skeptically.

"You're trying to defend her?"

"She's...eccentric, that's all. She doesn't always think of how things sound before she says them. But she means well, and she's not nearly as ridiculous as she sounds - not once you get to know her."

There was a long silence as Ricky neatly tucked his dirty clothes and damp undershirt into his bag, then tugged the towel off his head. He hesitated, hands running over the rough terrycloth for a moment before he folded it neatly and set it on top of his bag. "Is it okay if we just talk in here? You had records you wanted me to hear or something?" he asked, nodding toward the smaller record player that sat on top of Kurt's dresser.

Kurt let out a sigh of relief he didn't know he'd been holding. "Yes. That'd be great. I can go get them - do you want anything else?"

"No, baby, I'm good." Ricky held out the folded towel, and Kurt took it, flashing a quick smile before darting out to retrieve the albums.

"They'll be having this argument for awhile, they won't even notice we're gone," Kurt offered with a smirk as he returned. "Do you have one you want to start with, or should I pick?"

Ricky thought a moment, then ventured, "Put on the love story - the one with the captain guy you were talking about earlier."

Beaming, Kurt slipped The Sound of Music out of its sleeve and put it on the turntable. He opened the drawer carefully, not wanting to scratch the record or make it skip, and plucked out a pair of navy silk pajamas before he closed the drawer just as carefully. "I'll just-"

"Oh honey, I don't care that much, you're not my type and I've seen a lot more," Ricky replied easily. Kurt smiled faintly and made quick work of changing into his pajamas before lying on the bed beside his friend. They both fell asleep before the end of the first side, but not before Ricky reached over to wrap his arm around Kurt's, holding and squeezing his hand for a moment before going back to asking drowsy questions about the plot.

When Kurt's alarm went off the next morning, both the boy and the duffel bag were gone.