Kurt had meant to go home on the early side of things, he really had. He'd spent the past day and a half worrying about Ricky and whether he really was as homeless as it seemed like he might be, and he wanted to be able to watch for any calls - just in case. He knew Ricky had taken all his belongings and wouldn't have an excuse to call him again, and he got the distinct sense that the boy was too proud to call and say he needed a warm bed and a hot meal, but maybe there was a chance the boy would call anyway. Maybe he wasn't creating this entire connection in his head the way he had in the past, and Ricky really did like him and would want to see him again, and would call...and since he had no way of calling the boy back, he would lose his chance until the phone rang again if he missed the call when it came in.

It was just so hard to keep track of time in that windowless room. Especially once he had pulled out the thinner book on the shelves, labeled "Military" rather than a year, and found the uniforms Mainbocher had designed for the women of World War II...well, he had always loved a well-tailored military jacket, and before he realized it he had six pages of sketches and the clock on the edge of his desk told him it was well past 7.

He practically sprinted from his office, cursing under his breath as he just missed the train and tapping his foot impatiently and rolling his eyes as he waited what felt like forever but was, in reality, only six minutes. By the time he arrived at his front door, his was breathless from speedwalking from the subway and taking the stairs two at a time. He paused long enough to fish his key out of his bag and his heart leapt for a minute as he heard voices inside - one sounded like Rachel, and one was someone else but didn't sound like Mercedes...and she would be gone already this time of night anyway. Maybe Ricky had just stopped by, he thought with a grin, unlocking the door and pushing it open.

He tried not to be disappointed as he saw Rachel on the couch cuddled up to a familiar blond. Rachel hadn't been lying, Fred was definitely more attractive in person, and that was a very high bar to begin with. "Hi, Kurt," Rachel called, looking over at him with a contented smile. "You're home late."

"I lost track of time."

"He works in a closet," Rachel informed Fred, who looked amused but a little perplexed.

"Not a closet, exactly, but it's close enough," Kurt replied as he set down his bag, then crossed to the living room. "I just wanted to say I've seen everything you've been in and are fantastic - the movie with the space invaders and all," he stated, and Fred grinned - Rachel was right, it really did light up a room.

"Thanks. You must be Kurt." He offered his hand easily, and as Kurt shook it he added, "Rachel speaks really highly of you."

"Oh - before I forget," Rachel jumped in, a bright smile spreading across her face. "You got a call while you were at work," she chirped, bordering on sing-song, and Kurt didn't even have to ask who it had been - she wouldn't be nearly so upbeat about his dad calling to check in on him or let them know Finn had sent another letter. He sighed - his one chance and he had missed it. What if Ricky didn't call again? Was he going to have to wait two more days to hear back? "What's wrong? Are you two fighting already? Because he didn't sound angry with you."

"No. He's just a very hard person to get in touch with."

"I think that's my cue," Fred said stiffly, standing. Kurt just barely hid the roll of his eyes at the star's obvious discomfort as soon as Rachel made it sound like he was dating a boy. He wasn't...but the fact that he wanted to was objectionable enough. "I'll see you tomorrow, honey?" he asked her.

"Of course," she replied with a sweet smile, sitting on the edge of the couch, legs crossed demurely at the ankles. She leaned up, practically batting her eyelashes, and this time Kurt didn't even bother to hide his eye-rolling. Fred leaned down to give her a light peck, straightening with a smile, then tucked her hair back behind her ear before leaving. "Isn't he just as amazing as I said?"

Kurt knew that asking for acceptance for who he was, was a lot to ask from most people. But was it completely unreasonable? A part of him felt like at the very least any man Rachel was willing to spend that much time with shouldn't be scared off so easily by the topic - for one thing, if he ever planned on meeting her dad, the guy would have to get used to the fact that her dad's "colored homosexual lover" came as part of the deal. Though considering so far he had met only one boy their age who wasn't gay who was accepting, and in light of the fact that he wasn't even sure what state Sam was in right now, he supposed it might be too much to ask.

At least for now. Maybe one day he could make that a criteria for anyone Rachel introduced to him, anyone she considered a potential suitor. At some point that would cease to be such a tall order, wouldn't it? Assuming she wasn't married by the time that happened, anyway.

"He's even more dashing than you said," he replied simply. "You look good together," he added sincerely, and her smile went from adoring to jubilant.

"You really think so?"

"Absolutely. And I could put you in fantastic coordinating ensembles for the Tonys one day."

"Would I have anyone else make my dress?" she smiled fondly. "You should call Ricky back - otherwise he'll think you don't want to talk to him. And don't worry about looking desperate, he did call twice and hang up before he finally told me who it was. He has such a crush on you..."

Kurt gave her a deadpan look, but he was worried - he called three times? What if Ricky was in trouble? What if he was in jail again, or his things had been stolen, or he needed somewhere to go so badly that he couldn't risk it anymore- "I can't call him back," he stated, voicing his biggest frustration. He didn't know if Ricky really didn't have a phone regularly - as he suspected - or just refused to give Kurt his number - which was less likely but what Kurt hoped was the case - but in either event he had no way of contacting the boy.

"Why? Is he always too busy out and about on the town?"

"...Yes and no," Kurt replied, because that was the simpler explanation.

"What does that mean?" Rachel asked, laughing softly as she walked over to the sink for a glass of water.

"It means...I don't know. I think there's something going on with him."

"Another boy?" she asked, eyes wide and sympathetic. The look was achingly piteous, and he cut her off quickly to avoid the oncoming soliloquy about how she knew exactly what that felt like because she had been through the same thing.

"No!" What was so hard for her to understand that they weren't dating, so any boy Ricky chose to see wouldn't be any of his business or concern as long as they were still friends- but she had such a knowing look at his quick answer that he knew that any explanation he tried to give would fall on deaf ears. "There's no boy. At least, not that I know of. It's complicated."

"Because your love is forbidden," she stated matter-of-factly. "I know how hard that's been for my dad-"

"Rachel, there is no love. We're friends. And...I think he's in trouble," he ventured cautiously.

"What kind of trouble?" she asked, concerned, then her eyes widened. "I've heard the police will arrest homosexuals sometimes. You don't think..."

It was times like this, Kurt concluded, that he was reminded just how frustratingly naive Rachel could be. It wasn't her fault - she meant well. She meant to be a shoulder he could lean on, she really did. But she had never really known so many things. She knew of things, tangentially, because of her dad and his lover or her single mom or Mercedes or him, but she hadn't experienced any of it. She was genuinely shocked that the police arrested people like him - and not just that they did it here, but that they did it at all. He had known that for years. He had known since that horrible moment when he was sixteen that he had opened the newspaper to find a movie and seen the only safe place he knew splashed across the page along with the names and occupations of everyone who had been there. And now he knew far too many details about exactly what the police did when they arrested homosexuals - how they looked, the names they used...

And Rachel had no idea.

Part of that might be his fault, he realized. He as much as anyone tended to not tell her the whole truth of things, to let her stay in her own little world where she was the ultimate star and nothing bad happened to people she liked. He could have told her - in theory. If he had known where to begin, he could have told her...but the idea of watching her eyes grow wide and her face fall as he detailed everything that the police did when they arrested those unlucky gay souls in whatever corner they happened to swoop down that night...

"It's not that," he stated, choosing instead to skip over the conversation entirely. She wouldn't understand it anyway, he rationalized as he turned his attention back to the problem at hand. She would find a way to make it all about herself in her own naive way, as though some time she was worried or called a name could compare with being ordered to strip in a drafty interrogation room while police called him every foul name and accused him of every vile crime they could think of. Rachel would never be able to truly understand - and that was okay. It just meant he needed someone else in addition to Rachel, someone for whom he didn't have to explain the dark underbelly of everything. But it was starting to occur to him that maybe the reason Ricky understood meant there was a lot more darkness than Kurt wanted to think about.

How could someone just have nowhere to go? How could this boy - who couldn't be more than a couple years older than him, at most, and seemed like he might even be younger though Kurt had no idea - not have somewhere to sleep or keep his clothes? What could possibly have happened that Ricky needed to shower at his place instead of at his own apartment?

"Well, he sounded fine when he called," Rachel concluded after a moment of Kurt not explaining what the problem was. "As upbeat and chipper as ever - and as adorable. You know, it sounds like he has a busy night planned anyway."

"Really?" Kurt asked, eyebrows raising just slightly. It seemed strange that Ricky would call to tell him he had other plans, so he suspected it must have been a ruse - just downplaying a request to come over and listen to more albums, making it sound like it was fine that Kurt wasn't there because he had plenty of things to do instead.

"Yeah, he said he was going to his mother's house and just wanted to know if you wanted to go with him - since you had been talking about it," she relayed as best she could remember. "You really need to work on this story of yours, Kurt, because if you're not dating then why in the world would he be taking you to meet his mother? Unless she's like my dad, in which case-"

"Mama's?" Kurt asked, and Rachel looked at him curiously. "Is that what he called it?"

"I think so, why?" she asked.

"It's a restaurant," he explained, already gathering his things. "Did he say he was still going?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's worth a shot, isn't it?"

For all her incessant insistence that his relationship with Ricky was more than what it was, he did appreciate that she was eager for him to see the boy. It could have been much worse - he remembered how abandoned Mercedes had felt when he had started talking to Rachel more than to her, and he knew when Rachel was going out every night with her sleazy exboyfriend he had felt even more abandoned and lonely in their undersized apartment. She really did want him to enjoy himself. He paused getting ready, asking in the same spirit, "What are you up to tonight, then? A quiet evening at home? More scales practice?"

"No, I'm going out."

Kurt's eyes narrowed - that wasn't the usual response of a girl who had just told her boyfriend she would see him tomorrow. "Really."

"Yes. Well- not going out, not on a date," she clarified. "Fred's busy all night, he has a meeting with a producer, so Bobby and I are going to get dinner and then try out monologues and songs on one another. Neither of us have had much luck lately, even though we're both incredibly talented, and since I'm choosing not to use my star-dating power for good or for ill, we're going to be each other's coach."

"That sounds like fun."

"And a great way to get a fresh perspective on what we're each doing wrong," Rachel stated. "Though I doubt he'll have much to pick apart."

Kurt rolled his eyes fondly at Rachel's typical response as he pulled on his jacket. "Have fun."

"You too. You can bring Ricky back to entertain him here if you want. We're getting a late start because Bobby had to pick up a job waiting tables. I feel bad - I remember what that was like, back when I had to try to schedule auditions around a mundane job as a typist or someone's assistant, getting coffee when I should have been singing. Oh well. It will serve both of us well when a director needs someone who can bring the kind of raw frustration and despair that suffering in a tedious unrelated job can create."

On that note, Kurt decided it was probably best to leave. He just really hoped Ricky was still planning on going where he said he was and it wasn't a ruse to cover his embarrassment over calling. It was so hard to tell with that boy sometimes, but an evening at Mama's talking about musicals sounded like the perfect night.

* * * * *

With the combination of wine, song, and helpful criticism, Rachel wasn't sure there could be a better or more enjoyable way to spend the evening. It wasn't just enjoyable, it was productive. Rachel went first - as she always did when given a choice - and though she thought Bobby was wrong that her A was flat, his comments had otherwise been reasonable enough: Pull back a little in the middle of the second verse to move more strongly into the chorus, hold the belt just a fraction of a count longer. All of it was designed to better showcase her talent, and Bobby certainly seemed to understand what it was about her voice that would make her a star.

If only directors saw what both of them did.

It wasn't until Bobby began to sing that she realized she had only heard him once before, that first audition where he barely got through the first few lines before being cut off. She knew he sounded great that day, but she hadn't been able to see just how much he lit up.

You have the cool, clear eyes of a seeker of wisdom and truth
Yet there's that upturned chin and that grin of impetuous youth
Oh I believe in you
I believe in you.

Not only was his voice better than most, with a sweet quality she found lovely, but his emotional connection to the song was perfect. It was strong, genuine - she believed every word he was saying, which was almost never the case when she heard people audition. Especially the men - it seemed like so few of them understood the importance of really conveying the emotional meaning of the song. It was crucial to a perfect performance, yet so many of them would just stand out onstage or front and center in a tiny casting room and bark out lyrics about being in love without ever looking like they were. Sure, they were singing it to a panel of directors who were all men and most of the performers weren't homosexuals so that might be awkward (and awkward for the directors as well), but that wasn't the point. In order to fully express the song as well as their acting abilities, they needed to act as though they were in love with someone in the room when they sang about love. Bobby, though...while it was a song more about being in love with himself than with a girl, he sounded convincing inasmuch as the song was about convincing himself that he was good enough.

I hear the sound of good solid judgment whenever you talk
yet there's the bold, brave spring of the tiger that quickens your walk
Oh I believe in you
I believe in you

She was thankful he didn't do any gimmicky things like Robert Morse did on the line about the tiger - that would have ruined it by making a cheap joke. No; Bobby was far too sincere for a growl to work there. He sounded like he was really convincing-

...himself. And her, because she was pretty sure he believed in her, too, but mostly himself.

She could picture him standing in his bathroom mirror every morning, practicing scales in the shower because that room definitely had better acoustics than the rest of his tiny studio, warming up before his audition, then singing this affirmation to himself in the mirror. He really was sweet that way, with that grin of his and his expressive eyes.

And when my faith in my fellow man all but falls apart
I've just got to feel your hand grasping mine and I take heart
I take heart

He stopped singing to himself on the bridge, eyes piercing her in a way that made her feel flustered and excited all at once - the same way they had the day they met, when he tugged her into the empty stairwell. She gazed back at him, slipping forward a little on the edge of his bed, watching him intently.

To see the cool, clear eyes of a seeker of wisdom and truth
Yet with the slam, bang, tang reminiscent of gin and vermuth
Oh I believe in you
I believe in you...you...you

As he finished the song, he looked at her, breathing a little hard from a combination of holding the last note and the exhilaration of a song well-sung, and asked with a proud grin, "Well?" It was a tone Rachel knew well, one she used frequently herself: Bobby knew he'd performed amazingly well, but she had to give him credit for not preening. It was difficult sometimes not to.

"That was fantastic," she replied, returning his grin. "You had a real emotional connection to the song, the depth of it was perfect. And your tone was beautiful."

"Thanks." He brushed back his hair with his fingertips, smile softening. "Do you want something to drink?"

"Sure," Rachel replied, then added as a thought occurred to her. "But not-"

"Milk, I know," Bobby assured her as he crossed the one-room apartment to the kitchen area: It was practically just a counter across the room, no longer than Rachel was tall, with a stove and sink crammed in. He reached up to grab two glasses and poured water for each of them.

"Should we do our monologues now?" Rachel asked, reaching for her bag. "I brought a few classics I thought I could try, maybe we could even practice cold readings together. I know I usually don't have anyone to practice with, Kurt tends to get tired of it after the third hour so I don't get nearly as much rehearsal time as I would like. And since it's more and more common now to do that instead of a traditional monologue, maybe it would be a good exercise for us."

"You never stop, do you?"

Bobby's question and it's accompanying fond smile confused her. "What do you mean?"

"You're so focused on our work all the time," he pointed out as he sat beside her on the bed - the only piece of furniture save his dresser, an upright piano, and some bookshelves that were crammed with sheet music and classic plays. "We sang through a song apiece and knocked them out of the park. We don't have to keep trudging along and worry about getting through everything. We can have a little fun, you know."

He was so close as he said it, smiling so sweetly, looking so genuinely interested in her response, that Rachel knew he could only mean one thing by that. To say she was flustered would be an understatement as she sprang to her feet. "No," she replied quickly. "I don't know what you might have heard about me, I- I know that you heard about Cal and I - but I am not focused on that. Besides, I have a boyfriend, and we're very happy, so you can forget about trying to use a perfectly-sung song to get-"

Bobby's eyes widened and he choked on his water, sputtering and shaking his head quickly. "No," he choked out. "Rachel- please, no, I wasn't- Don't g-" A coughing fit cut him off, but Rachel was pretty sure the word he was trying to say was 'go.' She couldn't very well let him die from choking on his own water, so she reached over to rub his back as he slowly began to get under control. "That was not what I meant," he said, his half-laugh coming out more like a throaty chortle. He swallowed, then clarified, "I just meant you should relax a little bit."

"I can't afford that," she stated, hoping that if she blew right past the question of why she assumed that was what he wanted, he wouldn't bring it up. "Everyone in this city wants the same thing you and I want: They want to be stars, to be famous, to be brilliant singers and actors and dancers. Every minute we don't work, we're only helping their chances at taking our dreams. If I'm going to win by first Tony Award by the time I'm 25, I can't possibly relax and let loose, certainly not on a night we've dedicated to perfecting our audition skills."

"Who's to say we can't do both?" Bobby pointed out. "If you're anything like me - and believe me, you are," he added with a teasing grin as he stood and crossed to one of the bookcases. "You have what others might call a 'strange idea of what fun is.' I know that's what they said about me back home. Because while all the other boys were out playing catch, what I thought was fun..." he pulled out a songbook and moved over to the piano, patting the bench beside him.

He did have a point. While all the other girls in Lima had thought the most fun a person could have was spending all day doing nothing but talking with friends, Rachel had never seen it that way. She was always her happiest when she was performing - not just because she felt productive, but it was because that was what she loved more than anything. "What songs do you have?" she asked, smoothing her skirt as she walked over to sit beside him on the piano bench, glad her misunderstanding earlier hadn't made Bobby awkward. That would have been even more mortifying.

"Plenty of them," he replied. "I thought we could start with some Rodgers and Hart - I assume you've heard of them," he added, teasing.

"Well, only a little," she replied with a dramatic wink.

Bobby began to play, and Rachel could barely do anything but watch him - he came alive when he played almost as much as when he sang, his entire body bopping along happily as he pounded out the big band chords. She loved this song, too, if only because it meant she got to belt out a note in the perfect place in her range to be truly impressive. Plus it was a very difficult song to sing, which spoke volumes of her talent, and she knew if anyone could appreciate that it was Bobby. But she couldn't help but remark, "You're really good."

Bobby looked up at her, shaken from his musical world, and smiled almost shyly. He kept playing as he replied, "Thanks."

"Do you like singing better, is that why you're not playing professionally?"

"I don't know," he replied simply, but it did seem genuine rather than evasive. "I just always wanted to sing and dance on Broadway - you know what that's like."

"I do," she confirmed. "But this would certainly have to be a better backup job than waiting tables. If I could play like that, I would do it in a heartbeat instead of being a secretary between jobs. I bet I could find someone who could help you get your break into the industry. Every audition needs a pianist, plus rehearsals, performances, even some composers don't play themselves - or don't play well enough. I'm sure if I talked to Fred-" He stopped playing, staring at her for a long moment as though trying to figure out what her agenda might be, and she jumped in immediately to explain, "I just want to help you. You're really good, and you seem to enjoy it, and I thought-"

"So you really are dating a little star?"

"What?"

"Well, he's not big enough yet to be a big star. He will be, he's really good at what he does, but he's not yet. Hence, 'little star.'"

"Oh," Rachel said, blinking. "Yes, I am, then."

"Then why are you here?" Rachel didn't even know what that meant and she stared at him, eyes narrow, as she tried to figure out what he was trying to say. After a moment, he went on. "You could have anything you wanted dating him, I'm sure he could get you a job. When I asked if you wanted to work on auditions, you didn't have to say yes out of pity-"

"I didn't," she replied quickly, grasping his hand where it rested on the keys. "I'm not asking him for anything," she explained. "He hasn't offered, but I haven't asked. I want to make it on my own, I don't want to rely on the kindness of someone I'm dating to define the roles that I can get. I'm more than talented enough, I should be able to do it my own with pride."

"Then why are you dating him?" he asked.

"What do you mean? Isn't it obvious?" Maybe it was just because Bobby was a boy that he didn't understand - well, a heterosexual boy, because Kurt certainly didn't try to tell her that Fred wasn't a good boyfriend. He was charming and funny and kind and he didn't treat her like something disposable, and his eyes were bright and his smile was brighter. Who wouldn't want to date him?

"Well I know it's not for intimacy - you're not his type."

She stared at him, not sure what he could possibly mean by that. Was it because she wasn't like those beautiful blonde-haired girls with the delicate features and high cheekbones and light eyes, the ones who looked glamourous and local all at once while she just looked...Jewish? Was it because she wasn't established enough? Some stars only dated others of their caliber because they were who would fully understand the demands of the industry, and she didn't know enough about Fred's dating history to know for sure whether that was his usual choice of a girlfriend. "Why?"

Bobby just stared at her, as though trying to figure out if she were kidding or not, then shook his head. "I'm not going to explain that one to you. No way. I had to do that to another girl once and she didn't take it well at all."

So it was that there was something wrong with her, Rachel concluded, that made her unsuited to being considered one of his usual choices. That had to be what Bobby meant - why else would it have gone so badly with the previous girl he had a similar conversation with? She looked down, trying to figure out what could possibly be so wrong with herself, asking, "What do you mean?"

Bobby shook his head again. "Let's keep singing." He started another song

You don't know that I felt good when we up and parted

"Wait, no - really. What did you mean?" Rachel asked, irritated more by Bobby's evasiveness than by what he said. Not that he said much of anything at all, had he? "Why wouldn't I be his type? And why is it any of your business anyway?"

"It isn't," Bobby replied before singing his line.

You don't know I knocked on wood, gladly broken-hearted
Worrying is through-

Rachel cut herself off to reply. "That's right, it's not. So why are you-"

"Because I care about you," Bobby replied, looking at her with the same earnest eyes as before.

Rachel was taken aback by the admission, eyes widening. "Bobby...I'm flattered, honestly I am, but I can't date you- even if you don't understand why, Fred is my boyfriend and I'm not going to do anything dishonest to him. For one thing, it would cause a scandal, him being an almost-star and all, and for another I really do like him - a lot, I might love him - so you-"

"Who said anything about dating you?" Bobby replied, staring at her like she'd lost her mind now, and Rachel didn't understand what happened so quickly. "I didn't mean like that, I meant I care about you - as someone who thinks you have the potential to be an amazing star someday soon if you don't keep dating every man in New York with some minor amount of power or influence."

Rachel's eyes widened further, bordering on comical, stunned. "How dare you think that's what I'm doing?" she demanded.

"Isn't it?" he shot back pointedly. "First the director anyone could see was sleazy from a mile away, then the guy who propositioned you, now the B-list star on his way to the top? You can't tell me you aren't attracted to that kind of power and what it can do for you. You're ambitious, Rachel, and you're not stupid. Which is why I'm saying you have got to look down the road a little ways - I don't want you to become a joke. You're too talented for that."

"You think I'm dating Fred for the career perks? If that were true, then why is he not offering to help me? Why am I here with you instead of out at his meeting with his producer friend? she asked. Because Bobby had no idea what he was talking about. Fred hadn't so much as tried to get her roles yet, though he did say he knew she was talented and would be a star but everyone knew that. How could Bobby possibly claim that she was using Fred for his power and influence when she hadn't asked him to exercise any?

She loved Fred. Or she might - she could. She certainly could very soon. Who wouldn't? He was sweet and kind and beautiful and treated her like she was worth something instead of blowing her off the way other boys did, and he lit up when he saw her - if that didn't mean he loved her, too, then what did? She might not be the most experienced at this kind of thing, but she was pretty sure that this wasn't like Cal. Even Kurt didn't think so, and he was the most skeptical, cynical person she knew.

Except apparently Bobby.

He was silent for a moment, considering his response, then replied evenly, "There are two choices, the way I see it. Either he respects you and your abilities enough to let you make it on your own, or he's stringing you along and using you. But given your history of not being able to tell, I'm not sure I trust you to be right."

Rachel wasn't sure whether to be more insulted by his insinuation that she was too naive to know what was going on or the idea that Fred was using her and just pretending to be a good guy to lure her into a false sense of security. Either way, she wasn't going to sit there and listen to it. With a dramatic flourish, she stood and stormed out, hair bouncing behind her.

Yes - The evening had been going perfectly well until Bobby had to open his big mouth.

* * * * *

By the time Kurt arrived at Mama's, he was absolutely convinced he had missed Ricky for the night. He wasn't even sure Ricky had ever been actually intending to go to Mama's, for all he knew it was just some story he made up for Rachel to make it sound like he wasn't just trying to call and come over, and even if Ricky had actually planned on going who knew if he had actually gone once he though Kurt wasn't coming. And even if he had shown up at some point, that had been an hour or two by now, and how long could one boy sit at a restaurant without anyone else there?

But at least Mama's would make for a good evening, Kurt hoped. He might run into Don and John again, at the very least, and finally have the chance to ask them the things he'd been wanting to ask them for weeks. It was just that there was never a good time - Don was afraid to talk about things during work, even though the new position was meant to give him more of a chance to interact with the man during business hours, and he didn't even know where in the building John worked or what precisely he did. So either way the evening probably wouldn't be a waste - and he might meet more new friends, though who he really wanted to see was still the boy who understood so much about him without even trying.

But maybe other boys there would understand him, too. He remembered the conversation in which he first met John, the comment "Oh honey we've all been there" - when talking about his being arrested and having his photograph plastered all over the paper. Maybe it really was commonplace enough that plenty of the boys at the restaurant would understand what he was going through and appreciate his creativity and general love of all things unique.

He stepped into the restaurant after getting lost for only a few blocks, smiling faintly to himself as the hot and cold air blasts hit him at once - it may not have been comfortable, but the fogging of the windows made it more than worth it, watching boys dance or even kiss like two of them had done the other night. He looked around, taking stock, when he heard a familiar voice chirp, "Vonny!" Kurt looked toward the source of the sound and saw Ricky, dressed in different clothes than Kurt had last seen him in - which was good - sitting at a booth toward the front. He looked better than he had the last time Kurt saw him, even if he still looked too tired and too thin, and his broad smile was accentuated by the rouge pinking his cheeks, eyes lined heavily with makeup. "Over here," he added brightly with a wave.

He looked good. Made-up but not like the tiny half-drowned boy Kurt had found on his doorstep a few nights earlier. Maybe Ricky's situation wasn't as dire as he had feared.

Kurt moved eagerly over to the table, slipping into the vinyl booth across from him. Ricky started to speak almost before Kurt was seated. "Oh good, you got the message. I knew you had found this place eventually the other night, and you liked it so much...but your roommate's kind of crazy so I wasn't sure you would know I was here until it was too late."

"She thought we were a serious couple and you were asking me to go meet your mother."

Ricky stared for a moment, then burst into a fit of giggles, brown eyes wide and sparkling. "Oh Vonny, she didn't."

"That's Rachel," Kurt replied dryly, then backtracked. "Vonny?" he asked with a skeptical raise of his eyebrow even as he smiled.

"It's what I've decided to call you," Ricky replied definitively. "Kurt's so...boring. But Von Trapp is a bit formal for us, isn't it? Hence, Vonny. Like The Sound of Music - like you played for me."

It was the first time Ricky had ever referenced the time they had previously spent together, Kurt realized. He always made clear that they knew each other, they weren't like Don and John in public, but usually he didn't talk about anything they had talked about or done before. Of course, usually their time together was the result of something completely humiliating, so Kurt supposed he could understand why. But it felt nice - and it was certainly nice to see the boy relaxed and happy, even if it was a little out of the blue.

"Have you eaten yet?" Ricky asked, indicating his own half-eaten BLT. He picked up a fry and looked prepared to point it at Kurt in admonishment if he didn't like the response.

"Not yet, let me-" Kurt started to fish for his wallet, but Ricky cut him off.

"None of that. Dinner's on me tonight - it was a good day," he added with a flash of a proud grin. Kurt wasn't entirely sure what that meant, and he started to protest but the look on the boy's face made clear exactly how seriously his arguments would be taken.

Maybe it was a pride thing on Ricky's part, paying him back for food and a place to stay the other night. Either way, he hated to take it from someone who couldn't afford it, but for all he knew he was wrong about what his friend's situation was. For all he knew, Ricky had been going through a rough patch with his roommates - if Mercedes were a different kind of person, he could easily see where she might have opted to stay somewhere else - anywhere else - rather than dealing with her groupmates some nights. Maybe he had made up the entire sad story in his head because his overactive imagination didn't have nearly enough things to create these days.

"So you liked the musical," Kurt concluded with a smile as Ricky snapped his fingers to summon one of the waiters.

"it's still a little optimistic of a love story if you ask me. But it was nice."

"Optimistic? They had to escape from Nazis," Kurt pointed out.

"So they traipsed through the Alps overnight," Ricky replied with a dismissive wave of a fry. "They were people from barely-different worlds who ended up together by singing and dancing and bringing music back to Germans."

"Austrians," Kurt corrected.

"Future-communists. Whatever. But it was sweet, if a little simple."

"Simple romance can be nice," Kurt replied. "The way it feels to just be with a person you really love, who really loves you? To hold his hand and share a glance across the room that no one else is privy to. It's beyond nice, it's...magical."

"You want a Disney movie," Ricky teased, and Kurt felt himself start to bristle. What was wrong with that? What was wrong with wanting any of that? What was so horrible about wanting the same things everyone else wanted but was allowed to have? But Ricky's voice softened, and he said quietly, "I hope you find it, honey. I hope you find a prince - then you can have little birds dress you in the morning and sew those gorgeous jackets of yours."

Kurt laughed softly at that, then asked, "Have you ever found it?"

Ricky rolled his eyes. "Who has the time?" he asked dismissively. "Or the nerve for it - like any man in this city wants to be seen with the likes of us."

"I know men who've found it," Kurt replied with certainty, thinking of his boss and his lover, of the way they looked at each other right here last week. "It's not perfect, but it's there somewhere."

"Not for us," Ricky repeated with a shrug as if to say 'and who needs it,' then asked with some hesitation, "...You've found it, haven't you? But lost it again?"

"He was afraid," Kurt replied quietly. "We were in Ohio, and I thought he was coming here to have what my boss and his lover have, and then suddenly he...wasn't anymore."

Ricky nodded sympathetically, patting Kurt's hand. "Anyone with your cheekbones stands a better than average chance of finding a good man, one day," he allowed, then withdrew his hand and snapped back into his less-serious voice. "Where is that waiter?" he asked, snapping again. Kurt wondered if the snapping of Ricky's fingers was exactly what was keeping the waiter away, even if he might have done the same thing, and he let his gaze wander.

The restaurant was just as crowded as it had been the other night, and Kurt thought he recognized some of the same men from before - the group in the corner booth, a few of the younger guys sitting at that end of the counter, the four men - or was it two couples? - in their forties or so sitting at the table near the center of everything. He loved the idea of this being a place people could just come and spend their evenings, like a few of the restaurants back home, somewhere where everyone knew each other and looked out for each other. That community thing Don talked about, the idea of there being more people out there and the need to take care of one another. Maybe if he came around more often he could be part of this - really part of it. If he were going to find a boyfriend, it did seem like the most likely place, and to find more friends and people he could talk to it seemed the perfect location. Either way, it felt safe here. Comfortable. Full of people who-

His gaze landed on a familiar thatch of well-styled blond hair and a beaming grin. Kurt watched as Fred touched the arm of an attractive young man, laughing at something the stranger said, then looked around with a jovial roll of his eyes. He could see the exact moment the star saw him: all the life seemed to drain from Fred's face beginning with his eyes as they turned first dead then fearful, then the colour left his cheeks as he paled, then his smile faded slowly, drooping down. He swallowed hard, clearly caught, practically begging with his gaze:

Please don't say anything.