Well, that wasn't entirely true. He was perfectly capable of keeping them - he had kept his secret from his dad until Christmas, there were still things he wasn't telling Rachel or Mercedes - and probably never would. He didn't reveal confidences , that was for sure. He appreciated too well why there was information that could be damaging or traumatic to share with others. Unlike Rachel who seemed to go blithely through life without any care for what might or might not be appropriate to share, he understood why people couldn't reveal everything about them, and he respected it. If Ricky shared anything with him, he wouldn't tell a soul.

But that was different. Fred's secret was different than what Ricky's situation might be or his own night in jail. Who he loved, who he wanted to be with, didn't hurt anyone around him. It didn't involve anyone but him and maybe - if he was lucky, one day - a beautiful boy he met at Mama's. Fred, on the other hand...

Did Rachel even know?

She must not, he concluded, if Fred looked so scared that Kurt might tell someone. He might on some level be afraid that Kurt would tell the press, would tip off a theatre writer for the Times and end the man's career before it could really take off. But not only would the newspaper not print such salacious, filthy gossip when it had nothing to do with Fred's acting...but Rachel wouldn't be able to call Fred her boyfriend without an exaggerated wink if she knew the secret. She would go around telling Kurt about how she had managed to snag a second "boyfriend" to help him avoid suspicion of homosexuality. She would laugh about how great it was to have two men wanting to date her even if they secretly wanted to date each other, and she would try to get Fred to take him out on a date where no one could see them. She wouldn't understand the dozen ways what she was saying was wrong or made one or both of them uncomfortable, but she would mean well and she would genuinely want them to be happy even if she couldn't see all the realities of their lives.

Rachel couldn't keep her mouth shut if her life depended on it. If his first confirmation that Fred was gay like he was, was seeing him at Mama's...then Rachel must not have any idea.

Was he really supposed to not tell her?

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Vonny. Too much chocolate cake?" Ricky asked as they strode back to the subway. He couldn't help but notice he hadn't actually asked Ricky if he wanted to come back tonight, and Kurt wasn't sure if that was progress or not. He wished he knew whether it was because Ricky wanted to spend time with him or because things were so bad- though if he'd had a good enough day to buy dinner, including dessert and coffee for them both, he figured the situation couldn't be too dire tonight. He couldn't help but smile a little at the idea that he was no longer coaxing the boy back to his apartment with a trail of appetizers and the promise of a hot shower; even if he had bigger problems tonight, that was a step in the right direction.

"No - but oh my god it was good," Kurt commented, and Ricky laughed, nudging his shoulder as they crossed 14th Street toward the station.

"I swear, I could eat that every night. But I hate to think about what I'd look like if I did," he groaned.

"You could afford it," Kurt replied, eying him.

"Oh, men love an overweight queen bursting out of a too-small gown," Ricky laughed, rolling his eyes.

They fell into easy silence, and it surprised him a little that Ricky would ask what was wrong but not circle back to the subject. Though considering how much Ricky tried to avoid serious conversations in favour of surface-level discussions of rock stars and Hollywood, it wasn't too strange when Kurt thought about it. He was going to have to be the one to delve into the deeper topic if he really wanted to talk about it...and he did. Or at least, he needed a second opinion to help him figure out what to do. "I saw someone tonight," he ventured as they descended the stairs.

"Ooo - you should've told me! I would've left to give you privacy," Ricky replied, slapping him playfully on the arm with a roll of his eyes.

"What? No-"

"You'd do the same for me," Ricky added with a shrug as he fished through his pocket for a token.

"Not someone I wanted time alone with," Kurt replied with a blush at the thought. When Ricky continued to look skeptical, Kurt went on to explain. "The guy Rachel's been dating."

"The star?" Ricky burst out, fighting a giggle.

"Yes - how did you-"

"She's not exactly quiet about it. Ay, that's too funny - shouldn't be surprising, though, any girl who pretends to date you...no offense, Vonny, you know I love you," Ricky laughed, and Kurt shot him a glare as he deposited his token and pressed his way through the turnstiles. "But any girl who pretends to date you is probably not going to have the most macho taste in men. Especially not in theater, where almost all of them are like us even if no one's allowed to say it."

"Really?" Kurt asked, surprised, and Ricky gave him a side-eyed glare and a roll of his eyes as they meandered down the platform. "So far all the men she's tried to date were secretly - or not so secretly - trying to casting-couch her."

"There is that," Ricky smirked.

Kurt sighed, staring across the platform absently. "I have to tell her," he declared. She and Mercedes had been his friend back in Lima where he'd had no one, and even as he gathered friends slowly but surely in New York he owed the two of them everything. He wasn't sure he would have been able to survive the first few years in this city without so much as a single person in his corner, and as imperfect a friend as she could be sometimes, she always meant well. It wasn't her fault she was so blissfully naive about the ways of the world. It wasn't Rachel's fault that she honestly believed men liked her when they were using her for some reason or another, and he could relate to it in a sad way. He had spent too much time believing the people around him - at least one of his arrests could have been avoided completely if he hadn't convinced himself that Stu was secretly as lonely as he was.

And at least now he had people to look out for him, Kurt realized. He had Don and John and maybe Ricky, all in addition to Rachel and Mercedes who might not always know how to help - might not ever know how to help - but at least wanted to, if they could. Rachel...she didn't really have anyone, did she? It was strange, coming from Ohio where she might not have been beloved but at least had people watching out for her and was still higher in the pecking order than he was, but aside from a few superficial pseudo-friendships she might have formed with a few other auditionees she saw on a regular basis, did Rachel even have friends in this town? He was pretty sure the answer was no. Mercedes had people she worked with up at the club, the bartenders all treated her like a little sister and kept patrons from hassling her...but Rachel...

If he didn't look out for her, who would?

"I have to tell her," he repeated, more sure in his conviction, and turned to Ricky. The look on the boy's face was one of skepticism, with pursed lips and rolled eyes that said 'You couldn't be more of a moron.' "...Yes?"

"No," Ricky replied with a shake of his head.

"She has no idea, and I owe it to her."

"No."

"She's my best friend-"

"That doesn't make it better," Ricky stated. "All it gives you is more to lose when she gets mad at you for telling her what she already knows but doesn't want to hear. It's not your business."

"Of course it is," Kurt replied. "She thinks he's in love with her, she's falling for him. She needs to know-"

"No," Ricky said again, drawing out the word this time with a wave of his hand. "It's none of your business, and there's no way it's going to end well. We don't know his story, we don't know his life, and if you go around telling every woman dating or married to a fellow queer you're gonna be too busy to listen to your musicals anymore. Trust me, Vonny, I know you think it's good for her, but it's not. You don't know what's going on."

"He's using her. He's dating her so no one will know he's going to Mama's and God only knows where else, and she needs to-"

"No."

"You have no idea what she's done for me," Kurt tried to explain. "We helped each other get out of our small town. She dated me when we both knew I was in love with a boy at school, and she was the first person who told me it was okay. She's my best friend, and if I were dating someone who was secretly-" He couldn't help but stop at the gratuitous eye-rolling from his friend, and he added, "I owe it to her."

"Let me tell you what's gonna happen, baby," Ricky said, putting his hands on Kurt's upper arms and looking him in the eye. "You'll go tell her because you mean well, because you want her to be happy and with someone who loves her. She won't hear any of that, she'll only hear that you were staring at her boyfriend all night, and the next thing you know she's not talking to you anymore. No one wants to hear the truth. Not about this. Not about us. People wanna hear what they wanna hear and you're not changing that in the next half hour."

Kurt stared at him. It sounded like too personal a story to be something Ricky was conjuring up. He wondered if that was how he ended up temporarily homeless - if it really was temporary the way he had suspected. Since now Ricky seemed like he had somewhere to go and a source of income even though he was following Kurt home...maybe his roommate was like the Puerto Rican Rachel and had reacted just as badly when Ricky saw one of her boyfriends out with a man. Maybe that was why he'd been sleeping on a park bench and had nowhere to go for a few days - because she was so angry she made him leave or he couldn't deal with her... "She won't take it that badly," Kurt assured him. It was sweet that he was worried for his sake, he really did look so achingly concerned...like he appreciated his situation too well and couldn't stand the thought of Kurt going through whatever it was he had experienced. "Rachel gets dramatic sometimes - a lot of the time. But she won't take it out on either of us. Most likely she'll just do a lot of air quotes and exaggerated winking for awhile. Maybe if it's really bad, I'll get dragged into a few extra singalongs like when she was so down after Cal broke up with her. But she needs to know what she's getting into."

Ricky didn't reply except to grumble and turn toward the tracks as the train whooshed into the station, fluttering Kurt's hair and jacket. Honesty about himself to the world writ large was important enough, though there were limits. But honesty toward people with whom there was an intimate relationship...that was crucial. Anything less left him with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. It was dishonest, it was unfair to everyone involved, it was...cowardly in a way that made him viscerally angry.

He had to tell her. Fred had an obligation to it, too, but if he wasn't willing to live up to that then Kurt would have to take things into his own hands.

Even so, he had hoped he might at least have a few hours to prepare how to break the news to Rachel - she was out for the evening with Bobby, after all, so he should be able to wait until breakfast tomorrow. But as soon as he unlocked the door, he heard the eerie music of the Alfred Hitchcock Hour coming from the living room. Rachel sat on the couch, an irritated scowl on her face, and he barely held back a sigh as he hung up his coat and toed off his shoes. "We're back," he called quietly.

"Did you have fun?" she asked, her voice too high and fake-bright to be sincere.

"Dinner was great," Kurt replied, then ventured, "You should come sometime. You'd love it. The music they play, and the boys-"

"No, she shouldn't," Ricky replied, narrowing his eyes at him.

"You should," Kurt repeated. "It would be fun, you would like-"

"Did you see any girls there?" Ricky demanded. "Except Mama herself in that one ugly blue dress - barely even street girls, they don't like us cruising there even if we can eat a good dinner. No one else. No one's going to show up if it's not safe."

"Rachel's perfectly safe."

"No she's not," Ricky replied with a sharp glare.

"You guys, I'm right here-"

"If you like it there, you won't bring anyone who's not like us," Ricky stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "No queer is going to show up he might run into his girlfriend."

Kurt froze, unable to be anything but uncomfortable, and Rachel peered at him, eyes locked on his even as she asked Ricky, "Whose girlfriend would be seen at...?"

Kurt sighed. He had wanted to be able to ease her in gently, to let her come into the news slowly, but with Ricky - damn his condemnation of the perfectly well-meaning invitation to the one place in the entire city that made him feel as safe and happy as he'd once imagined the entire island of Manhattan would - bringing it up, he couldn't very well say nothing was wrong. Nor could he pretend Ricky had pulled that example out of nowhere. He could try, but it wouldn't be remotely convincing, even to the ever-oblivious Rachel.

He moved over to the couch, sitting beside her. "Rachel. You know I love you. You're the closest thing to family I have in this state - and everything I'm about to say, I know you would do the same for me if I were in the same situation." Who knew when that could possibly be? but what did it matter. Rachel stared at him, brown eyes wide and confused, and he drew in a deep breath, trying to figure out how to best say what they had seen. He glanced over at Ricky, whose expression clearly said 'don't look at me, Vonny, you were the one who wanted to tell her.' He flopped down dramatically on the chair, arms and legs crossed, a smug expression on his face. Deciding straightforward was the way to go, Kurt decided to start with the beginning. "We saw Fred at Mama's tonight."

Rachel stared at him for a moment before venturing, "He was having dinner with his friend, a producer, so maybe-" He could hear Ricky mumbling in Spanish, and for the first time he wished he hadn't taken French. He caught a few words, mostly articles, and he was pretty sure that "gringa" meant either Rachel or crazy-something based on the derisive tone. She glanced over at Ricky but decided not to ask what he was saying about her, turning back to Kurt to finish, "Maybe a friend of his is a homosexual so they went to dinner at a place where the producer would feel comfortable."

"It's not the kind of place people bring friends," Kurt replied. "Ricky's right. It took forever for me to find it, and it's safe inside but it's not the kind of place you risk going into or out of if you're on the cusp of stardom...unless you don't have anywhere else you can go."

"Fred's not judgmental or afraid like that," Rachel stated. "He would go anyway."

"He could barely look me in the eye once you started teasing me about Ricky," he pointed out.

"Excuse me, teasing you 'bout what about me?" Ricky asked, sitting up in his chair, accent coming out stronger as he got defensive.

"Now either," Kurt continued, moving past Ricky's question without explanation, "it means he feels the same way everyone else does about me, or it means he's afraid of what it makes him. In the first case, he wouldn't be caught dead in a place like that."

"Maybe-"

"He saw me and looked terrified, Rachel. He knows what I know. He wouldn't be afraid of me telling you if there weren't a reason he was there." It was getting tiresome to try to beat back her baseless defenses. She looked more defiant the more rounds it went, the more obvious it was that Kurt had seen exactly what he thought he had seen.

"He's not a homosexual, Kurt, he's just a sensitive and nonjudgmental gentleman."

"Sensitive gentleman means he's not having sex with you," Ricky stated with a roll of his eyes, and Rachel's head jerked up sharply.

"Excuse me, that's none of your business-"

"Mmhmm," Ricky replied, clearly unamused and unpersuaded. "Denial isn't gonna help you, and even if it would - if he's not having sex with you, he's not just a little queer. He's a mary just like the rest of us, and believe me - it's better to know now and get out than to find out from finding some boy with him in your bed in five years."

"That's not going to happen," she stated firmly, chin jutted up in the air, eyes blazing with anger.

"Of course it is," Kurt replied. She turned to look at him slowly, betrayed, and he sighed softly because if one of them was going to be the one who was more gentle to Rachel, it was definitely supposed to be him. "Can your dad go back to your mom?"

"N-no," she said slowly, not sure where he was going with this. "He has Leroy now, and he's happy even if he's terrified - but they're in Ohio, they have a right to be. You were scared there, too," she pointed out quickly.

Kurt didn't think he needed to explain that he was scared here too, but for slightly different reasons and much bigger consequences. Instead he moved on to his next question. "So if Fred is the way he is..."

"But that doesn't make any sense," Rachel said, shaking her head. "Why would he date me if he's a homosexual?"

"Because Broadway isn't that much better than Lima," Kurt replied, and Rachel looked at him like he'd lost his mind. H e sighed softly, trying ot figure out the best way to succinctly pack all the ways that New York was a disappointment into a neat package that would best convey why Fred had to hide, but Ricky beat him to the punch.

"No one's going to hire a faggot to play a man's role. They've all got fake wives. Be glad he's not having sex with you while picturing a smooth-skinned boy." Ricky stood smoothly, clearly nonplused by the conversation, and strode into Kurt's room like he belonged there, leaving Kurt to figure out how exactly to clean up the soiled remnants of the conversation.

Rachel swallowed hard and stood quickly,. With a nervous smoothing of her skirt, she swished over to the kitchen. "Does he have to be so vulgar about everything?" she asked, her voice tight as she tried to keep herself together. "It's hardly well-mannered of him. And I'm sure he must be better-educated than that..."

"Rachel."

"You know, I think this is about you," she accused, but her voice sounding like she was trying to be angry instead of broken.. "You can't have a boyfriend so you don't want me to have one, either. Even though Ricky's right there so you could-"

"If that were the case, don't you think I would have warned you off Cal?" Kurt replied, standing and following her to the kitchen. "I didn't tell you to hurt you. You deserve to know. What you do with the information is up to you. I mean...if you really wanted to, you could keep dating him. You said you really like him..." She nodded in confirmation, staring at the dish she was washing. "If you want a second fake boyfriend, then do that. But I needed you to know it wasn't real. I didn't want you to be like Jean."

"Who?" Rachel asked, looking up at him with teary eyes and pink cheeks.

"Long story," Kurt replied with a wave of his hand. "Are you-"

"I'm fine," she replied breezily. "Go keep Ricky company. And if you're playing more musicals, you should introduce him to West Side Story - I bet it'll be familiar to him, since it's his story." He doubted the boy in his bedroom had been the victim of a turf war in their neighbourhood and fallen in love with a white boy...though in fairness, he couldn't be sure.

"I'm sorry," he offered gently, and she shook her head.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow. But I'm still pretty sure you're wrong."

Everything in her tone said she was absolutely certain Kurt was right, but he chose to let it go with a shrug.

* * * * *

By the time her date rolled around the following night, Rachel was nervous.

It wasn't so much a question of whether Kurt was right - not really. She supposed she did need to hear it from Fred's own mouth, but that wasn't the real question. The real question...

...well, she was still working on that. She wasn't sure whether it was why he hadn't told her, or why he needed to do this, or whether he loved her at all or had she just made it up, or what they were meant to do now- There were a lot of things to figure out. But at the very least she was confident enough in her belief that Kurt wouldn't lie to her about this and was almost certainly right about what he'd seen that she could be thoroughly nervous about the rest of the evening.

Fred's building was swanky enough to have its own doorman, and he knew her now so she didn't have to wait to be buzzed in. Instead she simply walked past him with a forced bright smile and a wave, then took the elevator up to his apartment. She knocked on his door, then paused to smooth down her dress, drying her clammy palms as she did. Kurt said the dress was too striped and distracting, but she thought it looked fun. It was like a grown up seersucker version of Dorothy's gingham jumper, which - as she pointed out to Kurt - had the pattern pointing in multiple directions over the skirt. He had simply rolled his eyes a little and shaken his head, like he did when he was exasperated by her fashion choices, but she liked it anyway. It helped conceal the fact that she didn't have many curves to speak of - ok, none at all, really.

...Was that why she was Fred's choice for a girlfriend when he really wanted a boyfriend? Because she looked more like a boy? She didn't think she did, but she certainly was no Marilyn Monroe type; her chest was kind of flat, her hips were really narrow even with a petticoat, and her face certainly wasn't pretty like most of the aspiring actresses she'd met. Was that why of all the girls in town, Fred picked her?

No. That was just ridiculous. Clearly he knew of and appreciated her talent. If he was going to spend time with someone he had no interest in actually dating, he probably just wanted someone he could sing a lovely duet with to pass the time. Someone who would appreciate his career and understand the demands of his rise to stardom without begging for scraps of attention.

...Except he hadn't actually met her before he asked their agent for her phone number. He had no idea she was talented, just that she wanted to be a star. Plenty of people did without having what it took the way she did.

Maybe it was just the luck of the draw. Maybe she was just the type of girl he would like if he did like girls, and he thought that maybe she would be his best chance to live normally. Maybe-

The door opened, and Fred beamed at her. "Hey - you're a few minutes early, you must have caught the train right as you got to the station," he teased. She would have normally found it endearing that he knew enough about her travels over to his apartment that he knew she timed her trains to arrive at precisely the stroke of when she should be there while building in approximately three minutes of wait time on the platform - long enough to be safe and not have to run in heels but not so long that she would get restless or have strange men leering at her for too long. Normally she would have been distracted by how casually and effortlessly handsome her boyfriend was, dressed in a white buttondown shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the middle of his strong forearms, collar unbuttoned to reveal just the top edge of his undershirt, wearing light grey slacks that fit him perfectly...she supposed being able to afford a tailor must be nice instead of relying on Kurt to take things in when he had a few minutes in the evening after work. "Come in." He stepped back from the door, gesturing her in with his half-full drink. "I was just getting ready, I found this great little place I think you'll like. There's a pianist there I know, he can play anything you want. I know you've been planning duets for us for weeks, and I thought now might be the perfect night for a serenade or two." She stepped into his spacious living room, still getting her bearings as he pressed a Pink Squirrel into her hand - her favourite, even if she thought a French 75 felt more sophisticated. "I'm just going to change my shirt and get my jacket if you'll sit tight a minute." He flashed her another grin, and she wished she didn't melt so much whenever he looked at her. That would make all of this so much easier. "I know the cliche is that I should be sitting in your living room with a drink while I wait for you to get ready," he joked as he walked into his bedroom - which she had seen only once and never for the reasons a girl usually saw a handsome young man's bedroom - and kept talking as he changed. "But I had a longer day than I expected. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not," she called back after sipping her drink. "I'm not that traditional."

"Clothes to the contrary," he teased. "You look fantastic tonight, by the way."

"Thank you." She smiled a little to herself, adding a snide "So there, Kurt!" to herself before she remembered that it didn't much matter. "Was the long day productive, at least?"

"Maybe," Fred replied, reemerging in a fresh shirt - light blue this time, which brought out his eyes and made his cheeks look rosy so he appeared entirely too exuberant just at the thought of dinner with her.

It wasn't fair, she thought to herself mournfully. He would have been the perfect boyfriend if it weren't for the reason he couldn't be her boyfriend at all.

"Ready to go?"

"Actually." She thought about setting down her drink, then downed most of it instead. "We need to talk about something." He looked confused and concerned at the same time, though she wasn't sure if it was because he knew what was coming or because he had never seen her drink alcohol that fast. It was a decision she was regretting already, especially with how badly it burned her throat. She knew it was only temporary, but it was unpleasant.

"That doesn't sound good," he laughed easily, sitting on the chair across from her usual place on the couch.

"Are you a homosexual?"

The reaction was so instantaneous that even had she not been certain about what Kurt told her, even had the news come from someone she trusted a lot less than her best friend, there would have been no doubt left in her mind as soon as the words passed her lips. Fred froze in his chair, eyes wide and bewildered, face pale, looking as though she had literally knocked him off-balance unexpectedly. "He told you-"

"He didn't want me to get hurt," she stated. "He didn't want anyone using me-"

"I wasn't," Fred replied sharply.

"Fred-"

"I wasn't using you. I wasn't lying, I wasn't telling you things were other than what they were. I wasn't trying to-"

"You made it seem like we were dating, I thought we could have a future together!"

"And we could!" Fred was out of his chair in a flash, clasping her hands between his, and the aching sincerity in his eyes made her stomach twist. "I like you more than I ever thought I would. And I'm not an expert or anything, but I'm pretty sure you like me too. Not in a 'he's not so awful for a New Englander' way, either. You like what we have."

"I did, sure, before I knew it was all-"

"What?" Fred asked before she could say it. "A lie? It wasn't, I told you. An omission is different. They have to be. They're necessary to be who we are, who we want to be."

"Why me?" The question came tumbling out before she could stop it, and he froze, clearly not expecting the question. He searched her face a moment before looking away, clearly conflicted, and when he looked back at her again he looked so vulnerable that she wanted to take the words back. To take the entire conversation back. Because if his expression of happiness was elation and unabashed joy, then his tentatively open sadness was expressed as breathtaking sorrow with wide eyes full of fear and mourning. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't-" she started to say, but he shook his head to cut her off.

"I heard you talking to Mercedes that day," he replied with a tiny shrug as if to make it not matter even though they both knew it did. "About your friend and the boy he liked - you didn't care. You talked about them like they were any other people, and I knew that you would be the most likely to understand. That even if I slipped up, you wouldn't tell the world my secret. I knew that if he could trust you, then so could I."

She had no idea what to say to that. Though in a way she supposed she shouldn't have been too surprised - the reason Kurt knew he could trust her enough to be fake-boyfriend-and-girlfriend back in Lima was because of her dad and his homosexual lover. And she knew that the only reason Blaine had trusted her was because Kurt had, and in a way that was a credit to her and her tolerance. People knew that they could trust her to be enlightened and sympathetic in their time of trouble based on her track record, and that was good. But at the same time, the knowledge that he hadn't wanted to date her, just her tolerance level, didn't make her feel any more desirable.

"This doesn't have to change anything," Fred stated quietly, eyes shining as he gently held her upper arms. He offered a nervous half-smile, and she wanted so badly to believe what he was saying when he smiled... "We still care about one another. I can open doors for you, you know. I know you've never asked, and I know I've never offered - I wanted to be sure, some girls just want to take advantage of contacts like that. But I can introduce you to people, to moguls who can make you the star you deserve to be. You're so talented, Rachel, you're amazing. Any guy would be lucky to have you, and I know what I can offer you isn't much as far as being a boyfriend goes, but maybe...maybe the contacts can make up for that."

She wasn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted. An almost-star thought she was talented...and thought the ability to expose that talent was a fair price for pretending to date him. Six months ago she would have jumped at the chance. Six months ago, before Cal, before the absolutely insulting offer from that lying jerk of a producer, before she ever came to this city, before she ever thought she had a role somewhere...she would have done anything to get exactly what Fred was offering. It wasn't as though she had never pretended to date someone who couldn't reciprocate her interest to get something out of it for herself, right? She had dated Kurt when she knew exactly what he was because she knew it was her best chance to get out of their town and to the Big Apple.

....But that was when she had had no options to speak of. When her choices were to pretend to date a boy, or to have to actually date a boy who would want to tie her down in Lima for the rest of her life instead of letting her spread her wings and become a Tony Award Winner, the choice was a lot easier. In New York, that wasn't meant to be a decision she was faced with anymore. She was meant to be better than that here. She was supposed to be more independent than that here and more able to survive on her talent alone.

She was supposed to be allowed to date someone because she liked them and not because it would be a mutually beneficial arrangement.

She offered the best smile she could, but it was mournful enough that Fred's face fell even before she could get the words out. "I'm sorry," she said, adding, "One homosexual fake boyfriend is my limit." The attempt at humour fell flat, but at least it kept her from crying just yet. She started to step back, and Fred's hands gripped her arms more tightly - not harshly, just wanting, trying to hold on to what he thought he might have had. "Fred-" her voice broke on his name, and he swallowed hard.

"Don't- Please-"

"I won't tell anyone," she promised as she finally stepped back. "I do like you too much for that. Just not enough to settle for something...something less than I deserve."

"You deserve everything," he murmured, meeting her gaze and trying again to smile.

She chose to exit then, so at least those could be the last words he ever said to her. It wasn't much consolation as she hurried past the doorman and out of the building with tears streaming down her cheeks, but it was something.

* * * * *

The more time passed, the less Kurt seemed to have a handle on what was going on with Ricky. It wasn't just that he seemed completely without any food or shelter one day and able to pay for dinner for two - with cash to spare, Kurt had noted - the next. It was that he ran so hot and cold all around. He would call up with some excuse to come over, spend the evening during which he may or may not voluntarily pay for dinner, spend the night after listening to musicals or watching tv specials...only to disappear the next morning without any word or promise of when he might come back. Then a few days later he might pop up again-

Okay, so it had only happened a few times. But it seemed to fit a distinct enough pattern that Kurt felt comfortable finding it disconcerting.

It just didn't make any sense. Whenever Ricky was there, he was warm enough in his own way. Kurt understood all too well that sarcasm didn't necessarily mean a person didn't like someone, and he was starting to be able to recognize the moment when Ricky felt threatened by the way his voice shifted higher, his body language snapped more quickly, and his hips swayed more from side to side. And there were moments when he felt like he really saw what was beneath all the shields his friend piled up in front of himself. Like Sunday, when they were watching Walt Disney's Wonderful World of Color, and Ricky lit up and giggled watching Ludwig von Drake, mumbling to himself something about the ridiculous accent, and for a fleeting moment he looked so young, so innocent and not at all cynical...then Mercedes said something about how come all the ducks on the show had to be white and Ricky immediately transformed back to the sassy, irritated-sounding young man who rolled his eyes and derided all naivete and optimism as quaint ideas held by tourists. Then he swished his way to the kitchen, hips rolling from side to side more than anyone that thin had a right to, to get himself a glass of water.

At least that, Kurt could understand. He could recognize the same change in himself when he was talking to Rachel as opposed to when he was talking to people at work, let alone how open he could be with Ricky. But that was such a small part of the entire picture of this boy, and everything else was so...so murky.

He had no idea when Ricky would call again. If he would call at all. And if something happened, or if he was worried, Kurt still had no way of contacting him - no phone number, no apartment, no office that should be kept secret but was an option in case of emergencies, no nothing. As far as Kurt's address book was concerned, Ricky might not as well even exist for how reliably he could contact him. He kept expecting it to change. Each time they would fall asleep in the same bed, Kurt would wake up half expecting there t be a scrap of paper on his pillow with an address for a tiny, horrible apartment uptown somewhere since it was obvious that at best Ricky's living situation was hardly a plush one. But so far not so much as a telephone exchange, a neighbourhood, anything. And just when Kurt would start to think that the boy was gone for good after a few days, a call would come suggesting they spend the evening together, always making it sound like it was Kurt's idea. Not that he wouldn't take credit for it, but he would like the option to call every once in awhile.

And by "always" he meant a few times. But every time, so it seemed reasonable to generalize.

Was it supposed to be like this? Kurt had no idea. He knew Don and John had rules about when things were to be kept distant and when they could be like any other couple - what if this was some rule he just didn't know about? What if the rules of homosexuality required playing it cool, noncommittal, as though friendship were ephemeral and only until something better came along? What if it was something he should know to expect now and in the future instead of it being, as he had initially thought, idiosyncratic to Ricky and Ricky only?

There was only one place he could turn for answers.

Kurt wanted to say that his plan to work late was multi-purpose. For one thing, there were only so many times he could listen to Rachel mournfully belt out "Oh I want a boy to call my own - I want a dream lover so I don't have to dream alone!" For another, and more importantly, he had made some headway on synthesizing the most iconic and popular designs of the Mainbocher line to come up with a few key points he thought Don might be able to turn into something. And for a third, if he happened to stick around the office late enough double-checking his pitch so that he and Don happened to be the only ones left in the office such that he could ask for advice, then wouldn't that just be a happy accident?

As his plans went, he'd had better ones, but he'd also had worse attempts at tracking his boss down so he would take what he could get.

Sketchpad in hand, he strode down the hallway toward Don's office and was relieved to see that his light was still on but that no one else appeared to be around. Pleased with the simple genius of his plan, he stepped confidently over to the closed door and rapped three times, rearranging his papers as he waited for a reply.

"Ah- Just a second!" a slightly-frantic voice called through the door, and Kurt worried for a minute that he was walking in on something he shouldn't before it occurred to him that what he could be privy to might be different than what others could know about.

"It's Kurt, sir," he called, not sure where the sudden formality had come from especially since there was no one else around.

He heard a scuffle, then the tumbler clicked a moment before door opened to reveal John smiling broadly. "Hey - come on in," he said warmly.

"I didn't mean to interrupt. I think I've put together a good synopsis of what has worked in the past so-"

"At 8 at night?" John asked skeptically, casting a teasing glance at Don who sat at his desk with a drink, looking more relaxed than usual for the office but nowhere near as relaxed as he had at Mama's. "I know you work for him now, but he's not that much of a slavedriver."

"Don't tell the kid that, I need him to be at least a little scared of me," Don groaned. His teasing wink in Kurt's direction was reassuring, but not as much as the fact that the two men were back to acknowledging one another. Since the incident in the hallway, he had wondered if they could ever be near one another in this building or if they had to wait until they were a couple miles downtown or wherever their apartment was located - assuming they had one apartment, but Kurt was certain they did. At least in his mind they did. It was good to see that they might be cautious but not unreasonably so.

"Actually it's good that you're both here," he ventured.

"Oh?" John perched himself on the edge of the desk, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Boy advice?"

Kurt offered a faint, tight smile before replying, "Not exactly."

When John looked crestfallen, Don rolled his eyes fondly and explained, "He loves giving boy advice. Can't get enough of it."

"It's more...friend advice."

"Let me guess - you have this friend?" John surmised, teasing. "Let's cut to the chase - the friend is you."

"No, an actual friend," Kurt replied. "I don't know what's going on, he runs hot and cold all the time, he doesn't tell me how to contact him but he calls me every few days whenever he needs a place to stay for the night - or sometimes he needs a place, sometimes I think he just likes the company. He turns prickly at the drop of a hat, he doesn't let me in on practically anything. He'll drop his guard every once in awhile, and he's so genuinely sweet when he does, but then he's right back where he was again. Is that normal? For boys?"

"Yes," Don replied at the same time John chimed in, "No." Kurt stared at them - well that was no help. John sighed and explained, "It's not normal, just common. We can't share all the things we want to, so we fall back on silliness and sassiness to make things hurt less. But something tells me you don't need to be told about putting up walls," he added with a pointed look, and Kurt tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. "So what's really going on?"

Kurt sighed. "I think something's going on with him," he said, but unlike when he tried to tell Rachel and stopped after the generic statement, he went on to explain. If anyone could help, if anyone knew what might be going on - or was at least more likely to have a reasonable theory - it was the two men whose response to his night in jail and debut in the paper had been 'Oh honey we've all been there.' He shouldn't need to start from square one with the two of them to try to validate why he thought there was something deeper than a boy who may have had a fight with a roommate. "He shows up all over town but never in the same place twice, and he won't tell me how to find him. He drops of the face of the earth for a few days at a time, and what am I supposed to do when the weather gets bad or there's violence around? Look up 'Ricky' in the phone book? I don't even know if his full name is Richard - would it be Ricardo since he's Puerto Rican? And does that make me Lucy? Because I cannot handle Rachel making one more comment about how we're secretly dating but just don't want to admit it in my own home, ok, that is more than I care to push back on tonight."

He finished his explanation and awaited an answer, but none came. Don and John exchanged a look before John turned to him once more and said, "Oh, sweetie, tell me you just gave him a sandwich and a warm bed."

"What do you mean?"

"Ricky's a sweetheart, and just because he needs it doesn't mean you have to let him repay you for it."

"Wait, how do you now Ricky?"

"Honey, everyone knows Ricky," John stated unequivocally. "About this tall, curly little hair, big brown eyes with too much liner? Looks like he needs to eat a couple dozen pieces of cake to be healthy?" When Kurt nodded that the description matched his friend, John sighed softly and shook his head. "I hoped...there are so many boys out there, you don't have to..."

"What he's trying to say, Kurt," Don began awkwardly, "is that there are boys who will go with you because they like you, not because they're hard up for money."

Kurt regarded them, eyes narrowed, trying to figure out what they were even trying to say. "Go with me where?" he asked slowly.

"Sex. You can-"

Kurt's eyes widened and he held up his hand, not wanting to have that conversation ever, certainly not with men he worked with, least of all with his boss, and he replied quickly, "Ricky and I never did that - or anything like that, we never even kissed, we're not-" His words tumbled out awkwardly, cheeks burning red, and John breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"Good. Don't get me wrong, you'd be nicer to him than any other boy he's had that day I'm sure, but what he really needs is someone to give him a meal ticket and not collect if you know what I mean. Warm bed, hearty breakfast, maybe even a hot shower for a few minutes - he starts to look like a zombie after awhile, but who can blame him? Bouncing from alley to alley to bed to bed with every grimey, creepy older man in the city who wants to satisfy himself without letting anyone else know what he is..."

Kurt had opened his mouth to ask what in the world John was talking about when suddenly he understood what the man was saying. It wasn't a particular word or phrase that made it click, but with some clue everything that had been off, odd, disconcerting began to fall into place. The unstable money supply, the ferocity with which Ricky was ready to defend a tiny portion of fence in the park that night, the off-putting jokes, the fact that everything the boy owned really did fit in that duffel bag...the haunted look in his eyes the night of the rainstorm...

Ideally in a situation such as this, Kurt would have wished for something eloquent to say; in that moment, he was mostly just glad he didn't throw up.