After the dinner, Kurt wanted to be around Blaine more than ever. Everything Leroy had said made it sound like he and Hiram had started off much like Kurt and Blaine, only so much older. If the two of them started now, Kurt could only imagine how many kinds of wonderful their life together could be by the time they were that old. Even as nervous as Hiram was, as scared as he seemed of his own shadow at times, as afraid as he was that people would know and as much as he cautioned Kurt against doing anything "outlandish" or "foolhardy"...the two of them were together. They had a home, they had a life. Maybe Blaine just needed to meet them. Maybe then he could stop being so afraid of...whatever it was he was afraid of.

He knew it had helped him immensely, seeing people like himself like that. When Leroy started talking about his time in the Navy and how he never fit in because he was one of exactly three Negro officers, such that he had to maintain some distance from the men in his command but couldn't socialize with the white officers because he wasn't allowed in the mess hall with them, and how making people uncomfortable by virtue of his existence wasn't something that ever made him feel like changing who he was ("In fact," he had said with an impish grin that Kurt immediately liked, "It almost has the opposite effect.")...it had felt like every bit of what Kurt had felt but thought he should hide, every deep dark corner of himself, was suddenly okay with this affirmation he never sought and had no idea he ever needed. The idea that feeling separate and apart didn't have to be a bad thing, but could instead be a strength, made him feel almost giddy - knowing that being different could make him special, make him stronger, give him an edge...

He'd thought it for a long time, but never had anyone put voice to it except in his own head before. He had no idea he needed to hear it until the moment when that changed everything.

Maybe that was all Blaine needed. to hear someone else talk about it, to meet people who had gone through it and were different and were stronger, who could still blend in if they wanted to but didn't have to all the tie, who had so much- who had everything. Maybe if he could get Blaine to go with him to another dinner, or even just...he didn't know, exactly, but if he could just show Blaine that it was something beautiful, what they had. What they could have.

Though they would have elegant parties because he couldn't get over the idea of Blaine in a dapper European suit, looking quite the dandy as they sang for their friends. Just because they didn't have to have those sorts of things to be happy didn't mean they weren't entitled to them if they chose, right?

By the time he dropped Rachel off in Lima, it was nearly 11. There was no way he would make it back to Dalton before curfew even if he weren't too tired to drive safely, so he drove home instead. All he wanted to do was see Blaine, to talk to him, to tell him about the amazing night he'd had...but calling the dorms at nearly midnight would draw attention to his absence and the fact that technically he was breaking school rules; his pass was only for the evening, not the entire weekend. Instead he let Carole cluck over him and fix him a glass of warm milk before bed. Even if there was no way it would help him sleep tonight, not as excited as he was, it was still delicious.

* * * * *

As nomination meetings went, the one on Sunday was relatively tame. Despite Jeff and Nick sending each other uneasy glances through the first half of the nominations, worrying that they would once again be passed over for individual moments of glory as solos were doled out to others, they were each given a song of their own. There was a dustup shortly thereafter when Donald's nomination by his roommate was challenged as coerced because not only was Donald not particularly deserving of a solo, but everyone knew that Donald's older brother had the ability to get almost anything a person could possibly want and sneak it onto campus. Every bottle of alcohol retrieved in a crackdown in the past six years had come from Donald's brother originally - first when he was a student, and now through the younger man, and there was a grumble of suspicion that Donald had paid for his nomination in the promise of some type of illicit substance. Ultimately his nomination was accepted but a solo wasn't granted on the grounds that "Warbler Donald has not yet proved himself worthy, vocally or in any other measure."

As Kurt watched the drama unfold, he couldn't help but glance over at Blaine. The Senior Warbler was seated in a chair almost directly across from the Council and watching the entire proceedings with rapt interest and bemusement. He kept expecting Blaine to say something, to recommend him for a solo - after all, if anyone in the group knew how talented he was, how underutilized he had been within the group, it was the boy who asked him to sing flirty duets. If anyone recognized his voice's potential as a showstopper, it was Blaine.

But the boy said nothing, just nodded and applauded dutifully along with the others.

Kurt wondered if maybe Blaine wasn't allowed to recommend anyone, if he - as the lead vocalist - was disqualified from an assessment of who should get a solo. That was the only thing that would make sense. Because if Blaine was allowed to nominate people but wasn't nominating him...what did that mean? That Blaine didn't think he was talented? That Blaine didn't think he was worthy? And, if not, then why not? What had he done to-

The fact that Blaine wouldn't even look at him made him think it wasn't about his vocal prowess.

Wes glanced over David's shoulder at the list of selectees - Kurt couldn't remember if they were at 5 or 6 now, but David had been keeping his usual dutiful notes throughout. "The Council hereby opens the final solo slot," he stated. "As is our custom, this selected soloist will perform the opening number in our showcase. The Council will hear nominations at this time." A few hands shot up, including Blaine's. Aha, Kurt smiled. Blaine had simply been saving his nomination for the most prestigious number. He had recognized Kurt's talent and was just waiting for the right time to display it, thereby giving him the opportunity to truly showcase his voice with a spectacular opening number.

"The Council recognizes Senior Warbler Blaine Anderson."

Blaine stood when recognized by the Council. "Thank you. Distinguished Council, I would like to nominate for the opening solo a Warbler whose unique voice has proven itself versatile and unexpected, and whose dedication to the group has been evident, and whom I'm sure we would all consider a friend and an excellent contributor to the Warblers as a team." Kurt preened at Blaine's compliments, trying not to let his grin get too smug. He had been so foolish to doubt his boyfriend - of course Blaine knew he was talented and would nominate him this way. He flicked his hair back, sitting up straighter on the edge of the couch as Blaine continued. "I hereby nominate Junior Warbler Bill Pfouts."

Kurt's eyes widened as a name other than his was announced. Yes, Bill's voice was higher than his now and he was certainly a nice enough guy - with a passable accent in French, even, as Kurt knew from class, but that-...that wasn't the point. That wasn't fair. Blaine had the option to nominate someone for that spot and nominated someone else? A boy who wasn't even-...everyone had seen Bill with his girlfriend and looking genuinely happy, not like it was fake at all, so he knew it wasn't a matter of Blaine liking Bill better. Why didn't Blaine pick him? Why didn't Blaine recognize how hard he had worked, how good he would sound if given half a chance? What was so wrong with him that Blaine couldn't appreciate-

And why could Blaine still not look at him?

He didn't understand it. They were supposed to mean something to each other now, they certainly-...was Blaine that terrified of anyone figuring it out that he was going out of his way not to acknowledge him in public? Was it wrong of him to ask for more than that? Because the idea of having to distance himself from the handsome boy, from his boyfriend, whenever there was anyone around, was almost too much to take. He knew Leroy had talked about how things had to be different when you weren't around other people who knew, but at the same time he had made it sound like there should be an abundance of homosexual boys at Dalton. Why couldn't he find any of them? Why couldn't he and Blaine find them and form their own little enclave, like out in California on the naval base? At least then he could be near the boy who made his head spin and not have to put so much distance between them that his chest ached.

Why couldn't they at least behave as they had toward one another before they went from being best friends who understood one another to...more? Why couldn't they at least have that much? Three months ago, Blaine would have recommended him for that solo, he was sure of it. And now...

...Now Blaine wouldn't even glance in his direction, training his eyes carefully ahead at the Council as Wes said, "Thank you, Warbler Blaine. The Council has a nomination for Junior Warbler Bill Pfouts. Is there a second?"

There was a second, and challenges, and competing nominations. None of them contained his name. For the first time in his life, he felt invisible. Blending in to suit the Warblers, to suit Dalton, had backfired beyond what he could have imagined. In the end, Bill was selected for the opening solo, and he flashed Blaine an appreciative grin as he sat a little straighter in his seat. Kurt stared at the table with a distant expression and tried to pretend it didn't feel like his chest was caving in on itself when he couldn't feel Blaine's gaze anywhere on him.

He was torn between wanting to make a quick exit, to gather his things and slip out as quickly as possible to leave the others to mutual self-congratulation while he tried to avoid the boy who seemed to be avoiding him...and wanting to stay, to corner Blaine somewhere in the hall and demand to know what was so wrong with him that Blaine wouldn't give him what he would've tried to give him months ago. What about him now was so much less worthy of that solo.

"We come, then, to the final nomination for the 1960 Founders' Day Warbler Showcase," Wes stated proudly.

Kurt was confused. Hadn't the last one been the final nomination? Hadn't the last slot been the final one? No one else seemed perplexed, even those who were paying attention (as opposed to the few who had gotten their solos and taken to ignoring the rest of the proceedings as they scratched out potential songs to suggest to showcase their own voices)...but that seemed like a very strange thing to make up on his own. If the Council had made a mistake, and had indeed said that the last solo was the final one, then more people should think this was odd. When a quick visual sweep of the room revealed that no one shared his confusion, but instead looked intrigued, he leaned over to Bobby and whispered, "I thought the last one was the last."

"The last solo," Bobby whispered back, glancing over to make sure he wasn't catching the Council's attention by speaking out of turn. "This is for the torch-passing."

"Torch-passing?" Kurt asked, not sure what that meant or what to make of it.

Bobby gave a slight nod. "Every year, someone sings with the lead vocalist, usually the most complicated arrangement. And the person who does it almost always is the frontrunner for the next year's lead vocals slot. Blaine did it last year."

Kurt wasn't sure what to make of the idea exactly, but offered a quiet, "Sounds impressive."

Bobby gave another nod and turned his attention back to the Council as Wes said, "Whoever is chosen must not only be a stellar vocalist, but someone who has exhibited leadership potential and proven himself to have a strong commitment to the Warblers, our history, and our reputation. The Council will now hear nominations."

Sam's hand shot up first with an uncharacteristic "please call on me" urgency, and Wes nodded. "Junior Warbler Sam Evans, the floor is yours."

Sam stood. "As you guys all know, I really love being a Warbler. There's a reason I haven't given it up even when I had to drop everything else for school stuff. And it's been hard, being on probation this year and feeling like if I did one little thing to screw up, it's gonna cost me this. I really appreciate it, everyone rallying around me like you have - even if it's not always easy for me to...I don't like asking for help and it bothers me how much I need sometimes," he said with a bashful smile as he glanced around the room. "But one Warbler has gone above and beyond everything else, and thanks to him..." Sam broke into a grin, the broadest and most genuine Kurt had seen from him all year. "As of the results of exams, I am no longer on probation."

There were expressions of surprise from most of the Warblers, but none was more surprised than Kurt - he knew Sam had been working, but he knew Sam had worked hard prior to this term and always with poor results. He of all people understood how little Sam's effort level had to do with his success at school, so to know that apparently everything had paid off, that he could finally stop working himself to exhaustion and could maybe start enjoying a social life a little bit was fantastic. But better still was the look on Sam's face - one of near-wonder and pride in himself, as though even he couldn't believe he'd done it but ecstatic that it had happened. It was so different from the downtrodden, frustrated scowl Kurt was used to seeing, the look that seemed to grumble "I'm doing it because I have to, but I honestly don't think it's going to help anything." He was so incredibly happy for Sam, almost beaming himself as he clapped along with the others, applauding their teammate's success and the fact that they weren't going to lose him for the term.

Sam grinned and looked over at Kurt with a look of fond gratitude, then turned to the Council and said, "That's why I would like to hereby nominate Junior Warbler Kurt Hummel for the final solo of the Showcase."

Kurt stared at him, stunned. Of all the people who had helped Sam, all the guys who had been tutoring him since before Kurt had even come to Dalton in the first place, he was the one who-

"Kurt, you didn't just try and get me working harder - not that I don't appreciate that," he added to the other guys awkwardly. "You figured out why it didn't work and now I can fix stuff. Work on things better instead of just longer. If anyone should get the number, I think it's you."

Kurt blinked and stammered, "I- I didn't do anything, Sam, not really, and there are so many other talented people in this group-"

"Do you decline the nomination, Warbler Kurt?" Wes asked.

"No," Kurt replied quickly, looking around to see whether there was a slew of vultures ready to pick him apart should he - the new guy, the boy they still weren't entirely sure about sometimes who liked standing out just a little too much for some tastes and liked girl songs far too much - get this spot, but the boys were nodding, smiling, supportive. As though they understood why what Kurt had done for Sam was somehow different than what any of them had thought to do. "No, I...I don't decline the nomination. I accept it. Happily, in fact," he added with an excited grin as he tried to make a joke through his nerves.

"Is there a second then?" Wes asked, and several hands raised.

"I'll take Jeff's second," David stated as he made note of it, nodding to the others in acknowledgment that he had seen them but needed only one for the official minutes.

"Thank you, Councilmember David. Are there any challenges?"

Kurt tried to look around to see whether it looked like anyone else was going to try to take the number, but his eyes stopped on Blaine who was sitting very straight in his chair, eyes straight ahead, seeming stiff and nervous all of a sudden. He had seemed distant for the entire meeting, but this was more blatant, more awkward than he was used to seeing the boy. He was used to a projected air of confidence at all times, not the hesitant worry he was seeing now.

"All those in favour?"

To Kurt's absolute shock, every hand in the room raised - most quickly, then the few stragglers. Blaine's hand was last; he drew in a deep breath, and suddenly the confident posture and grin were back as he raised his hand for all Warblers to see. But it looked less-than-genuine, as though Blaine weren't actually happy for him for some reason he couldn't fathom.

"Congratulations, Kurt," Wes said with a warm smile. He banged the gavel to adjourn the meeting, and Kurt was swept up in a flurry of congratulatory back-pats and shoulder-cuffs by everyone but Blaine, who slipped out into the hall unnoticed by everyone.

* * * * *

The dreams happened every night now. Sometimes it started as something else; sometimes it was nothing but vile, filthy passion. Sometimes it was vague, ambiguous, just pleasant feelings and occasional sensations like knowing he could smell Kurt's shampoo; others, it was vivid, descriptive, concrete, where he could see every hair on Kurt's pale, blemish-free torso and feel every hitch of the boy's breath when they touched. Sometimes it wasn't Kurt - not precisely, at least. Sometimes it was just a beautiful boy with soft hands and a sense of true, unalterable closeness. Sometimes the boy chased him, but it was almost always the other way around: him chasing the boy. Chasing Kurt. In one dream, he thought he was in luck as it started with him chasing Jean, but as soon as he caught her he saw that her hair had shortened and turned brown, and she had gotten taller than him. In the dream, he was happy; when he thought about it after he awoke, he felt nauseous.

But none of that was as bad as the waking part.

There was a moment when he first awoke, a fleeting feeling of release, of warmth, of unrestrained pleasure and satiation. Then he would realize why, would come to his senses enough to remember what was in the dream and awaken himself enough to know why it wasn't okay. Then he felt disgusting. Then he felt like he wanted to curl up into a ball and wish himself into nonexistence. He would think of the other boys down the hall and how none of them had this problem - why did it have to be him? Why did he have to-...why couldn't it be someone else? Why was he so unable to fix himself?

Sam could read better now, and Bill could hit a high B without straining. They'd had goals, worked at them, and gotten to where they wanted to be. Why the hell couldn't he? What was he doing wrong? Why wasn't his resolve strong enough? Why couldn't he stop?

He had been avoiding Kurt for days and it only made the ache in his chest and in his groin worse. That wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to just stay away from Kurt and feel better.

He wasn't supposed to be having these thoughts when he was awake and fully conscious. He wasn't supposed to be getting worse like that. At the very least, when the thoughts popped up - which they had occasionally before, he couldn't deny - he was supposed to instantly recognize them for what they were: sickness. Foul, undesirable symptoms of his illness. Something to be squashed immediately and then condemned. Not something he should allow himself to be lost in the fantasy of. Not something he should be glorifying, even for a split-second in math class or during rehearsal as he watched Kurt attempt to stretch out his shoulders after carrying a huge stack of sheet music in - stretching from side to side and rolling his shoulders with a look of exhausted relief on his face-

The problem, he concluded with despair, was precisely what his father had identified in him so many years ago. He wanted things too much. If he didn't want so much, this wouldn't be a problem. If he didn't want Kurt so deeply...

Because that's what it was. Desperate, needy, hedonistic wanting that he couldn't control no matter how hard he tried. As disgusted as he was by what these feelings made him, the disgust didn't extend to the beautiful counter-tenor - not really. Everything about Kurt was just so...so lovely, even the parts that were snide and imperfect. Everything about him was so entrancing, so captivating, that avoiding the boy made him yearn so deeply he couldn't think of anything else. And when they saw each other across the rehearsal room, he wanted so desperately to kiss Kurt, to wrap his arms around those shoulders and feel the scruffy press of shadow against his palm, to feel those soft lips on his and the rumbly vibrations coming through Kurt's chest as he moaned.

Avoiding him was the only solution, Blaine knew that, but even that seemed to just be covering up the truth, delaying the inevitable. He was still sick; he would only be cured if he stopped wanting, and Kurt's absence in his room and in his life only made him want more.

And avoidance was hardly a fail-proof plan. Not when there were other people and circumstances that could force them into a room with one another like this. Force them into a duet together, into Kurt getting a performance spot at the Showcase so that he would have to work with the boy to help him prepare. That was tradition, after all, the lead vocalist assisting the new, first-solo Warblers. Giving them advice.

What advice could he possibly give? Who in the world wanted advice from someone as ill as he was?

But he couldn't let that weakness show. He couldn't let anyone know about-...not even Kurt could know how bad off he was. If Kurt knew...then the boy who apparently had neither shame nor a sense of decency would want things, too, would know that they were a possibility and would try to take-...and he couldn't have that.

He couldn't have that because he wouldn't be able to say no. He could barely say 'no' now and there wasn't even a question on the table.

No, he scolded himself as he tried for the sixth time in the past hour to figure out how to get out of rehearsing with Kurt. He could do this. He could handle it. He was nothing if not in-control of himself, and he had been raised to be strong enough to hold his emotions and desires in until he chose to channel them elsewhere. He would be fine.

He drew in a deep breath and pushed open the doors of the Commons to find Kurt already there, staring out the window nearest the piano. Backlit by the sunset like that, Kurt appeared even taller and leaner than usual, with long lines shaping his neck and torso and slim legs. Blaine could only imagine how amazing his face must look in the pink-purple light and made a conscious choice to stay further from the window and at Kurt's back instead of walking around where he would have a better view. "Hey," he offered, standing behind the couch. If he kept a piece of furniture between them at all times, he stood a better shot of not doing anything stupid.

Kurt turned, a soft smile forming on his lips as he saw Blaine standing there. "Why, Blaine, hello," he replied, moving slowly around the couch. "I thought maybe you wouldn't show up."

The accusation in Kurt's eyes- Kurt knew that Blaine had been avoiding him. He had hoped that wouldn't happen. Or he had hoped that Kurt wouldn't seem sore over it; he did, at least a little, even if he was still looking over like the next line out of his mouth was going to be 'I'm just glad you're here now.' "We do need to practice," he pointed out. "The Showcase is huge for us."

"I know," Kurt replied. "I gathered that much from the way everyone was clamouring for solos." His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer. "Why didn't you want me to sing?"

"What?" he asked, choosing to take the dumber of the two options. He knew what Kurt meant - or, at least, what he was almost sure Kurt intended to mean - but he could pretend he didn't. For all he knew, Kurt really did mean the less-likely of the two options, that he thought Blaine didn't want him to sing at all, and maybe-

"Blaine. We both know I can sing well. If anyone in that group knows it, it's you. But when you stood up to make your nomination, you didn't nominate me. Why?" He took another step closer, and Blaine stepped back. "Why did it have to be Sam who picked me? Why did you want someone else?" His gaze dropped, and Blaine thought he was off the hook, but Kurt asked quietly, voice brimming with frustration, "Why do you always push me aside so you can have someone else?" He looked back up, meeting Blaine's eyes with incredulous betrayal, as though he couldn't believe what had been done to him, and Blaine took another step back.

He wished he could explain it. He wished he could tell Kurt that it wasn't that he wanted someone else - that was the problem. He didn't lie awake at night and think about what duets he wanted to sing with Bill and how much Bill's face would light up when he sang something and how handsome he would look. He didn't go to sleep and dream of inappropriate acts with Jean. He didn't wake up feeling sick at least once a day because he wanted other people; he woke up feeling sick because he wanted Kurt, because he wanted him so badly that it felt like he couldn't breathe anymore and he didn't know how to make any of it stop. He wished he could tell Kurt that it wasn't what he thought at all, that it was far, far worse.

But all he could do was stand there, both unable and unwilling to admit defeat, even to the victor. Perhaps especially to the victor.

Except Kurt hadn't won, not really. Kurt wasn't getting what he wanted, either - surely Kurt was just as hurt in all of this as he was, surely Kurt was trying to fight just as hard even if he wasn't making it look that way. Sickness and perversion had won, not either of them.

"So what are we singing together?" Kurt asked finally when Blaine didn't answer. He should have known better than to expect one, he knew that, but somehow he'd just thought that maybe...maybe if he heard Blaine say it, maybe if Blaine admitted he was just worried about what this meant and how to deal with it, then he could make him feel okay about things. Show him the study. Tell him about Men #s 16 and 16.5. Take him to meet Rachel's father. Something - anything. But every time he tried to bring up the subject, every time he tried to get Blaine to let him in even a little, he was shut out swiftly and spent the next few days chasing Blaine around the school trying to salvage their friendship.

It needed to wait until Blaine was ready, he realized with extreme reluctance. As much as he wanted to show Blaine every piece of information he had been able to find - as few as those were - it wasn't going to do him any good until Blaine was ready to have the conversation without squirming and trying to get away from him.

"'Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow?'"

"That depends on what the song is," Kurt joked with a flirty smile, and despite Blaine's attempt at resolve, he smiled and rolled his eyes fondly. Victory. Kurt stepped closer and this time, Blaine didn't move away. He wanted to say something, though he had no idea what it should be. He wanted to tell him everything, to tell him about the dinner and about hoping for the future and about how much he had missed him, but what came out instead was a quiet, "Why do you keep backing away from me?"

"I'm not," Blaine protested, standing his ground.

"Not now," Kurt said slowly, his eyes narrowing as he regarded Blaine carefully. "Always."

Though there was plenty of space to retreat, Blaine knew he couldn't - not from the question. Not from the question, not if he wanted Kurt to stop asking. He wasn't sure if he wanted Kurt to stop or not. He-...he thought he did, he wanted to want Kurt to stop, but all he really wanted was to hear the sound of Kurt speaking to him, to be close enough to just reach out and touch him.

He wanted to stop feeling so badly, but he wasn't sure if he wanted that more than he wanted Kurt.

"Because we shouldn't," he said finally, his voice soft as his big golden-brown eyes met Kurt's narrowed blue-green ones.

"Why not?" Kurt whispered. He wanted to reach out and touch Blaine, to kiss him, to say all the things he didn't have words for, to tell him it was okay, but he wasn't sure where to begin. What to say to start unraveling everything that was wrong.

"Because we can't," Blaine replied, his voice growing a little stronger, but he stepped forward half a step, closing the distance between them. He had to look up just a little to see Kurt at this distance and could feel him breathe slowly in and out, and could smell his aftershave and whatever cream or gel it was that Kurt used in his hair, and he leaned in to kiss Kurt softly on the mouth. The little surprised "mm" he heard in Kurt's throat made his heart ache even more, made him want to cling to the boy even though he should have wanted the opposite. He pulled back slowly, dizzy, trying to catch his breath and wondering why such a short kiss left him unable to draw in enough air, and Kurt gave him a shy little smile that sent butterflies straight to his stomach. "I missed you," he whispered, hating himself for saying it. It was true, but he shouldn't have.

Kurt's breath caught and he looked bolder, though his voice stayed soft, breathy, incredibly attractive. "I missed you, too."

He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out and he couldn't figure out what exactly to say anyway. He wasn't sure whether to call them disgusting or beautiful, lovely or sick, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating - thrumming with nervous energy and fear that maybe someone would discover them or maybe he wanted this even more than he'd thought. He stepped back and Kurt didn't chase him. "We...We should work on that song," he said, hoping that maybe singing would do its work, let him release at least the nerves and fear, let him express something - anything, even if it wasn't what the song was really about.

He couldn't mean what the song was really about.

"Are we switching off, then?" When Blaine looked confused, he clarified, "On lead."

Blaine backed up another step, hands fumbling for his bag. "I have the sheet music here," he said as he handed Kurt a copy and kept one for himself, then produced the album and walked over to the record player.

"It's not really a duet," Kurt pointed out as he glanced through the music. "It's a two-person harmonic line on lead, not a true duet."

"It can't be," Blaine stated, frustrated that Kurt still wasn't getting it. They couldn't do this. And they couldn't sing duets. They couldn't sing love songs to each other anywhere outside the privacy of his dorm room, least of all in front of every important living Dalton alumnus. The only place it would be worse to sing a duet than that would be on a competition stage. What was so hard about that for Kurt to understand? Just because they were both too weak to stop themselves from acting on their mental illness didn't mean that they needed to declare it to the world like that.

"And why not?"

"Because we're-"

Sick.

Twisted.

Wrong.

"-two boys, Kurt."

That summed it up nicely.

"What do that have to do with anything?" he replied flippantly.

"Boys can't sing duets to each other, Kurt, we can't-...we can't."

"I'm sure Gene Kelly and Donald O'Connor would protest," he laughed. Blaine wished he could explain to Kurt why it wasn't the same, but it was as though the boy had no concept of why this was wrong. Of why they shouldn't be doing what it was they were doing. When Blaine didn't laugh at his joke or acknowledge the lack of inherent femininity in singing a simple duet, Kurt just shook his head and said, "Let's start."

Blaine lowered the needle onto the record single and drew in a deep breath, turning to face Kurt as the music began. It wasn't quite a simple two-line harmony, but it definitely wasn't a duet either; the parts intertwined, alternating between melody and countermelody, melody and harmony, with Kurt's part being a lot more complex than his. He had no doubt Kurt could handle it - of course Kurt was talented, that had never been the issue. That had nothing whatsoever to do with why he hadn't nominated him. Kurt would sound amazing, like he always did.

That was part of the problem.

He tried to prepare himself for the moment when Kurt would start singing, because he knew he was a goner for that - when Kurt sang, it was like something inside him couldnt' look away, and it was what had gotten him into trouble twice before. If it hadn't been for the boy and his stupid beautiful voice, he could have just maintained a vaguely inappropriate friendship instead of becoming...this, this thing that had disgusting lustful dreams and feelings he could never express.

Tonight you're mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow?

Surely enough, as soon as they began singing he couldn't take his eyes off Kurt. He wasn't sure if the boy meant to be flirtatious or just naturally was so, but the way he swayed just a little as he walked slowly along the front of the couch, their eyes locked the entire time, had Blaine's heart racing as he tried to sing. He backed away a little as Kurt came closer, which earned him a faint smirk from the taller boy, but neither tore their eyes away.

He wanted to. He wanted to look away, to go sing the rest of the song from across the room with a giant divider between them so he wouldn't have to stare at the captivating, difficult-to-define shade of Kurt's eyes and his perfect voluminous hair and his lean body mostly-hidden beneath the Dalton uniform but looking slimmer in the cardigan he wore. He wanted to shut down every feeling he had and stop, just- just stop. Stop wanting. Stop caring. Stop feeling. Stop everything.

The problem was, he never felt more than when he sang.

For as long as he could remember, music had been his outlet, his voice, his way to communicate all of the feelings he spent time bottling up because the kind of outbursts he wanted to have weren't socially acceptable. They were the kind of things that made a person end up on a steady stream of antipsychotics and antidepressants and antianxiety medications that turned a person into a robot who was physically incapable of feeling.

Was that his choice now? Should he be going directly to the doctor to keep himself from feeling at all? Or letting it all out, pouring out every last bit of frustration and longing and wistful regret that had him feeling so scared? Because as he sang the title line, what he meant to sing was, "Why do you have to love me at all? Why can't I get away from you?"

Why couldn't he stop?

Is this a lasting treasure,
Or just a moment's pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sigh?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Kurt noticed Blaine move back slightly, and he felt like he shouldn't have been surprised. That was what Blaine did these days, wasn't it? Surge forward then pull back?

He understood Blaine's hesitance, but they didn't have that kind of time. Not if they were going to be amazing together the way he wanted. Not if they were going to have the kind of incredible life he'd dreamed of - they needed to make plans, they needed to be together going into it so that they could move together. Be together. Just...exist as a unit as well as as two individuals.

Together, not just in the same space, was that how Hiram had put it? The difference between where things were safe and where they weren't?

He believed they could have it - not just believed. He knew they could. There was no reason they couldn't if Blaine would just let him....let him help. Let him show what there was to offer. Let him teach him what was available instead of constantly backing away like that.

It was just so hard when Blaine wouldn't let him in. Wouldn't trust him.

He missed what it used to be like, before he'd...before he'd been unable to keep himself from trying to kiss the incredibly attractive, amazingly talented guy he had fallen head over heels for. He missed being able to talk to him. To feel like there was someone in his life he could connect to. With Blaine trying so hard to back away, then coming closer, then backing away...

That was really what he needed back. That was almost more important than having a boyfriend and a glamourous future - having his best friend. That was horribly cheesy, he knew, but he ached to think of a life without Blaine, a life where he genuinely didn't have someone to talk to...

...only to realize that right now, he didn't have anyone to talk to, either. Rachel was the closest thing he had, and while he liked her much more than he used to she was still hardly a good conversationalist. She could make everything int he world about herself, regardless of how little it related to her, and she didn't actually understand so many of the things she tried to relate back. She didn't know what it was like to be him, to feel this way but know that if anyone found out how he felt he would be shunned by everyone he'd ever known. To know that there were maybe a handful of people in the world that he was likely to ever find that he might be able to date.

And then he'd found the one he wanted to date, the one who seemed to want to date him back, but was shutting him out.

Was that what all relationships were like? He knew his dad and Carole didn't talk much, but his dad had never been the talkative sort. Finn and Quinn really didn't talk, she just yelled at him a lot. Mr. and Mrs. Jones seemed to talk over dinner, at least, which had always seemed nice.

He honestly didn't know what the difference was, if there was one. And what it meant. And what to do to fix it, to get Blaine talking to him.

Tonight with words unspoken, Kurt began, approaching Blaine slowly, carefully, almost afraid of spooking him with a wrong move. He needed to get them back onto the right track, to get things fixed - if he could figure out what was broken. But he couldn't figure out what was broken unless Blaine opened up.

You said that I'm the only one. Blaine didn't back away. He almost wanted to, but not quite- not enough to make his feet move. He hesitated, and when Kurt continued to advance he stepped forward, one hand reaching out unbidden to touch Kurt's shoulder.

He really was a sucker for when Kurt sang, especially when he looked so damned earnest and sincere. Like he needed to believe in the unspoken words, to put some kind of assurances on whatever this was, and Blaine found himself wanting an answer, too. Wanting to give him an answer, to make him feel like this could make sense even though it didn't. Even though there was nothing right about this at all and certainly nothing worth defining as anything other than the manifestations of their disturbed little brains, he wanted to when Kurt looked that invested.

But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning sun?

He wanted to make Kurt smile. His stomach did little flip-flops at saying something that would make Kurt laugh, and he didn't know what that meant. That wasn't something they talked about at his father's conferences - the relative severity level of boys who wanted to make other boys smile. Was that less severe, because it didn't involve the sorts of lewd acts he wanted to perform that were the final step? Or was it worse because it meant-

...It meant he had fallen for Kurt completely.

I'd like to know that your love
Is a love I can be sure of
So tell me now, and I won't ask again:
Will you still love me tomorrow?

It wasn't going away.

No matter how hard he tried, it wasn't going away and the revelation that his feelings for Kurt were deep, were something huge and complicated and so far beyond merely the kind of warm pleasure that the dreams held - which in itself was an immense sensation to dissect...He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, trying to continue singing as he stepped closer still to Kurt.

There was so much he wanted, so much- not enough. So many damned things - to touch, to listen, to smell, to taste-

To feel.

Because as agonizing as it was to feel this way, as much as it felt like his insides were twisting in on themselves and tying themselves in knots every time he realized what it was he was doing, how much he was giving in to the thing he was meant to be fighting, as much as he knew all of that...the thought of not feeling this anymore, the thought of not being with Kurt, of not being around him anymore, of shoving him away, felt like a hot knife was being plunged through his chest, leaving him breathless.

He faltered over the notes, and Kurt looked at him with concern. "Are you okay?"

He wasn't. He never would be, and he-...he knew that. He knew there was nothing he could do anymore, nothing he could do to make this right, but he wanted to just curl up around Kurt and lie in bed with him and forget everything. Forget everything he wasn't supposed to be, forget all the things he's never been meant to do, forget all the things wasn't supposed to be feeling because he couldn't-

He couldn't fight anymore.

Maybe it was like music, he thought, where he wasn't supposed to want it this much or feel it this much, but it was his and his alone and nothing could feel as good as what that had to offer.

He cupped Kurt's face in his hands, kissing him longingly, wanting to just forget everything that hurt and made him feel even sicker inside than he knew he was. Wanting to lose every piece of himself except the music and this boy and just-....just forget.

So tell me now, and I won't ask again:
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

As the final notes of the song faded away, the kisses grew more frantic. Kurt wrapped his arms around Blaine's back, almost clinging to him, trying to hold him close and not let him back away. He felt them both moving backward, toward the couch, toward the end of the couch, and then he stopped noticing what his feet were doing because Blaine's tongue was pressing against his lips and trying to enter his mouth and he didn't know what the hell he was meant to do now. Rather, he knew in theory - maybe. He opened his mouth and moaned softly and the tongue surged forward; it should have been disgusting, but for some reason it felt incredible.

The record ended, the dull 'thunk...thunk...thunk...' barely audible in the background, but still Blaine pulled away and tried to gather his wits about him. There was something he was meant to be-...something that wasn't this. Something he was forgetting that he shouldn't be. He picked up the arm of the record player and put it back at the start of the song. "We should-..." He swallowed hard, glancing at Kurt and shaking his head. "We should practice."

Kurt drew in a nervous breath and exhaled on the words, "I thought we were," barely making it out before Blaine's lips were crashing back on his again.

He'd never known he wanted a tongue in his mouth, let alone the effect that Blaine's appreciative whimper would have on him as he felt a sudden surge of interest below the belt and a kind of giddy, nervous sensation in his stomach. Then Blaine's mouth was gone from his suddenly, leaving him breathless as though his boyfriend had sucked all the air out of his lungs and abandoned him with nothing, only to let out a shuddery sigh as he felt Blaine's lips along his jaw, kissing hurriedly as though there was only so much time they could spend on this and he wanted to taste every bit of Kurt's skin he could. He felt Blaine's fingers fumble clumsily with his tie as he tried to access the collar button of Kurt's shirt. He tried to tilt his head to give Blaine more room but didn't want to tilt his head away from the heat of the boy's mouth, which led to a few awkward head bobs before the pads of Blaine's fingers skidded over the button itself. Two more passes and he felt the stiffness of his collar give a little.

The feeling of Blaine's fingertips against the soft, previously untouched skin of his neck was almost too much, and his grasp on Blaine's back tightened as he let out a soft gasp. He wondered if there were more nerve endings in the area than he'd ever realized because it certainly seemed that way- oh god, let alone when Blaine's mouth moved a little lower, nose nudging between his collar and his neck to try and get more room, to travel further still...

Kurt had never considered himself a particularly...sexual person. He knew of the concept, of course, at least in theory and at least as far as it pertained to his non-homosexual counterparts. At least, he knew the general idea in as little detail as possible. He knew he didn't have the same kinds of urges toward girls that Finn did, and he knew that there were things a person could do that didn't involve procreation but he had no idea what things those might be. He didn't really want to know. He had, like any other teenager, had dreams and been told they were perfectly normal, and had moments of arousal while awake of course, but that was the extent of his knowledge.

But the ever-growing list of things that Blaine could do that got him feeling this...this good, as though every nerve on his body was on overdrive and every inch of his skin was on fire and like he could not possibly feel more awkwardly hard in his uniform pants, had him suddenly curious. Suddenly wanting more, wanting to know. Because if simple kisses on his neck could feel like this, then he could only imagine what might happen next. He had thought the feeling of Blaine's breath on his neck was the most incredible sensation he'd ever felt, but that was nothing compared to his mouth there. What else might there be?

He felt dizzy, faint, as though he couldn't keep either his balance or his wits about him, and he tried to warn Blaine but no words came. He started to lean back heavily, still holding onto Blaine for dear life, and Blaine seemed to understand - or at least, to move in the same direction Kurt wanted. He laid them back against the couch and shifted until he was mostly on top of Kurt, kissing and- and licking (which was too wet but apparently no one had told his nervous system that) his neck wherever he could get underneath Kurt's collar enough to find skin.

He could feel Blaine's arousal against his legs, and the thought of it made him feel suddenly hot all over - nervous. Intimidated. Scared. And more than a little proud and in awe at the idea that kissing him, kissing his neck, made Blaine feel that good. It was a little crazy when he tried to think about it.

Blaine's hands slid up and down along his sides before coming to rest just above his hip as Blaine's mouth moved back up to cover his. His mouth was wetter now than before, probably from all that kissing and mouthing along the neck and in areas that were hard to access properly, but the sloppiness almost felt good in a way that Kurt couldn't explain. He was the one to move his tongue forward this time, imitating what Blaine had done last time, and was rewarded with a groan and a forward motion of Blaine's hips. Kurt gasped, his own hips pitching up involuntarily against Blaine's thigh, and the feeling of pressure there was indescribable. "Ohhh!" he gasped, though the sound came out more like a whimper than a proper word, and Blaine repeated the movement with his hips with a panting noise of his own.

He felt a hand move from his hip to his belt suddenly, and with a quick flick of Blaine's hand the leather strap was gone, flung to god-only-knew where. Then a jerk and the button was open, and suddenly-

The feeling of warmth surrounding his erection was sudden, more shocking than cold would be at this point, and caused him to release a loud groan before he'd realized he was even making a sound. His head fell back, lips separating from Blaine's, and suddenly he felt hot kisses along the center of his neck as the hand wrapped around his hardness and began to stroke. Kurt gasped, his fingers clutching more tightly on Blaine's back. The pants were too tight, Blaine's hand and his own organ felt impossibly large inside the small space, and any movement felt as though it might tear through the grey wool. He tried to protest, but only a whimper escaped.

Blaine seemed to get the idea, though - the hand pulled away suddenly, and he didn't realize how much he'd desperately wanted it there until it was gone. He suddenly felt colder, further away, even though he could still feel the heavy press of Blaine's body on his, the hitch of his breathing, and warmth of his mouth. The hand on his zipper, dragging it down, then on his waistband as Blaine attempted to shimmy him out of his pants and briefs. Kurt awkwardly tried to follow what it was Blaine was trying to get him to do, but it was hard without any words or any idea what he was doing.

Blaine's hand closed around him again, and he keened, hips pitching upward as if trying to get more contact still. He could barely think, his head spinning as Blaine's hand began to move with firm, even, quick strokes. One hand moved up to clutch at Blaine's hair, fingers twisting in the pasted-down curls at the back of his neck.

He should help, he concluded. He should make Blaine feel this good, because this was-...this was unbelievable, and he wanted to share it. He wanted Blaine to know how amazing this was because there was no way he could know no matter how much Kurt tried to tell him - even if his words weren't coming out in whimpers and noises and strings of vowels without any meaning. He moved his hand down to Blaine's belt, unfastening it and trying to get at the zipper, but instead Blaine's hips pitched forward into his hand and he found himself rubbing at the erection with his palm. He had no idea if it was what he was meant to be doing, he had a feeling he should probably have his hand inside the underwear just because he knew how good it was feeling for him, but the look on Blaine's face seemed to indicate that it was still an incredible sensation.

Kurt had no idea how long it lasted a - hundred hours and not nearly long enough was the best he could come up with - before it felt like everything within him tightened and twisted and got hot and tightened and then suddenly released, semen painting the bottom of his cardigan and his and Blaine's shirts as he whimpered and squeezed and fumbled his palm against Blaine's half-undone pants. Blaine's hips began to rut harder, more insistently as he groaned and whimpered and growled, and Kurt could feel damp stickiness seeping through the material against his palm but not enough to really be messy.

There was a moment of stillness, of fleeting warmth and unabated pleasure, of being fully satiated as the two boys lay against one another, panting and gasping and giggling at the rush of endorphins and being teenagers.

And then Blaine realized what had happened, came to his senses enough to know what it was they had done, roused himself enough to know why it wasn't okay.

Oh god, was it not okay.

He felt disgusting. Disgusted with himself, with what he had done. Oh what had he done? This was-...this was beyond dreaming and self-pleasure, this was-

This was the end stage. This was the point of no return and he had passed it with gusto and had- had enjoyed what he-

His stomach churned violently and he scrambled up, afraid he was going to be ill. More ill than he was already, more sick than he could- He hitched up his unfastened pants with his left hand, his right flailing awkwardly for a moment to his side as he stared at the boy, the handsome boy on the couch, staring up at him with wide, confused, trusting eyes as though this was something Blaine was going to explain for him. As though he had no idea what they had just done or why it was so, so very wrong. As though he didn't know that Blaine had just guaranteed that he was a severe case.

Oh god, he had made Kurt worse. It wasn't just himself he had destroyed like this, either, it was Kurt too because that meant they were both in the end stages, being...being intimate with another man, let alone enjoying it - he'd heard the noises Kurt made, felt the way he'd rutted up, the way he'd thrust so enthusiastically and tried to return the movements and just-

Now he really did feel sick. Because in the back of his mind there was a little frisson of excitement at the memory and the desire to do it again.

He wasn't just severe, he was unrepentant. He regretted it only because he knew it was a bad sign, not because he genuinely didn't want to do it again, and that wasn't enough of a reason. Clearly. Knowing it was wrong hadn't stopped him from doing any of this, from wanting - from taking.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, almost afraid of opening his mouth too wide for fear that his stomach would rebel and pour its contents all over the oriental rug. "Kurt, I- I'm sorry, we can't-" He raced from the room as fast as his unsteady legs would carry him in his hitched-up, unfastened pants.

Kurt watched him go with wide, confused eyes - Not confused by what had happened, by what had felt so good, but by what had made Blaine suddenly-...they had been making progress, there had been connection even if it was one he'd never thought to seek out or one he particularly imagined he might enjoy. Blaine had surged forward only to retreat again at full speed, leaving him alone on a couch in the empty Commons, pants and underwear bunched awkwardly around his thighs, shirt and sweater stained with white fluid that was drying sticky already, quivering with anger and resentment and shame and hurt. Only the sound of the end of the record was there to cover his ragged, wimpery breathing.

So tell me now, and I won't ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Apparently the answer was no.