“I ran, Kurt. I didn't stand up. I let bullies chase me away, and it is something that I really, really regret,” Blaine finished, inhaling deeply and letting his words sink into the espresso scented air around them.

Kurt mimicked the uniformed boys' sigh, fingering the lid of his latte. He offered Blaine a small grin before dabbing lightly at his cheeks and under his eyes to ensure that any and all tear tracks were gone.

“Well,” Kurt said softly, biting his lip. “I guess I have a lot to think about.”

Blaine smiled, eyes twinkling in the slightest. “Just remember, you're better than all of them, Kurt, all of those people who push you around and try to make you break. You – well, I'd say you have more courage than any of them will ever have.”

Kurt glanced up at the other boy, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Courage,” Kurt repeated, almost making it sound like a question.

“Yeah,” Blaine shot him another smile. “That's what makes you stronger – your courage.”

It was obvious to Blaine that Kurt had felt alone for a really long time and could use someone to just be his friend and stand by his side. Blaine's chest expanded and warmed at the thought that he could make someone else feel good about themselves.

Caught up in his own small happiness that maybe, just maybe, he could actually make things better for this boy, Blaine let the silence last a little longer than was comfortable before remembering that he shouldn't be making Kurt feel awkward.

“Hey, uh – is your car parked outside? I can walk you to it, if you'd like,” Blaine scrunched his eyebrows together in a way that said “Let me take care of you. I need to take care of you.”

“Yeah, yeah it's just outside there. Thanks.”

Kurt stood up, gathering his bag and half-finished latte. Blaine followed suit, taking the initiative and stepping ahead of Kurt to hold the door open for him as they exited. Kurt's heart fluttered at the kind gesture. No other man besides his father had ever intentionally held a door for him before, and suddenly, here is this Blaine-Warbler-boy-singer-person, doing it without a second thought, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to him.

They walked towards Kurt's car, Blaine striding along comfortably at Kurt's side, just behind his elbow.

“Well, here we are,” Kurt began. “Thanks again, so much, for meeting with me. Let the other two guys know I said thanks, pleas, if you could. You guys are all really kind, and I've honestly never been accepted, or even acknowledged so quickly before in my life.”

Blaine's mouth formed into a sad, half-smile at Kurt's words. His eyes met Kurt's intently, listening carefully to every word.

Kurt continued, laughing breathily, “To think that the first time I was accepted and acknowledged so quickly was the time that I was actually trying to spy, and be subtle and inconspicuous is just, crazy, and, well, kinda ironic. My whole life – well, let's just say that I tend to try to make an entrance, and I certainly have never tried to blend in. And then the first time I did, I finally got what I've wanted the whole time.”

Blaine squinted at him, the afternoon sun in his eyes, and responded with a spark in his eye, “I'm glad to have noticed you. But, it was really you who noticed me and asked for directions.”

“A technicality,” Kurt playfully argued.

Blaine smiled and glanced down at his shoes before quickly asking, “Hey, can I give you my number? That way you can call, or text me anytime. Whether it's about Dalton, or the Neanderthals, or – or sectionals, or anything, you'll be able to reach me.”

“Oh,” Kurt responded, eyebrows shooting up, one slightly higher than the other. “Sure, I'd like that. Only, my phone died about an hour ago. So, could I put my number in your phone? Then you can text me and I'll have yours.”

 “Here,” Blaine said, reaching into the pocket of his neatly creased, grey uniform pants to pull out a wallet.  “I don't have my phone either,” Blaine explained sheepishly. “I left it in my car.”

He opened the sleek, black leather bi-fold and searched in it for a moment, finally pulling out a wallet-sized photograph. Blaine stuck his wallet back in his pocket and, while he dug in his inside blazer pocket for a pen, Kurt barely caught a glimpse of the picture. It was of a boy in a warbler uniform against a blue background. Kurt's heart dropped, thinking that it was a picture of Blaine's boyfriend. As his heart picked up its pace from its new position in his stomach, Kurt felt blood rush to his face and neck for a moment, thinking how adorable, how sweet, how endearing it was that Blaine would be the type to keep his significant other's picture in his wallet.

Blaine quickly scribbled his number on the back of the picture and handed it to Kurt.

“Sorry, it's all I had to write on in my wallet,” Blaine said. “I promise, I'm not sure conceited or anything, my mom just always orders way too many school pictures and I had a few--”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” Kurt interrupted. He smiled kindly as he took the picture, really relieved to see the now-familiar face with dark, gelled hair and golden eyes against the blue background instead of some stranger's foreign features glaring back at him. “I'm glad you had something on you to write on. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Blaine said. “I'll talk to you later, Kurt.”

“Bye, Blaine,” Kurt waves, unlocking his car door and trying not to watch Blaine too conspicuously as he heads across the parking lot to his own car.

Although he's never known how to do it before, Kurt Hummel somehow manages to teach himself how to scan, enlarge, and print pictures using his father's fancy work copier that week.