I’m pouring over my textbooks when Kurt calls, attempting to prepare myself the class even though it doesn’t start for another month.

“Come over,” he says. “I developed the film and I want you to see it.”

“It’s late, Kurt,” I tell him. I want to see him but it also terrifies me.

“Do you have class in the morning?”

“No.”

“Work?”

“No.”

“Then hop on your bike and come over.” He hangs up before I can argue with him. I sigh as I close my book and glance at my watch. It’s only nine thirty. If I leave now, I’d be at his studio by ten and home before midnight. Even though I grew up in New York, I am weary of being out late at night, a result of my sheltered upbringing of nannies and prep schools.

I change quickly out of my pajamas and head down to Kurt’s studio. The bike I bought with the twenty dollars isn’t the best, not nearly what my old one was, but it does the job and is sturdy enough to get me through the next two years of law school.

My thoughts have been preoccupied with Kurt since that rainy afternoon in his studio. I know what I am and while I’m becoming more okay with it, it’s been more of a theoretical idea than a practical one. I’ve been to a few bars and nightclubs for men like me but I’m to afraid of being recognized by someone to frequent those places regularly. I went to a bath house once and left within five minutes, terrified by what I saw. That’s the day my bike got stolen. I think I was so nervous that I forgot to lock it up before going into the nondescript, but still posh, building. So, here I am. A twenty-three year old homosexual virgin law student heading over to a beguiling artist’s apartment in the middle of the night.

Even though it is such a nice night out, the streets are relatively empty. Kurt’s neighborhood is almost deserted. I pull up to his building and ring the buzzer.

“Yeah?” his voice calls out.

“It’s me.” He immediately buzzes me up without another word. I hoist my bike onto my shoulders and carry it up the five flights of stairs; I’m not taking any chances. Kurt’s door is open as I reach the landing and I wheel my bike inside.

He is laying on his back on the floor, holding negatives up to the light. He’s wearing blue linen pants and the same white shirt from two weeks ago. His hair, which had looked almost black they day I met him was actually a chestnut brown. I realized that it was dark because he kept leaning out the window to smoke.

Tonight, he doesn’t seem to care so much about smoking inside as an ashtray full of cigarette butts is next to him. He has a record playing, something instrumental that I don’t recognize but it is low and soulful. I like it.

“Close the door behind you, please,” he says, not even bothering to look at me.

“Well, hello to you, too,” I tease, shutting the door and locking it more out of habit than anything else. There’s a couch against a wall that wasn’t there before.

Kurt moves the negative out of the light and turns his head to see me. “Hello.”

“Hi.” I lean my bike against the wall and stand over him. He smiles up at me and a small fluttering starts in the pit of my stomach. “What’d you want to show me?” I ask, my voice catching in my throat.

Kurt smiles again and gets up. He slides the negatives into an envelope on the table in the kitchenette and goes to a door in the far corner of the room. He vanishes for a moment and returns with a large portfolio. He sits back on the couch and beckons me over. I sit nervously beside him as he unwraps the leather cord around the binder.

“They turned out better than I would have thought,” he says, opening the cover. I am instantly struck by how... normal I look. I look like any other guy that got caught in the rain and is trying to warm up. He flips through a few photos, searching for one in particular. I make him flip back every now and then and we discuss the composition of it, the lighting, my expression. He stops at one of me in profile, head tilted back and eyes closed. My mouth is opened slightly and my back is hunched. I look tired, like my dad does when he comes home for a business trip. How did I not know how much I look like him?

Kurt flips the page again and it’s the first one of me with my cup of tea. I’m leaning towards him, a hand between my legs on the stool, the mug at my lips and an eyebrow quirked, like I’m confused by a question. I look more attractive than I actually am. I can’t help but laugh.

“That doesn’t look like me.”

“That’s my favorite,” Kurt says, sounding offended.

“It’s not bad. I just don’t think I look like that.”

“No?” Kurt asks, flipping to another page. I’m stretching in this one and my undershirt is riding up my stomach, exposing my navel. I blush. Somehow, I look even more attractive in that one. He closes the portfolio abruptly. “Come with me.”

He grabs my hand and drags me to the bathroom, flicking on the light, and positions me in front of the mirror.

“What?” I ask. I really don’t know where he’s going with this.

He sighs, placing his hands on my shoulders as he stands behind me. “Look at yourself Blaine.”

I look. It’s just me. My hair is slicked back like normal and I’m wearing a green polo shirt tucked into a pair of tailored khaki pants with a woven leather belt. I don’t look like the man in the photographs.

“Okay...”

Suddenly, I feel Kurt’s body pressed against mine and his hands are reaching around me to turn the faucet on. Before I can stop him, he’s tugging my polo out of my pants and over my head and pushing my head into the sink.

“That crap needs to come out of your hair,” I hear him say over the rush of the water. His fingers are strong as they massage the pomade off my scalp, making it hard to be annoyed with him. He finally lets me up and towels my hair off, chuckling as I sputtered and wipe my face off. “Stop wearing that stuff. You don’t look like you.”

“You don’t even know me, Kurt,” I spit out, pushing him away from me. I don’t know where it comes from but all of a sudden, I’ve had enough. “You don’t know me. You took a few pictures and you have an opinion about my hair. That’s it. You know nothing else.”

Kurt steps closer to me, his thumb running down my brow to the tip of my nose. “That’s not all I know, Blaine.”

I open my mouth to disagree but his lips are on mine before I can even think to move away. I should push him away, put my shirt on, grab my bike and go home. I should ignore all his calls and tell David’s sister off for introducing us. But I don’t.

Instead, I wind a hand around his waist and the other to his neck, holding him close. I’ve kissed girls before and it never did much for me. Now I knew why. Kissing Kurt is nothing like kissing a girl. Sure, the principle and the goal is the same but the taste, the flavor is completely different.

Kurt is obviously more experienced than I am as he back me against the sink and his lips leave mine to run down my neck and collarbone.

“Kurt,” I whimper, his hands sliding up and down my sides. I am painfully aware of how my body is reacting to his lips and fingers and it feels better than I could have imagined. When I feel his hands on my belt, I push his hands away and slip away from him. “I should go.”

I pick up my shirt from the floor and pull it over my head. I clumsily grab my bike and head for the door.

“Wait, Blaine! You can’t go out this late.”

“It’ll be fine, Kurt.” I say, fumbling with the locks on the door.

“No, it won’t. This neighborhood is fine during the day but it’s almost midnight. You can’t leave.”

“I’m sure that it’ll be fine, the police are probably out--” I wrench the door open but Kurt slams it shut.

“The police are why you can’t leave, Blaine,” he says as though it should be obvious. I stare at him, not really believing what he is saying. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“I--I didn’t think--I mean, I thought it was just stories or exaggerations.” I wheel my bike away from him.

His panicked look tells me that he’s not lying. “Why would anyone make that shit up?” he asks incredulously.

“I guess I’m staying here then.”

We stare at each other for a moment, both trying to catch our breath. Kurt moves to the kitchenette and gets two bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, offering me one. I put my bike back against the wall and accept it. He uncaps his and tosses me his bottle opener.

“Wait, where are we going to sleep? The couch isn’t big enough for both of us” I ask, tossing the opener back to him and taking a sip of the cold beer.

He looks at me like I’m stupid. “I live here, Blaine. I have a bed. You can take the couch.”

I blush, looking away. “I just thought this was your studio and that you live somewhere else.”

“Can’t afford two rents. Even this is barely in my price range.” He sits back on the couch and opens the portfolio. “Sit down, I’ll keep my hands to my self.”

I want to tell him that I don’t want him to. That I want to feel his hands on my skin again and his lips on mine. That I don’t want to sleep on the couch but in his bed with him. But I don’t. I sit beside him and he shows me the rest of the photos as we nurse our beers.

At some point, I stop looking at the photos and study the planes of his face. There’s a slight upturn to his nose that makes him look almost regal and now that I’m close, I can see a light freckling across it. One of his ears is pointed slightly and I have to resist the urge to run my finger along it.

“You know, it’s rude to stare,” he says, catching me off guard. I blush again. I swear, I’ve blushed more in one night than I have in my entire life.

“Sorry... It’s just... Can--can we kiss again?” I ask. I immediately look down at my feet, positive that my face is beet red. I hear Kurt chuckle and his hand reaches across my body to take my bottle from me.

“Of course we can.” He nudges me against the back of the couch, climbs into my lap, and he kisses me much more softly this time, probably aware of how new this is for me. His hands never stray further south than my neck and shoulders but mine come to rest on his hips, occasionally sliding to his butt. After when feels like hours, Kurt pulls away from me and kisses my forehead. “Come on, we can both sleep in my bed.” He feels me stiffen beneath him. “Just sleep, Blaine. Like I said before,I’ll keep my hands to myself if you want me to.”

I nod silently and he leads me to his tiny bedroom which doubles as a darkroom. He turns the light off, allowing me the privacy of darkness to undress. I remove my pants and polo before laying down beside him. We lay together, not saying anything for a long while until I carefully reach my hand to his and tug him closer.