As they parked behind the music store- Between the Sheets, a shop that Blaine knew of but had never had any need to go to- Blaine felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and read the new text message from Maia.

You weren’t here after art.

Blaine bit his lip. Next to him, Kurt was unbuckling. Sorry, he typed, and then glanced at Kurt- who was exiting the car with absolute grace. How did he manage to do everything so elegantly? I was working on a paper and lost track of time. I’ll see you tomorrow night.

As he pressed send, there was a tapping sound on his window. He looked up to see that Kurt had walked around the car and was smiling down at him. “Coming?” Kurt asked teasingly.

Blaine quickly unbuckled and got out of the car.

They entered the store and Blaine looked around. Shelves and display cases filled the room, full of sheet music. Around the walls of the store there were some CD racks, presumably containing some of the same music as were in the books.

Kurt headed towards the back and Blaine trailed afterward, looking at the album covers and concert posters on the walls. Kurt stopped in front of the Broadway section, running his hand delicately down the spines of the music. Blaine took a moment to appreciate the concentrated look on Kurt’s face, the way he held himself almost solemnly, so respectful and reverent of the music around him. Then Blaine turned and wandered over to the CDs against the wall, examining them. The radio played softly in the background, but Blaine could also hear Kurt humming to himself. He turned around and saw Kurt pluck a music book from a shelf and open it up. Not wanting to disturb him but too curious to resist, Blaine spoke up. “What are you looking for?”

Kurt looked up suddenly, as if he were startled to realize he wasn’t alone, the sole person in a labyrinth of music notes. “Oh,” he said breathily, smiling at Blaine. “There’s a play I want to audition for once I get back to New York. I need a really big, show-stopping sort of song for it.” He closed the book he’d been thumbing through and slid it back into place on the shelf. He sighed. “The problem is finding one that’s in my range. I might end up having to transpose it, unfortunately…” Kurt trailed off, another book catching his eye.

Blaine felt his phone vibrate, but made no move to check it. He was slightly mesmerized by Kurt, whose lips were slightly parted, silently mouthing the lyrics to whatever Broadway tune he was looking at. After a moment, he looked up at Blaine and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I brought you along for company and here I am, being horrible company myself.”

Blaine shook his head rapidly. “No, it’s fine. Go ahead, find your song. I’ll browse.”

Kurt smiled. “Thanks, Blaine.” He looked back down at the music, but then something seemed to occur to him. “They’ve got an impressive collection of old records against the back wall. Worth taking a look at.”

Blaine nodded, smiling. He left Kurt to his sheet music and wandered towards the very back of the store, where he indeed saw a notable amount of records, hung on the wall and organized by artist in boxes. He flipped through them, getting lost in their faded covers and the worn feeling of the cardboard sleeves. Somehow Kurt had known that he’d like looking at the records-enjoy soaking up the nostalgia and history of them. He’d started at the end of the alphabet and made his way across the wall, smiling whenever he saw an artist or album that he recognized. He lost track of time, until finally he flipped back one record to see a familiar cover behind it.

“You like jazz?”

Blaine jumped slightly. He hadn’t realized that Kurt was behind him. Kurt smiled.

Blaine took a deep breath. “Not particularly.” He examined the Nat King Cole record, so familiar to him. “My mom used to play this when I was little. She’d put it on when she was cooking dinner, before my dad got home…she used to sing along with it. I’d dance around the kitchen.” Blaine smiled fondly at the memory, the image of his mother’s house heels clicking around the kitchen floor as she made dinner in her apron, crooning along with Cole. Blaine hummed a bit of The Touch of Your Lips before slipping the record back into its place.

He turned around to look at Kurt. The pale boy wore a faint, almost sad smile. Blaine tilted his head to the side, questioning. They spent a moment like that, just looking at eachother, until Kurt’s smile widened and became happy.

“I think I found the perfect song for my audition,” he told Blaine.

They left the music shop after Kurt purchased a songbook. Kurt suggested they go get something to eat and Blaine had no qualms. They drove to a little bakery downtown and ate pastries, sitting it the bright shop and chatting. Blaine checked his phone at one point, seeing a text from Maia(I didn’t know you had a paper. What’re our plans for tomorrow night?). He didn’t respond to it, instead turning his phone off altogether and focusing his full attention on Kurt, how perfect his hair looked, how his eyes shone, how his skin contrasted with the dark wood-paneled walls. Kurt told him about an Italian pastry shop in New York that he and Rachel would go to, eating cannoli and drinking espresso after they’d had stressful days. Blaine asked more questions about New York, and Kurt went on to paint a picture for Blaine, describing the colorful people and shops, the street performers and the children playing in Central Park, the Broadway shows he’d seen and his histrionic classmates from NYADA. Blaine was enraptured. Kurt was so in love with the city, able to describe its magic so vividly; he made Blaine want to live in a place he’d never even seen.

They walked outside of the bakery and dawdled on their way to Kurt’s car. They continued to talk as Kurt drove slowly back to OSU, finally stopping at the entrance to the dorms. Blaine said goodbye to Kurt, with a promise to text him, and exited the car.

When Blaine reached his room he turned on his phone again to see that he had a missed call from Maia, but no voicemail. He sent her a text.

Sorry, my phone died. We can go to dinner. I’ll call you tomorrow.

Blaine wondered vaguely when he’d started lying to Maia.

He also wondered when he’d stopped feeling bad about it. He felt no guilt as he tossed his phone down on the bed and turned on his laptop. The phone vibrated a few times but he pretended not to notice as he Googled photos of the New York City skyline, eventually checking what sort of business degree options there were at NYU, Columbia, and a few city colleges.

He noted the vast music programs at those colleges too. He remembered singing in a bar with Kurt and dancing to jazz with his mother. He bookmarked the program webpages before shutting his laptop.

Still ignoring his phone, he went back to reading his history textbook. He studied battles and contemplated how not everything is light or dark, but that there are so many confusing shades of gray in between.

And also how easily a single person can change the course of history.