The first time Blaine met Ryan, he wasn’t terribly impressed; he remembers that much. They’d met on the big staircase at Dalton: Ryan had been new and lost and Blaine had helped him find his class only to promptly forgotten about him.

The next time he’d seen him had been at a party and he’d been very, very drunk. Memories from the night have always been blurry, but Blaine remembers drinking some disgusting concoction of mixed liquors poured into a barrel. He remembers talking to Ryan and realizing that Ryan was gay- only the second gay student he’d ever met at Dalton. The only other thing he remembered was crawling onto a sofa to pass out, and curling up next to Ryan who had been sweet, and as drunk as he was.

The next morning had been horrible; first of all, it had been the worst hangover of his life. Then he’d misjudged the space between his car and the edge of the garage, managing to mangle his side mirror. In retrospect, he’d realized that he was probably still drunk, but he’d been too young and unused to drinking to realize how long it could take to sober up when one drank that amount of alcohol.

It was the third time he saw Ryan that clinched things. He was at another party- they weren’t uncommon at his school. Like Blaine, a lot of schoolmates had parents who traveled a lot, which is why they boarded. It seemed that one student or other was hosting an empty house party every weekend. Up until his Junior year, Blaine hadn’t attended them very often. But he had grown tired of being perfect Blaine: the son who got excellent grades but was hidden carefully out of sight; the perfect front man for the Warblers: energetic, happy, and always ready with a pat on the back or a pep talk; the guy who gave advice but who no one saw.

He’d ended the night behind the couch on the floor snuggling with Ryan. He was drunk, and in some strange way, it felt like he wasn’t even there, not really in his body. So he watched in a distant way as Ryan moved closer and kissed him. He felt himself kiss back, both present and not. When Ryan asked him if he’d be his boyfriend, his mouth was forming the word yes while his brain was thinking, ‘Boyfriend? I don’t even know you,’ and ‘I guess that’s okay though.’

In retrospect, it was perhaps not the most auspicious start to a relationship.

~*~*~*~

By Tuesday afternoon, Blaine is dragging. He’d stayed up until 3 am to finish a term paper, only to find it riddled with typos and badly formatted references he’d had to rush to fix before running to class. He’s dreaming of a nap as he shuffles back from class; he has at least three hours before his next class. In deference to the unseasonably warm weather, he’s donned socks and torn flip-flops. Blaine drags his track pants through puddles of melting snow as he ambles slowly, listening to his iPod in a daze.

All of which probably contribute to his not hearing Kurt until the other boy is reaching out, plucking an earbud from his head and scaring him quite badly.

“Oh holy shit, Kurt!” Hand to his heart, Blaine steps out of the melting embankment of snow he’s stepped into, shaking his soaked foot with annoyance.

“Sorry.” Sheepishly, Kurt hands back his earphone, smile glittering and coy in the watery sunlight. He looks…wonderful. Seeing Kurt, Blaine feels a wave of embarrassment and shame. His own hair is curling and sticking up in mad tufts, he’s wearing his oldest and most tattered lounging clothes, and he hadn’t even had time to wash his face that morning.

Kurt on the other hand, is put together with precision and an attention to detail that makes Blaine’s head swim. He even has a brooch...or two, it’s hard to tell, of two wooden ducks placed carefully on the lapel of yet another gorgeous cashmere coat.

Tiny sounds float from his freed earbuds. Blaine ducks his head and stammers out an apology.Ducking his head, Blaine stammers out an apology. Tiny sounds float from his freed earbuds.

Kurt waves off his apology and they start walking; Kurt is apparently going in the same direction as he is.

“What are you listening to?”

“The Ugly Organ? By Cursive?” Blaine isn’t sure why everything he says is coming out as a question, he only knows that he feels self conscious and flustered.

“Never heard of it.” Blaine smiles at Kurt, who is staring without shame at Blaine’s hair. His hand comes up, stopping just short of Blaine’s head. “Can I?”

Blaine shrugs miserably, “Uh…sure?”

Kurt’s fingers are light, tracing pinpricks over his scalp as he tugs on the curls. Blaine knows he needs a haircut desperately and he looks a mess without his gel.

“I need a haircut,” He defends, “And I overslept and had a fiasco with my term paper, so I basically ran to class without getting properly dressed.” He gestures toward his sweater and pants, one foot sodden and freezing. Kurt removes his hand from Blaine’s hair, smiling and gesturing for Blaine to follow him. Blaine’s scalp tingles with the ghosting reminder of Kurt’s fingers in his hair.

“Your foot must be freezing, come on let’s go in. You can invite me to your room and tell me more about this band.” Flabbergasted, Blaine watches as Kurt strides confidently toward the dorm. He’s tired and still aching for a nap, but intrigued. When Kurt turns to shoot a look back at Blaine, his smile catches the sun and Blaine has to blink to be sure he’s seeing clearly.

~*~

Nervously, Blaine opens the door to his room. He isn’t a terribly messy guy but Jeff is; therefore their room exists in a semi-permanent state of upheaval. The only break in the chaos is Blaine’s desk, which he keeps obsessively organized. He often feels it’s the only thing in his life that he has any modicum of control over.

“Sorry about the mess,” Blaine runs his hand nervously through his hair, wincing at the feel of the freed curls, “Jeff is…a bit of a slob.” Kurt just shrugs, wiggling out of his coat before turning to Blaine,

“Can I hang this?” For a moment Blaine just stares, because while the coat is fabulous, the clothes underneath it are...well he doesn’t quite have the words. He nods, then opens his half of the closet to retrieve a hanger, carefully arranging Kurt’s coat. As he hangs it he catches a whiff of something spicy but sweet. His red cardigan hangs next to Kurt’s coat and he hopes that the next time he wears it, he might smell lingering traces of Kurt..

The thought hasn’t even fully formed before he flushes, red with shame and embarrassment. He has a boyfriend and a chance at having a friend, a real friend, in Kurt. He cannot allow himself to see Kurt in any other way. Chastising himself, he pushes his cardigan a little farther away from Kurt’s coat so they won’t touch.

Kurt is sitting in his desk chair, which squeaks as he swings side to side, looking around Blaine’s room with interest.

“By the way, before I forget,” he starts. “Your hair- you should leave it without the gel more often. It really works for you. With a little styling I mean.” Blaine smiles, a reflex he can’t control. Kurt’s words are both a compliment and a slight dig. The way he manages to deliver them, with an upward tilt of his chin and an appraising look in his eyes, feels like acceptance. He thinks there might also be some mild judgment in there, but suspects that from Kurt, this is nothing more than affection.

“Hmmm.” Blaine responds. “We’ll see. Ryan doesn’t really like my hair curly.” It isn’t what he wanted to say; he bites his lip as soon as the words are out. He hates when he let things like that slip. He knows that saying things like that make Ryan seem controlling, or himself seem weak and passive. Flustered, he continues, “I mean, when we were in high school, I guess, I mean my hair was always the bane of my life until Ryan showed me how to tame it.” Kurt is still smiling, watching Blaine settle in a flustered heap on the futon in the corner.

“Well, maybe one day you’ll let me show you some tricks. Makeovers…” Kurt’s face is almost wistful. Blaine can see something, an old memory perhaps, bittersweet and tender, flit across it. “They’re like crack to me.” And yes, it is definitely something Kurt remembered: the private look, the closed smile and upturned eyes are a dead giveaway. Blaine might not be that adept at understanding himself, but reading other people is definitely his strength.

And if his skills are to be trusted at all, there is some…longing? Something sad is layered over those words; something that makes the caregiver in him ache to fix, to uncover and unfold and make whatever it is better.

They sit for a few minutes in silence, Kurt watching Blaine as Blaine examines him. Soon it becomes uncomfortable and Kurt clears his throat.

“So tell me about this band of yours.” He tucks one leg under him, knee up near his chin, “Unless-- I’m sorry do you have somewhere you need to be?”

Blaine just shakes his head, smiling. “No, I have a break. But I am gonna change, ‘cause I felt like a slob before I saw you but now I just feel criminal.” He laughs, pushing through his closet for some clothes and his dresser for socks, before turning into the bathroom. “Do you mind?” He gestures with the clothes and Kurt shakes his head, already thumbing through the piles of books next to Blaine’s desk.

He turns, changing in the bathroom quickly, trying without much success to tame his hair without the safety of his gel. Frustrated, he gives up, emerging to find Kurt flipping through a paperback for his Women in Lit class.

“Fan of Woolf?” He asks casually, causing Kurt to jump.

“I’m sorry do you mind? I just kind of made myself at home.” Kurt seems tentative and unsure, which makes Blaine smile wider.

“No.” A bit shy, Blaine sits on the futon again, crossing his legs and tucking his feet under him. “I kind of like it.”

“So...” Kurt waggles Blaine’s iPod, which he’d stowed carefully on his desk.

“Yeah. It’s- I mean…what kind of music are you into?” Blaine starts, feeling self conscious and unsure. Kurt shrugs, so he continues, frowning a little.

“It’s not…I’m not really into the band so much as just that one album. A friend in high school turned me on to it, and it’s just- sometimes it…” Blaine searches for the right words.

“Sometimes I go months without even thinking about it, and sometimes I just listen to it obsessively on repeat. See...” Blaine is warming up to the topic now, gesturing with his hands, face bright with enthusiasm. “It’s sort of like a play, the CD. It’s about this guy and he’s struggling because he feels like he needs to suffer to create in order to be a true artist. He’s pandering to what his fans want: creating suffering and fucking his life up so he can find things to write music about. He’s with this woman and it’s…it’s so intense the way that he’s destroying them, and her, and just making a mess of his life. By halfway through, he’s not even sure he’s real anymore, or what is real: if what he’s creating is reality or if he’s just a liar. And it gets so ugly and the music is so raw. It mirrors what he is doing and going through perfectly- sometimes the music itself is ugly and hard to listen to, but it’s so honest.” He has to pause for a minute, wanting to make sure that Kurt doesn’t think he’s a freak, but Kurt is just waiting and watching.

“Well, that all sounds really depressing, and by the time you’re almost done it’s really depressing. He’s driven her away and he has this crushing guilt, like he murdered her because he was destroying her. At some point he realizes how much damage he’s done, and he sees her. She’s living a different life and she has a daughter. He has this moment when he realizes that her daughter could have been his and that he could have had that life. He could have been making something wonderful out of his life. The last song is just so…” Blaine’s eyes are closed. “It’s so uplifting. He’s still so broken but it’s this huge surge and outpouring of hope and he’s realizing that the worst is over.” His eyes open, he seeks Kurt out earnestly. “The sunrise is just over the hill and he’s past the worst of it, because he sees now what he could have had, and what he does have, and what he wants. It’s just…incredible.”

Blinking, he realizes he’s been crying. Embarrassed, he wipes the moisture from his eyes, “Oh my god, you must think I am so lame.” He’s buried his face in his hands when he hears Kurt’s huffed breath.

“I think nothing of the sort. I’m…I like this. I love music- love to sing and to let it move me…” Kurt waits for Blaine to look at him, “I like that it moves you too.”

The smile they share is bright with the promise of friendship.