Early Friday afternoon, Kurt had his jacket on and was turning in circles around his office, searching for his keys, when Blaine walked up to the doorway.

“Sorry to bother you, Professor Hummel,” Blaine said. “Leaving early today?” He checked his watch.

“No, I was just about to head out for my ritual 2 PM coffee break. Assuming I can find my keys. What’s up?”

“I just had a question about something you mentioned in class the other day,” Blaine said. “I can come back later, wouldn’t want to interfere with your extremely important caffeine schedule.” Blaine picked up Kurt’s keys from a bookshelf near the door and handed them over.

“Thanks,” Kurt said, pocketing his keys. “Why don’t you come with me? We can talk about class as easily over coffee as here in the office.”

They walked across the quad to the little campus coffee shop, where Kurt paid for both of their drinks. Blaine’s question was an obviously contrived ramble about the sources of the different views of Quakers versus Puritans on the proper role of women. Kurt answered it the best he could before steering the conversation off into the turn-of-the-century women’s suffrage movement, a topic he could pontificate on for hours. Blaine was fascinated, and asked quite a few questions comparing women’s suffrage to more recent equality movements. Before Kurt knew it, two hours had flown by.

“I’d better get back to my office if I’m going to get anything else done today,” Kurt sighed. “But it’s been great talking to you.”

“Yeah … me too,” Blaine mumbled. “I … I also wanted to tell you, I told some of my friends. About being gay. Rachel and Tina and my roommate, Mike. And it was all fine. Even my roommate, he wasn’t freaked out about sharing a room with a gay guy or anything. I was so relieved, I mean … just, thanks. For encouraging me. I really appreciate it.”

Kurt smiled fondly. “I’m so glad for you, Blaine. That’s great.”

Blaine showed up again the next Friday just before two in the afternoon, and the next one, and the one after that. After a while, he stopped even pretending to have a question about class. He just walked with Kurt to the coffee shop and they chatted for an hour or more about everything under the sun.

“I got cast as the lead in the fall musical! West Side Story! And the female lead is Rachel, one of my best friends! All the upperclassmen are flipping out that they cast two freshmen as the leads, but I’m just so excited, I don’t even care what they say.”

“It’s my first book! Expanded from my dissertation. I brought you a copy. ‘Bloomers to Utilikilts: The Appropriation of Opposite-Gender Clothing in America.’ You don’t have to read it or anything, I won’t be offended, I promise… No, I never wore one. At least, not out of the house. It was just for research… No, I do not still have it! Okay, no more questions about this.”

“What? No! I was helping the lighting crew change something out in the theater, and I fell off a ladder and got the hugest ever bruise on my ass. You seriously thought I was walking that way because of … oh my god. I’m so embarrassed right now. Stop laughing! Stop it!”

“And eventually we figured out that the student’s entire essay was copied from a 1987 article published in an obscure Australian journal. What on earth was she thinking? Unbelievable. I probably shouldn’t tell you stories like this about other students, should I?”

“So Rachel is back together with him again. I mean, seriously, how many times can you break up and get together with the same guy in two months? How does she stand so much drama in her life?”

* * *

“Remind me why we had to come to school on a Saturday night?” Mercedes complained.

To see Blaine, Kurt thought. “Because it’s important for faculty to support student arts programs,” he said out loud. They each took a program from the student at the door, then found seats near the middle of the room.

Kurt perused the program. There were ten a capella groups performing at the joint concert, two songs each. It was a great way to put together a full program early in the school year, plus it served as a promotional event for each group’s full concert later on. Blaine’s group was second to last.

The concert was actually a lot of fun. There was a mix of male, female, and co-ed groups, of newly popular and retro songs, of serious singing and jokey theatrics. Kurt and Mercedes both found themselves cheering and mouthing lyrics throughout most of the performances.

“And now … the Chorduroys!” the emcee announced to huge cheers. Blaine’s group was one of the longest-established and most popular groups on campus. The twenty members, all male, trotted onstage in matching outfits: gray corduroy pants, white button-down shirts, and navy blue blazers. To Kurt’s surprise, Blaine stepped out in front — he was the lead soloist for the first song. He looked incredible in the uniform, Kurt thought, and it seemed that Blaine smiled a little wider when he noticed Kurt in the audience. Kurt’s jaw dropped when he heard Blaine’s singing voice for the first time.

Don’t know much about history

“Isn’t he in your class?” Mercedes joked to Kurt. “Apparently you’re a terrible teacher.”

Don’t know much biology,
Don’t know much about a science book,
Don’t know much about the French I took.

But I do know that I love you,
And I know that if you love me too,
What a wonderful world this would be.

Kurt couldn’t tell whether Blaine was really staring straight at him, or if it was just his imagination. And yet somehow, apparently without moving his eyes from Kurt’s, Blaine captivated the entire audience. His voice was smooth and sexy and worked perfectly with the old-fashioned crooning of the song.

Now I don’t claim to be an A student
But I’m tryin’ to be.
For maybe by being an A student, baby,
I can win your love for me.

Kurt barely heard the group’s second song, which was led by a tall guy with shaggy blond hair, because his thoughts were racing. Why had Blaine chosen that song? Had he even chosen the song, or was it someone else’s decision? Was he really staring at Kurt the whole time, or had Kurt gone off the deep end? Was it possible that Blaine was flirting with him? And if so, what should Kurt do about it?

He was still lost in thought when the concert ended, but the huge standing ovation when all the groups came back on stage for a final bow snapped him back into the present. Mercedes turned to him as the applause died down. “That was so much fun,” she said. “I’m glad you talked me into coming.”

“Turns out the students are pretty talented,” Kurt said.

They spotted a few other friends of theirs in the crowd and had stopped to chat when Blaine walked by. Kurt stopped him and shook his hand, color rising in his cheeks ever so slightly. “Excellent job, Blaine!” he said. “I had no idea you were such a great singer.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Blaine said, a huge grin on his face. “But I am a Theater major, you know. It shouldn’t be too surprising, should it?” He had the audacity to wink at Kurt.

“I guess not,” Kurt stammered. “Blaine, these are some friends of mine — Professor Jones, Professor Fabray, and Professor Abrams. Blaine is in my class,” he explained to them, trying to control his breathing.

“Great to meet you all,” Blaine said. “Thanks so much for coming. But I have to catch up with some people over there, so if you’ll excuse me…”

“Of course,” Kurt said. His eyes lingered on Blaine for just a moment too long as he scurried away.

Mercedes shot him a look. “Want a ride home, Kurt? I know you usually walk, but it’s pretty late at night.”

They walked across campus to Mercedes’s car, and she started scolding him the moment they were out of earshot of anyone else. “Are you out of your mind, Kurt?” she asked. “What the hell was going on back there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Kurt said, grateful that the dark hid the color in his face.

“That Blaine kid,” Mercedes said. “You like him.”

“We’re friends,” Kurt said. “Haven’t you ever been friends with a student?”

“Yeah, like, ‘Hi, how was your weekend, congratulations on making the tennis team’ friends. Not like ‘I want to get into your pants’ friends.”

“It’s not like that,” Kurt said. “We just get along really well. We can talk for hours, about anything. He’s very nice. And interesting. And funny.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Mercedes said. “You realize you sound like you’re describing a hot first date, you know that? Is he gay?”

“Why does it matter?” Kurt asked defensively.

“Okay, so he’s gay,” Mercedes said. “Kurt, honey, you need to run from this as fast as you can. It will only get you into trouble.”

“That’s ridiculous, Mercedes,” Kurt said. “I’m capable of being friends with a student without losing my professionalism.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Mercedes said as they got into the car.

* * *

“How did he like your song?” Rachel asked.

“I don’t know,” Blaine said, sighing. “He was talking to a bunch of other professors, so I couldn’t really say anything. But he did seem a little bit flustered.”

Rachel grinned. “You’re very good at this, you know.”

“I’m not trying to seduce him,” Blaine insisted for the hundredth time. “We’re friends. Just friends.”

“Right,” Rachel said. “You keep telling yourself that.”

* * *

“I can’t believe it’s almost Thanksgiving already,” Kurt said one Friday over coffee. “I guess I won’t see you next week. Are you headed back to Ohio to see your family?”

“Actually, no,” Blaine said. “I’ll be home over Christmas break and my parents didn’t want to spring for another plane ticket so close to then. I just signed up for the cafeteria’s Thanksgiving dinner, but all of my friends are leaving so it will be pretty lame. Extra time to study, I guess. I’ll get a head start on finals. What about you?”

“Just me and a pile of papers to grade,” Kurt said. He took a sip of his coffee and then blurted out without thinking, “Hey, why don’t you come over? Instead of the sad cafeteria party, we can have our own little makeshift Thanksgiving. Turkey sandwiches and cranberry sauce out of a can. It’s better than being alone, right?”

Blaine grinned. “That sounds fantastic. I’ll bring dessert.”

* * *

Kurt’s Thanksgiving meal ended up getting more elaborate than he’d planned. He ordered pre-cooked turkey pieces and stuffing from the organic market, and the cranberry sauce was indeed out of a can, but he made cornbread muffins and mashed potatoes and roasted fall vegetables and a cranberry-walnut salad with citrus vinaigrette, all from scratch. Blaine was duly impressed when he arrived at 7 PM sharp, carrying a box from one of the best local bakeries.

“Thanks so much for inviting me, Professor Hummel,” Blaine said.

“Glad to have you here,” Kurt said. “There’s nothing worse than spending a holiday alone. But call me Kurt, at least where no other students can hear you. I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you?”

Blaine smiled. “Okay. Kurt.”

Kurt uncorked a bottle of white wine and took down two glasses from the shelf, then paused. “Wait a minute,” he said. “You’re probably underage, aren’t you?”

Blaine laughed. “Most freshmen are. I’m twenty.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow, then poured the wine and handed him a glass. “Just don’t turn me in. But that’s pretty old for a freshman. Did you take a year off or something?”

“I was always one of the oldest in my class,” Blaine said. “But then I had to repeat my sophomore year after I got beat up at that dance. I think I told you about it before?”

“Oh yeah,” Kurt said, embarrassed at accidentally bringing up such a touchy subject. He took a sip of his wine.

Blaine was feeling a bit bold. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Twenty-eight,” Kurt said, gulping down a bit more wine.

Blaine’s eyes widened. “That’s all? I mean, not that you look old, you totally don’t, but I figured to be a professor you’d have to be at least like in your mid-thirties or something.”

“Started college at 18, graduated at 21, finished grad school in five years — which is quite an impressive feat, I’ll have you know — and got a job at Princeton right after. This is my second year teaching.”

“Makes me feel a bit incompetent,” Blaine said.

“No shame in getting started a bit late,” Kurt reassured him.

It felt awkward at first, sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner with just the two of them, no family, no other friends to take the pressure off the situation. Blaine complemented the food profusely, then found himself chomping on salad with no clue what to talk about.

“Do you spend Thanksgiving by yourself a lot?” Blaine finally asked.

“I usually go home to Lima and visit my family,” Kurt said. “This year there was just too much work to justify the trip.” He sighed. “I really miss them. My dad, we’re very close. And Carole, that’s my stepmom, she loves Thanksgiving, goes all-out for the holiday. There’s always ten times as much food as we could possibly eat, all of it homemade and delicious.” He gestured around the table and smiled. “Maybe I was subconsciously trying to re-create that.”

“That’s so different from what I’m used to,” Blaine said. “My family is very formal about holidays. The food is always catered and almost too pretty to eat, and we sit around the dining room in our best clothes trying not to mess anything up. I guess it’s nice in its way, but I have so many childhood memories of being terrified that I’d spill cranberry sauce on my white shirt or something like that. This is actually way better.” He smiled shyly at Kurt.

Once they’d they found their way back into the easy conversation they usually shared, the meal seemed to pass quickly. Before they knew it, Kurt was packing away leftovers while Blaine rinsed plates and put them in the dishwasher.

Kurt took the bakery box out of the fridge. “I’ll start some coffee to have with dessert. What is it, anyway? Pumpkin pie?”

“One better,” Blaine said. “Pumpkin cheesecake.”

Kurt stared at him. “Oh my god, really? Cheesecake is my favorite food in the whole entire world. Have I told you that before?”

“Don’t think so,” Blaine said. “I just thought it looked good.”

Kurt busied himself arranging the two cheesecake slices on plates and pouring coffee, then brought everything over to the small table next to the couch. “Cheesecake must be savored in absolute comfort,” he said, kicking off his shoes and curling up on the couch with his legs beneath him. “Eating it at a table in an uncomfortable dining room chair spoils the experience.”

Blaine couldn’t look away. His eyes traced the long lines of Kurt’s slender body. He watched Kurt’s fingers twitch in anticipation of picking up his fork, stared at his lips as Kurt took a preliminary sip of coffee. Everything about him was sensual, taut with anticipation. All of this over a piece of cheesecake? Blaine thought. What would he look like in bed? … No, no, stop thinking. Now. Blaine sat down on the couch beside him.

Kurt picked up his plate and broke off the tip of the cheesecake slice with his fork. He held it up to examine for a moment, breathing in the cinnamon pumpkin scent, before slowly bringing it to his mouth. As his lips closed around it, his eyes fluttered shut. He let out a soft moan while sliding the fork out of his mouth. “This is amazing,” he said softly with his mouth full. He opened his eyes, but looked only at the fork, not at Blaine. His tongue flitted out to lick a remaining bit of creamy filling off his fork.

Blaine’s heart was pounding. He took a bite of cheesecake but barely tasted it, gawking at Kurt’s reaction instead. He watched, transfixed, as Kurt luxuriated in bite after bite, lost in his cheesecake heaven and wholly unaware of Blaine’s attention.

It wasn’t until Kurt’s plate was empty that he looked over at Blaine and caught him staring, a bit of cheesecake frozen on his fork halfway to his mouth. “What’s wrong?” Kurt asked. “Don’t you like it?”

“It’s … I’m …” Blaine stammered. “Uh, it’s just really rich. I’ve eaten too much already.”

Kurt smiled. “I’ve never eaten too much when it comes to cheesecake,” he said.

It was a moment of madness for both of them, wine running through their veins, Kurt blissful from dessert, Blaine overwhelmed by Kurt’s facial expressions. Blaine reached his fork toward Kurt, turning it over as he moved, and Kurt opened his mouth, capturing the delicious morsel in one seductive motion. Blaine held his breath as he felt the pressure of Kurt’s tongue against the fork, watched his lips glisten as he drew it slowly out of his mouth. They stared at each other for a moment, breathing shallowly, hearts racing, eyes fixed on each other’s lips.

Kurt leapt off the couch suddenly. “It’s getting late,” he said, terror in his eyes. “Maybe you should get going.”

Blaine stood up and took a few steps backward in the direction of the door. “I … I’m … Yeah. Go. I should go.” His plate and fork clattered loudly as he set them down on the coffee table.

Kurt fetched Blaine’s jacket out of the closet, using the time to recover himself. “I … it’s just late, too much wine. I … I had a really nice time, Blaine. Thanks for coming.”

“Yeah,” Blaine said. “It was … nice.”

“I’ll see you next week?” Kurt held Blaine’s gaze, silently begging that this ending wouldn’t ruin their friendship.

“Next week,” Blaine whispered hoarsely, as he stumbled out the door.

* * *

Blaine came to Kurt’s office on Friday the following week, as if nothing had happened. Kurt looked up and smiled, grabbed his jacket and keys, and headed out the door with him, not saying a word.

“I don’t make friends very easily,” Kurt said, staring straight ahead, once they were outside. “I’ve lived here for a year and a half, and my only really close friend is Mercedes. Professor Jones. I just kind of have a hard time opening up to people.” He bit his lip, getting to the hard part. “Except for you. I think of you as a friend now, not just a student. I hope that’s okay. Because it means a lot to me, having someone to talk to and just be myself. And I don’t want to mess that up, you know? There are so many ways to mess it up. Even just saying it outright like this, that could mess it up. Honestly, I have no idea why you want to hang out with your boring old history professor in the first place, but I’m really glad that you do.”

Blaine looked at Kurt, who had become completely engrossed with his feet. “And I have no idea why you want to hang out with an ignorant, immature student like me,” he said. “Anyway, you’re not old. And you’re not boring. I think you’re the most interesting person on this entire campus. So let’s not worry about it. Let’s just … do what we’re doing.”

Kurt finally looked up at him. “Okay,” he said. Blaine’s eyes were soft, comforting, but looked as if they could see straight through into Kurt’s soul. I will keep this to friendship if it kills me, Kurt thought to himself.