Blaine apologized profusely at the Warblers' meeting on Monday after class. Everyone assured him they didn't hold it against him, and that second place was quite respectable, especially considering the circumstances. He still felt like he'd let them down, though, no matter how nice they were being about it. He mostly listened while they planned their Christmas tour of the local nursing homes.

"One final order of business," Wes said. He pulled a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his blazer. "Blaine. We all got together yesterday and made a list of potential doms for you."

"You ... what?" Blaine sputtered.

"At the top of the list are current Dalton students. Then, after this dividing line here, local alumni who have been known to discreetly help out in these sorts of situations. They range in age from twenty-three to thirty. After the second dividing line, people who live out of town but visit back to Columbus frequently. In the other column are the names of your fellow Warblers who are acquainted with each person and can arrange introductions." Wes held the paper out to Blaine.

Good god, they'd been talking about his sex life behind his back. Blaine turned bright red. "I appreciate your concern, Wes, everyone, but I really ... this is something I can handle on my own."

"Obviously not," Wes said, still holding the paper out. "Anyway, we Warblers help each other out. Go on, take it. Set up a date or two. You'll be glad you did."

Blaine took the paper, because Wes was clearly not going to let him out of the room until he did. He folded it up and stuffed it in his pocket.

Wes banged his gavel on the desk. "Meeting dismissed."

Blaine was so distracted that he didn't notice Sebastian maneuvering to be by his side as they walked out of the room. He was startled and a bit scared when he saw him there, until he realized that Sebastian was acting nothing like his normal self. His shoulders were slumped and his voice quiet, and he kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

"Do you really hate me that much?" Sebastian said by way of greeting.

Blaine sighed. "I don't hate you, Sebastian."

"Then why ... you didn't just say no. You said red. You sounded so scared. I knew you didn't like me, but apparently you'd rather collapse from weakness than have sex with me? Why?"

"I don't trust you."

Sebastian looked up. "Well, that's probably a fair assessment. But maybe I could find a way to earn some trust?" Some of the spark in his eyes was back, and Blaine put a few extra inches of space between them as they walked out of the room together.

"Nothing personal, but I doubt it." Blaine said dryly.

Sebastian gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder, and Blaine suppressed his urge to jump away. "Take a good, long look at that list Wes put together for you. If you're not happy with the losers he found, you know where to find me." He winked, then took off down the hallway, walking backward for a few steps and pointing at Blaine before he turned around.

Trent came scurrying up to Blaine from the other direction. "Was he harassing you? I'm sorry, I should have stayed back and walked with you."

"It's fine," Blaine said, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "He's just being his regular self. Nothing to worry about. Anyway, I can handle him."

"Can't argue with that, I guess."

---------------------------------

The picture Kurt was looking at on his computer screen seemed odd. It was a photo of the Warblers on stage, and the caption was 'Sectionals.' But Blaine was standing in the third row, with some guy he didn't recognize at all standing in front for the solo. And the curtain was the wrong color. Had there been some kind of lighting effect going on?

Kurt bit his lip when he figured out the answer. It was last year's Sectionals competition, when the Warblers hadn't been up against New Directions. He'd scrolled back an entire year on Blaine's timeline. He should stop. He was being creepy. They still hadn't even said a word to each other, just clicked the like button on status updates back and forth a few times.

He was stalking, and he knew it. He was insane with curiosity about this boy. It probably would have been better to just let Blaine go, let him slip out of his life and fade away until he was nothing more than a distant memory. But Kurt felt like he had to know more about him, for some reason. Whether they'd get along. Whether he was a nice guy or a prep-school asshole. Who his friends were, and what his life was like.

They had one Facebook friend in common, but it was Jordyn, a Cheerio who had friended Kurt during his brief stint on the team even though they'd never exchanged more than small talk about the weather. There was no way he could ask her for information about Blaine. Kurt didn't even know if she'd know Blaine well enough to have anything to say, given her apparently highly promiscuous Facebook friending behavior. Not that Kurt was one to talk about being promiscuous, not anymore.

Blaine seemed like a nice guy, from what Kurt could tell. He had lots of friends at Dalton, and they were always commenting on each other's profiles with what seemed to be inside jokes. He had his hair gelled down in every single picture, but then, a lot of the Dalton boys seemed to do their hair that way. He liked reality TV and musicals and the page for Brooks Brothers, and some guy stuff like football teams and comic books. Kurt wondered whether he was really into those things, or whether he'd liked the pages in an attempt to pass as straight.

Kurt wanted to talk to him, but what would he say? Everything he came up with seemed crass, given the way they'd met. "Hi, want to hang out sometime?" What would Blaine think he was expecting? "How are you doing?" Would it be interpreted as code for 'was it good for you'? Even commenting on one of his status updates seemed like it would be too weird. All Blaine's friends would see it. Kurt's friends might see it, too. They were stuck doing this ridiculous dance around each other, hitting the like button and scrolling back forever in each other's profiles. Well, maybe Kurt was the only one doing that last bit. There was no way to know.

Kurt pushed his laptop to the back of the desk and got out his math homework.

---------------------------------

Blaine set the list on his desk and smoothed out the creases. There were about twenty names on it, nearly half of them in the Dalton Students section. He wondered how he'd managed to be at this school for a year and a half without noticing that anyone other than Sebastian was gay. Maybe there was some kind of gaydar class he could enroll in. Or perhaps he should rethink his aversion to gossiping.

No use in delaying the inevitable, Blaine told himself. He thought over the names of the students one by one, the little bit he knew of each boy.

He started with Scott because he was the easiest one to meet. They were in French class together right before lunch. On Tuesday, instead of making a beeline for the Warblers' table, Blaine struck up a conversation with Scott as they were leaving class, and then asked if he could sit with him and his friends at lunch. Scott seemed surprised, but said that of course Blaine was welcome to join them.

It was less than five minutes before Blaine was thinking up excuses to leave. Seriously, who makes fart jokes over lunch? Were these guys ten years old? Blaine wouldn't have thought anyone at Dalton was that un-classy. Back in his room later that night, he crossed Scott's name off the list.

Blaine opened his laptop and pulled up Facebook again, checking Kurt's profile for any new updates. Blaine knew he needed to stop this. Either write to him, or just let it go.

He couldn't let it go. He opened up a blank document to start working on a message where he couldn't accidentally click Send before he was ready.

Dear Kurt,

Was that too informal? He crossed out Kurt and replaced it with Sir. No, that was ridiculous. He changed it back to Kurt.

Blaine drummed his fingers on the desk, looking up at the ceiling for inspiration. This was harder than he'd thought. But honestly, any version of, 'Great sex, want to go out sometime?' was going to be completely awkward. Fifteen minutes later, he'd managed to write a three-sentence note.

Dear Kurt,

I was wondering if I could take you out for coffee sometime, to say thank you for your help last weekend. My parents actually live in Lima, and I come home on the weekends sometimes. Maybe this Saturday, if you're free?

Did it sound too tentative? Too presumptuous? Too casual? Was it too much like a lie to imply that he'd be visiting his parents, when really they were in London on business until a few days before Christmas? And how should he sign the note? Sincerely? Best wishes? Thanks? Maybe he should just leave it there, but it seemed weird to start with Dear Kurt and then not sign it at the end. Maybe he should take off the Dear Kurt. Facebook messaging was more like an instant message anyway.

Blaine read the note over approximately a thousand times. It sounded okay. And he really needed to get started on his English essay. Before he could talk himself out of it, he copied and pasted the note into a Facebook message and hit enter.

And then he panicked, because he'd forgotten to sign it with anything, even his name.

Blaine, he typed, then hit enter again.

Oh god, he was such a dork. He'd just sent a message consisting only of his name. On a thing that would pop up with his name next to it. Blaine: Blaine. Kurt was going to think he was an illiterate weirdo. Kurt would probably say no to coffee. Or not even reply. Or mock him for the rest of his life. Blaine was about to close his computer and go try to disappear into oblivion when a reply came through.

I'd love to.

Blaine's heart skipped a beat.

Do you have a favorite coffee shop?

Blaine typed as fast as he could. The Lima Bean!

Or somewhere else, if you don't like that one.

Anywhere you like. It's not a problem.

Crap, what was wrong with him?

I've never been there, but I hear it's great. 2:00 on Saturday okay?

Yeah, perfect!

I'll see you there.

Okay.

I have to go work on my English essay now.

Okay. Good luck!

Blaine closed his browser window before he could further embarrass himself. He stood up and paced nervously around the room.

Was this a date?

---------------------------------

It wasn't a date, Kurt told himself. It was just meeting an acquaintance for coffee. Two people getting to know each other. He shouldn't be this concerned with his fashion choices.

The black, knee-high, lace-up boots were a must. Nothing made him feel in control of a situation like those boots. The black skinny jeans tucked nicely into the boots, and also showed off his ass. But wait, did he want to show off his ass? And which shirt ... or maybe a jacket? The black leather one with the diagonal zipper? No, that was too much black. Maybe the bright yellow one that came to mid-thigh. He tried it on. It looked like a raincoat. He hung it back in the closet. Maybe one of his form-fitting long sweaters instead. They were kind of feminine-looking, which tended to put people off if they didn't already know him, but Blaine was gay, maybe he liked a few feminine touches. He put on the red one with the black buttons and looked at himself in the mirror.

Kurt shook his head. This was not how he felt today. It was all wrong. He didn't want to show off his body. Blaine had seen too much of his body already. He went back to his closet, shifting the hangers around as he looked at the clothes with new eyes.

The heavy gray wool poncho. And the orange button-down shirt with the black dots. It would be almost hidden under the poncho, except for his sleeves when he moved. Hints of color under the dull exterior. Good.

He decided to keep the boots.

---------------------------------

Blaine looked at himself in the mirror. Red jeans, the ones that always made him feel confident. A white button-down shirt. A navy sweater vest with red and white stripes along the neckline. He checked his reflection in the mirror. It looked like he was trying to recreate a Tommy Hilfiger ad using entirely pieces that were not Tommy Hilfiger. This was all wrong.

Maybe he should just wear his Dalton uniform. But no, it was the weekend and he was supposedly visiting his parents in Lima. He couldn't wear the uniform.

He changed out the white shirt for a gray checkered one and put the sweater vest back on. That seemed better, somehow. He added a bowtie, in the Dalton colors, to pull the outfit together. Blaine nodded at his reflection. Not bad.

He needed to get going. It was a long drive to Lima. At least that would give him time to figure out what to say.

Blaine left himself extra time in case of traffic, so he got to The Lima Bean about ten minutes early. He chose a table with a good view of the door so he would see Kurt when he walked in. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop nervously. Was this a terrible idea? Kurt might turn out to be a jerk, or scary, or completely boring. Or he could be wonderful but completely uninterested in Blaine, which would be even worse. Maybe he should sneak out of this place and drive back to Westerville while there was still time.

The door swung open and Kurt entered. He looked completely different than Blaine had expected. The last time they'd seen each other, Kurt had been wearing black pants and a shirt and tie—his performance uniform. The all-black effect had been striking, especially against his pale skin, but each item of clothing had been completely ordinary. Now, though, everything he was wearing was distinctive, in ways that shouldn't fit together but somehow did. Blaine dressed to look pulled-together, classic but stylish. It seemed as if Kurt was expressing enough with his clothes to fill a novel, or maybe an autobiography ... if only Blaine knew how to read the language.

Kurt strode purposefully over to Blaine's table, a small smile on his face. Blaine stood up to greet him, and was surprised by Kurt holding out his hand to shake, a bright orange sleeve emerging from under his heavy gray poncho.

"I'm Kurt Hummel."

Blaine took his hand. Kurt's skin was beautifully soft, but his grip was firm and masculine. A thrill ran up Blaine's spine at the contact. "Blaine Anderson. I believe we've met."

They let their hands drop. "I was hoping we could start fresh," Kurt said shyly.

Blaine couldn't help glancing at his lips as he spoke. Those lips that had been on his mouth, on his neck, on his ... no, he shouldn't think of that. This was exactly the problem. If they wanted to get to know each other, they would need to do their best to forget what had come before.

Blaine brought his gaze back up to Kurt's eyes. "I'd like that," he said with a smile.