He opened his eyes, that worried and familiar jolt in his stomach already there. It was always there, really, as in "every morning". Even though he couldn't distinguish much from the hazy pictures of the night before, he sensed in the air that that wasn't his bed.

Next to him, Allie McHover was still deeply asleep, her brown hair all over the pillows and her arm reaching out in his direction. Already acquainted with the frivolous situation, he brushed the floor with his delicate and long fingers when picking the shirt off the floor and left through the bedroom door. After looking around quickly –expecting someone to pop out of the blue- and finding the place empty, he walked nonchalantly out the door.

The fresh wind caressed his cheeks and his light brown hair, sweeping the incipient fogginess off his eyes. Damn, had he gotten little sleep last night? Not to say none at all. And, boy, was that girl clingy? Was he supposed to start dating his conquests now? No, girls in Lima, Ohio knew that Kurt Hummel was not cut out for that. Most of the girls didn't care, and the ones that did and thought –at first- he was a jerk, ended up literally wooed by his charms, not being able to resist him. Everyone had clear already that he was a strange guy; he was loved, worshiped, respected and envied. He was not only a womanizer, but a great and pretty easy going person. Weird mix indeed but it certainly did work for him and everyone around him. As these very thoughts filled his mind, he couldn't hold back the smile that was growing on his face. He had easy, repetitive and enjoyable times and as long as that side of his happiness was taken care of, nothing or nobody was to ruin it for him.

----------

Next morning as soon as he woke up, Blaine stayed there, lying on his bed, eyes fixed on the white ceiling, thinking. He knew right away that he had to deal with Nick and David and tell them how last night had ended. He actually was considering telling them the truth, what else would he say to them? Of course, the truth didn't imply letting them know he was... well, that. Just that he didn't like Rebecca, that he was looking for something else. That ought to do it.

After getting off his bed and down the small, wooden ladder, he landed on the floor lazily and walked to the bathroom. The water started running as he stared at his own reflection. His hazel eyes glimmered and his mouth felt dry and so did his throat. Luckily, he wasn't as nervous as he thought he would be, having to lie that way. While showering, his head cleared up a bit, as it happened every time he stepped into the steamy water, letting it slide down his body, bouncing off his skin and untangling both his muscles and thoughts.

Now with renewed energies, he ran down the stairs to the kitchen where his parents were sitting, next to two young fellas.

"So, are you going to be here every time I see my parents?" Blaine asked, recognizing the back of the heads.

"Funny story," Nick said, recalling the past and similar conversation as Linda smiled, greeting his son.

"Good morning, sweetie," and sweetly placed a kiss on top of Blaine's head.

"Good day, son," Walter beamed too and spread his newspaper. The dark haired boy sat down in front of his friends.

"Seriously, do you live here?" he joked, spreading cheese on a toast.

"No, Einstein," the same talked again.

"You know how the last job we got was at Akron? We told you the first time we met," David interjected "and that we work in construction. Well, today we ran into your father again who was looking for a place to get the newspaper. We helped him" he shrugged and eyed Blaine, trying to make him understand that there was something else he would be letting him know later.

"Yeah, and he offered us a job helping in the renewal of Anderson & Tinkerson Law Firm offices, isn't that great?" Nick spoke. David rolled his eyes.

"How, how are you so thick?" he whispered, swirling his coffee with a silver spoon.

"What?" the other asked with wide eyes. Dave shook his head at the time Mr. Anderson stood up with a small smile.

"Linda and I should get going, boys, but we'll see you later," he said with polite eyes while Linda kissed his son goodbye and waved the other kids with a nicer expression than her husband "take care of yourselves, alright? And Blaine," he called, making the boy take his hazel eyes off the jar of raspberry jam "if you're leaving or something, leave a note so we know what you're doing."

"Okay, dad" he agreed.

"So..." David started as soon as they heard the door shut.

"What?"

"'What', he says. Come on, Anderson, you're not really dumb. You're just playing dumb," Nick stepped in.

"What did you guys do when you get to her place?" his other friend added. And thus, the expected yet unwanted anxiousness began.

"Huh... We... we just ki-you know, kissed," he lowered his voice, as though it was a big, ugly secret he was embarrassed of.

"Aha, aha, and then?" Nick pushed eagerly. Something in his eyes screamed that he had taken for granted Blaine and Rebecca had slept together last evening. David, on the other hand, looked expectant and intrigued.

"Not much happened after that, you know?" he said simply, trying to shrug the pressure away. Their faces fell and their expressions turned into confused question marks, everywhere.

"What do you mean?" Nick asked a bit too harshly.

"Nick! Don't be an ass," David grimaced at him and turned back to his other friend "Did you... you know, sleep with her?"

"Well, we did stuff, I mean..." he started. The anxiety was getting to him and he could feel his heart racing "I left after I had my fun," he stated, hoping he didn't have to lie anymore. After a second, David's confusion turned into a fun smile and Nick's slight frown into relief. Okay, that was easier than expected. Little white lies seemed to work out just fine. "It's fine, I'm lying by omission,"he convinced himself "I said nothing, they made their math." Although the tension left his chest, a small amount of guilt had replaced it, but Blaine was sure it would leave fast enough. It wasn't like he had done anything wrong. Really.

"So," he started, trying to mislead the conversation and dissipate the leftover risk, just in case "what are we doing today?"

"Actually, we can't do anything. We have a job offer," David said.

"Oh, but I thought my dad had offered you guys something,"

"It's a one day thing, this," Nick clarified, it seemed as though he had forgotten already all about Rebecca "It seems as though some jerk knocked down a column or something down at the municipality."

"With a truck," David articulated. Blaine snorted and nodded in understanding.

"Oh, okay then. I guess I'll just, huh... I don't know, I'll catch up with you guys later," he shrugged off.

"Sure, and what are you doing until tonight?"

"There's a party, by the way" his other friend cut in.

"Again?" Blaine moaned more worried than surprised. He had had a really good time last night, but what if he bumped into Rebecca. Would she say anything? "Will... Will Rebecca be there?" he tried to ask as casually as possible.

"Yeah, but if you slept with her and left without a word I'll doubt she'll talk to you," Nick snorted bubbly, as he drank some more coffee. So they had bought it. Thankfully, relief crushed guilt in his mind once more.

"Yeah, Blaine, make sure you don't do it the next time. You don't want to have a line of angry, resented girls behind you," David laughed and exchanged glances with Nick "try not to be the next Hummel," they commented as a private joke, which Blaine didn't even ask about. He tapped his watch and nudged his friend as he got up "We better get going," his other friend stood up and they started walking down the short entry, Blaine walking behind them. He leaned against the white wooden doorsill putting one hands in his pocket and caressing his elbow with the other.

"Hey, do you like to read?" David turned around and pointed him as Nick put his jacket on.

"Yes, of course," after music and movies, reading was one of his favorite activities. The way he could imagine a whole new place, people and the expressions on their faces, even scents and flavors was just fantastic. He was able to travel to another place without having to move.

"There's a library at Pointstrat Avenue and Blue Street, just in the corner," he suggested "lots of books, cozy place."

"Oh, yeah, that place's got some nice chairs to sit on, man," Nick recalled from behind, slapping David's arm. He stared at him for a moment and then faced Blaine again.

"Anyway," he raised his eyebrows "you can go and read for as long as you want to. I don't think you can borrow the books though."

"Gee, thanks David, okay, yeah, I'll totally check it out," he thanked profusely with a huge smile.

"You're welcome," he laughed openly in response "we'll be here by six though, is that alright?"

"Sure, that's... perfect," his friends left with a happy wave of their hands and Blaine sensed that it would be a great day. Despite how small the town was, he hadn't seen the library yet and he was truly excited about it. He glanced around and snatched a notepad from one of the drawers in his way back to the kitchen, slammed it on the table with far too much enthusiasm -for the table's own good-, and scribbled a quick note. He read his own words once; "Gone to the library near Pointstrat Avenue. I'll be back by 4:30 or before". Smiling and satisfied about how the day was going so far, he grabbed a jacket from the hanger next to the door and walked out to the street. The sky was slightly cloudy and for a moment he thought a few, tiny raindrops had bounced on his nose. He wrinkled his face and looked up, searching for the sun somewhere, but there were no signs of it. "It must be hiding," he thought and started walking down Red Street, the one his house was on.

Pointstrat Avenue was the widest street in Lima. Even replete of stores –rarely any houses, mostly shops- it wasn't suffocating like New York; of course, not that Blaine didn't like his hometown, but this was much quieter. The fact that not every single building –not to say that there weren't actually any buildings or skyscrapers down in Lima- was frowned upon if it didn't touch the sky was rather nice. Back at home he seldom was able to find the sun. Here, instead, the only thing he had to do was set his gaze in front of him and, unless he had a wall an inch away from his face, he could see the sky already above his head.

Once he reached the corner of Red Street and Blue Street, he turned right and descried the Avenue even more deserted than usual, given the dislikeable weather. Blaine, on the other hand, thought it couldn't get any better. Not only did he love clouds, rain or not, but he still was amazed by how delightful little Lima was, so cozy. He caught sight of the simple wooden sign, hanging from above the door, painted in orange and light blue: Lima's Bookshop.

"Strange combination of colors," he thought. He considered the building; simple enough. The walls were painted a faint red, it took over the entire corner and even if it looked small on the inside, it had two stories. Finally, he stepped in.

If Blaine hadn't liked how Lima's Bookshop looked, kind of dingy from the outside, the other side of the door was a different place and he loved it. It wasn't fancy whatsoever but the walls and the room were lined with rows upon rows of bookshelves. There was also a counter on the right, next to a window behind which an old, adorable looking man stood, reading off some used up notebook. Right opposite to the door there was a narrow staircase.

The elder lifted his gaze and set his eyes on the curly, dark-haired boy that had just walked in.

"Why, hello son," he greeted, lowering his glasses and politely analyzing Blaine with his clear and foggy eyes "may I help you with something?"

"I just want to read..." he stammered a bit. That sounded stupid "Something" he tried to fix. Great, now he was a real clever lad. He cursed to himself.

"Well, you've come to a good place," he continued with a soft chuckle. He walked from behind the counter to him and held out his hand ", my name is Noah Beaster." As Blaine shook Mr. Beaster's hand, he couldn't help but notice two things: the irony of his last name Beast-er, and how it contrasted with his fragile and somewhat weak aspect –Blaine was careful to squeeze just enough as you're supposed to during handshakes so he didn't crush Mr. Beaster's fingers- and how he had never meet anyone shorter than him. Not only as in height, but also regards the size of the man. He wasn't a dwarf or anything like it, but he looked so delicate, he seemed smaller than he even was.

"Blaine. Anderson, sir," he reacted anyway. The older man gave a soft nod and a new smile.

"Are you looking for something in particular?"

"Hmm, not really, as I said before, sir, I just want to read," he recalled his embarrassing reply and made Mr. Beaster laugh again.

"Well, look around as you please. There are more books upstairs," he said.

"Thanks."

Blaine went up the stairs right away, not even scanning the books on the ground floor. To his surprise, the first floor was just a bit bigger than the other one. The floor was carpeted and the walls were –just as downstairs- a darker red than the fa�ade of the store. Where the corner of the block was situated, there was a large window, below which there were more and lower stacks of books, surrounding a bunch of seats –probably the ones Nick had remembered-and a squat table in the center. The entire place was plagued with novels, yellowish pages and appealing covers and when he smelled both the old and new sheets, he remembered how much he loved reading.

He seemed to be the only one at Lima's Bookshop so he decided to start with the books upstairs, nearby the comfortable armchairs. He gingerly stepped towards the bookshelves in the middle of the room, as though they might go away like some type of ethereal magic. When he faced the books he only let his fingers trail off and wander over the spines.

After a fleeting instant, he was positive he heard feet sinking in the carpet somewhere near. He could only catch a glimpse of what he recognized to be the same light brown hair he had seen in two other occasions already, before the person walked down the stairs hurriedly. He frowned and hesitated about going after the person that, apparently, seemed to be of his same age or so, but a second later, he slapped himself and snorted. Why would he follow a stranger? He kept on searching through the books until he found something he was quite keen on; Ray Bradbury. He hadn't had a chance to read it. Fahrenheit 451was his latest novel, released three years ago. He blinked and looked at his watch, it was only nine in the morning and the book had about two-hundred pages. If he could read it and then go back to his place for lunch, then his day was pretty much made.

"Game on," he muttered with a smile.

----------

When he got to his place at 02:29 in the afternoon, according to his watch, he was hungry and frozen, but satisfied. Ray Bradbury proved with every single novel or story he wrote that he indeed had a bizarre yet amazing style and, more importantly, his own; that was undisputed. After having lunch –and throwing out the note he had left before- time seemed to fly by, right through music and books. As Mr. Beaster liked Blaine, he had invited him a cup of hot chocolate and given him the chance of taking a book or two to his place, if he committed to bring them back the next day. He, of course, accepted with an impossibly broader and eager smile.

When he realized it was almost five o'clock already, he put down the book and ran to his bedroom, deciding in the moment what he would wear. He was far more pleased and much less nervous about the party, even though it was just his second time. He was still a newbie in town and in danced, of course, but taking into account how nice people was, how loud music blasted and how great David and Nick were, he was starting to feel really comfortable in that place. When the doorbell rang a couple minutes later he ran downstairs and pulled the door open.

"Thank God you don't come with my parents again," he received his two friends, who looked up in surprise and smiled "I think I would've been traumatized," still with his hand on the doorknob he wrapped his anorak even tighter around him.

"Hey, we're your friends!" Nick exclaimed waiting for Blaine to close the door.

"Exactly, thankfully you're not my brothers," he retorted and finished with a big smile. David laughed out loud as the other one acted offended.

"You used to be nice," he said simply, faking sadness.

"You're steering me into the dark side," they kept on joking.

"Dude, you're drunk," David breathed with his hands on his pockets, freezing.

"No I'm not, I'm just happy," he terminated as he jumped on the spot. Six blocks later or so, they got to the same dancehall they had gone to the last time. The decoration was practically the same, except for the fact the lights came in brighter colors: orange, green, hot pink, yellow and light blue. There was even more people than the day before and Elvis' voice was still echoing across the street.

As soon as he walked in, people soon noticed and surrounded him. He recognized a few folks and gals from last night but there was no trace of Rebecca. He danced a long while with David, Nick and a couple of new friends until a slow song began and they left the dance floor to make room for the new couples.

"I'm exhausted," David gasped.

"Tell me about it," the other one breathed. The three of them drank a glass of punch before sighing at the same time.

"I'm hot, but not tired," Blaine expressed with a raspy voice. The other two looked at him still panting "You're right, who am I kidding? I feel like Methuselah."

"Oh my god, Blaine, look who's coming," Nick alerted as they caught sight of the attractive girl.

How did his pulse increase at that rate in such a short notice, he didn't know. He only figured she was strutting in his direction but never making eye contact. At last, she made her way through the boys and grabbed two beverages and then looked Blaine deep into the eyes, who couldn't avoid feeling both scared and menaced. "Well if that didn't do it, then I'm never feeling naked again," he felt so vulnerable whenever she bestowed that humiliating quality her gaze had.

"For God's sake, that chick is too weird, man," David called, finishing his drink.

"Even for Blain-"

"Even for me, yes," the hazel eyed teenager said in his defense and made both his friends chuckle.

"Okay, Thompson, let's get some action," he smashed the plastic cup against the table making the bowls and ladles tremble.

"What about Blaine?" David asked with a hint of hope in his voice, too tired to carry on.

"No, old Methuselaine died in 1656," Nick answered, rubbing his hands "besides, we're getting him a new date. Can't be involved himself."

"Methuselaine, really?" he muttered listlessly and raised his voice "Help me, please?" he pleaded before being dragged into the infinite bunch of people. Blaine just laughed one more time

Elvis' Hound Dog wasn't Blaine's favorite tune, so when the song started he decided to stay away from the hormoned-up crowd and rest on the long, white table which was still there, full of punch and snacks, like they had left it the night before. He took a new sip of his drink and looked around. Girls and boys dancing together, pressed against each other, some grinding and other just... staring, not to say drooling. How were they so interested in that? Obviously, there were loads of pretty girls and most of them were great dancers, some of them even terrific. However, Blaine wasn't completely content with that idea for himself. Every day that went by he was more and more certain that he liked boys. How he knew, was a mystery, since he had never had a boyfriend or anything remotely like it. He had never even been attracted to a boy in that way, but somehow he knew it. Sure, he had seen cute, handsome teenagers and experienced a tingling sensation all throughout his body; something he didn't feel with girls, but that was that.

And as though he sent a signal or something just thinking of it, his stomach clenched and his heartbeat accelerated, for the third time in the day. Diagonally to where he was standing, a boy appeared from between the crowd. He wasn't even pushing, people just made a path for him to walk through and when his whole body and face were revealed, Blaine felt like he wasn't supposed to be looking; as though it was something sacred, too much, too good for him to even glance at.

The slender, tall figure kept on strutting, almost seemingly, in slow motion, but it was a different kind of strut. He wasn't absurdly prancing like Rebecca, no; his elegance and raw beauty were natural, even graceful. His persona shouted lithe and his face was like nothing Blaine had ever seen. He only noticed how unrealistically gorgeous he was before averting his gaze for three reasons: first and foremost, he couldn't stare at a guy like that –especially not in public and with that big of a turn out at the party.

Second, when his amazed, hazel eyes met the other boy's, he felt an electric twist running from the top of his head to the tip of his toes and Goosebumps soaked his skin.

And third, he was sure –if it hadn't been a trick of the light or something- that the teenager looked deep into his eyes for just a tiny, ephemeral instant and then looked away, with a spark that reflected both irritation and weariness.

He looked at his perfectly sculptured hair.

He now knew who the light-brown haired person he had been running into was. And God, did Lima just keep getting better and better?

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

Before he could snap himself out of his immersion he heard Nick's voice in the background.

"You're gonna love him," it kept on becoming louder and louder "Blaine, Blaine!"

He finally felt someone tugging at his shirt sleeve and turned around abruptly, still a faint daydreamer.

"Blaine, this is Patricia, she's new in town," he introduced raising his eyebrows. She looked so sweet and innocent, Blaine couldn't believe his friend. He shook the girl's hand absentmindedly "I think you two are going to get along jus—"

"Nick, I really have to go, I'm sorry, I need some fresh air, I'm not feeling all that fine," he stumbled upon his own words with as many excuses as he could come up with.

"Whoa, whoa, what's wrong?" his friend asked frowning in slight concern.

"Nothing, I'm just kind of... dizzy," he highlighted the double meaning in his head. What was he even doing there? He needed to go looking for him, he had this urge and he was idly standing there like an idiot, talking to his friend and "Patricia", who he didn't even know "I'm fine, Nick, don't mind me," he yelled to make himself hear over the music as he started walking backwards "See you tomorrow!" he swung around and almost knocked a couple of girls down.

"What happened?" David's head popped from behind.

"I don't know what was the matter with him," Nick admitted still confused.

"More like what wasn't," Patricia said out of nowhere.

"What?" Nick turned, surprised.

"No, no, Blaine is an amazing guy, Patricia, really," his other friend tried to comfort her.

"He seemed kind of a dork to me," she pursed her lips.

"Well, then maybe you're just not good enough for him," Nick retorted.

"Nick!" David exclaimed scandalized "I'm sorry Patricia, he didn't mean th-"

"What a jerk," she just said "both of you," and walked away.

"I can't believe you," he shoved him lightly.

"No one's gonna insult my friends, okay?" he snapped "I mock him enough as a friend, but she has no right," he shook his head, still upset.

"I know, but you can't tell a girl that-"

"Can we go home now?" he asked. David looked at him for a second, cut in the middle of a sentence, gestures suspended in the air. He dropped his hands and exhaled.

"Sure," he sighed with a smile and they, too, evaporated in the midst of the crowd.

----------

He stepped into the cold, fresh night as he looked around helplessly, desperate. Where was he? He had just seen him inside and he was sure he had caught sight of him leaving the dancehall. Julian Avenue was deserted except for the clump of cars with teenagers chatting, smoking and making out around them. He glanced sideways and when he turned his face to his left, he caught a glimpse of the boy. Walking hurriedly round the corner. With a girl.

"Well, that sucks," he couldn't help spit out the words. Some of the girls dancing about in a half-drunk way stared at him and giggled. Blaine sighed and hiding his hand in his pockets, he shuffled his way home.

----------

"It's nice, isn't it?" his father stated proudly.

With a smile on his face, he studied it from every angle possible. The presumptuous and fancy black Lincoln Continental, just arrived from New York, was shining under the glimmering sun, sparkles flashing here and there.

"It's great, dad," Blaine agreed, nodding his head. He had never seen that childish spark in his father's hazel eyes. Linda stood from a distance, eyeing it not as carefully.

"Gift from Dewey Thinnerwolf," he mentioned "Mark II, one of the most expensive cars out there. And the latest, real novelty," he put his hands on his waist and kept on staring at it.

"He really is making his way into the firm, isn't he?" his wife stepped into Mr. Anderson's monologue.

"Why, yes, being the son of one of the co-directors, he has every right. Studying law that one, too, I'll tell you; best grades in his class and everything, I wouldn't be surprised if he turned out to be one of the bests," he sighed with a satisfied grin "And working for us once he's over, of course!"

"Henry Kissinger had a similar one" he added after a moment of silence.

"So does Frank Sinatra," Blaine added. His parents turned to look at him, Linda with a slightly condescending smile on her soft face "or so I've heard."

----------

"Blaine, Blaine!" Nick started yelling as soon as his friend set a foot on Jim'sblack and white floor. Blaine seemed a little taken aback at how fiercely his friend threw himself at him, with a huge smile.

"What the heck?" he muttered when Nick grasped his shirt and dragged him to the booth where David was.

"Remember how we gave you that nickname you hated so much?" he stammered "Honey-bear?"

"Yes, I remember it as unnecessary and ridiculous as it was. I remember when we also said there was no need to—"

"Well, we came up with a new one," still grabbing him by the arm, he sat Blaine down and placed next to him.

"Nick, drop it-" David started with a lazy laughter.

"Triangles!" he exclaimed frantically waving his hands in the air "You know, because of your eyebrows..." he pointed a finger at them.

"Mother of god" he dropped his forehead into his palms.

"What? It's great," he said in his defense.

"Well, it is better than honey-bear," Blaine considered.

"And hell, is it more accurate," David pointed out once again.

"We can always come up with a new one or return to the old one if you like to—"

"Fine!" he gave in, causing their friends to smile with satisfaction.

"Oh, by the way, tonight we're-"

"Don't say party! I won't take three nights in a row!"

"Relax, dude, we're just having dinner here tonight," David calmed him.

"Yeah, chill, Triangles," both Nick and David burst out laughing.

"Ha, ha, very funny. Okay, I'm sorry, it's just that... I'm really tired, that's all."

"Yeah, you were not cut out for partying hard, were you?"

"Doesn't seem like it, no," Nick answered for him.

"Whatever..."

"That reminds me, are you feeling better?" Nick pointed him.

"Are you asking me if I got over your stupid nickname?"

"Hilarious. No, I'm asking you about last night," he continued. For a moment Blaine had absolutely no idea what he was referring to "you know, when you said you were ill or something?"

"Oh, yeah!" he recalled a little too loud "Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, I... I'm better."

"Great, then."

He remembered then the reason he had told that lie. The boy.

He evoked his vague features. There was smoke, quite a distance and a hormonal haze between the two of them so he hadn't been able to study his face as well as he would've liked.

"Can I ask you something?" Something shook in his stomach when he felt two pair of eyes on his face, still trying to concentrate on the fork between his fingers "Yesterday there was this guy..." he commenced, frantically searching in his mind how to put his thoughts so that it wouldn't come out the wrong –yet actually intended- way "He was..." wonderful, unbelievable, angelical, rare "weird looking."

"Weird looking? What do you mean, like... Quasimodo?" David, next to Nick, laughed.

"Smartass," he snorted "No... Not in a bad way," he flinched at his very own selection of words "I mean... He looked very... delicate,"

"So, like Tinker Bell," Nick stated again.

"God..." Blaine sighed.

"Yeah, we know who you're talking 'bout, buddy," David thought it was necessary to step in "Baby skin, tall, pointy nose and brown hair, with a cocky halo?" he described "Slender?" he offered, winning a baffled look from his friend.

"Slender?" he stared "Really?"

"What?"

"Yeah, yes, that one," Blaine called them back to reality before they started fighting and deflected the conversation "but what's that with the cocky halo?" he asked, fork immobile in his hands.

"Kurt Hummel," his hear skipped almost three beats or so when he heard the name. Not only it was a lovely name, but the fact he knew one more, small thing about the boy had him both nervous and excited "we might've mentioned him a couple of times."

"We hate him," Nick leaned ferociously, slamming both hands on the table. David backed him down with a hand on his shoulder.

"We don't hate him;" he said "is just that he's got a real way with women and getting exactly what he wants. He's such a womanizer," disappointment overflowed and left him a disgusted expression.

"And yeah, he's weird," the other affirmed "Anyways, if I were you..." his words buzzed into Blaine's ear and out the other. Womanizer? He didn't really look like one of those.

"God, you're being so silly, Blaine, pull yourself together, man," he demanded. The hole that was getting wider and wider in his stomach was both inexplicable and stupid. Absurd, completely absurd.

"So, dinner tonight?" he returned to reality with a distracted "Huh?"

"Here, at eight o'clock?" David asked.

"Works perfectly fine for me," the clear eyed boy nodded, eyes set somewhere else.

"Love to," Blaine finished, still in his own world a bit.

----------

When the two boys left for their place –David lived with Nick and his parents on account of a not too happy childhood and a family that was rather tacky and disinterested- he was left with two choices: either going to his house and listen to music or go to Lima's Bookshop. After practically two seconds of debate with himself, he went for the second one; it was true, he was tired, but he really didn't feel like lying on his bed and stare at the ceiling.

"Good morning, Mr. Anderson" the old man said as Blaine stepped in the place about twenty minutes later. To Blaine's surprise, he remembered his name. They had spoken the day before, but given his age, he didn't think he would. Mr. Beaster seemed to notice, as he said "Ah, I might be seventy two years old but I do have a good memory for names, son." he smiled pointing at him with a pen. The teenager giggled quietly and walked up to the wooden counter "Back for some more reading, are ya'?" Once again, Blaine couldn't help but laugh; Mr. Beaster sure was a kid, no matter how old he was.

"Yeah, actually, I was supposed to bring you these books I borrowed yesterday," he extended his right hand holding the two thin volumes.

"Responsible lad, aren't you?" the elder chuckled again, receiving a similar one "Now, now, off you go. You have upstairs to read yet," he winked and Blaine thanked him. He yawned just as he reached the upper floor and rubbed his eyes, taking a right turn and standing in front of the huge mass of books.

He saw Truman Capote's Other Voices, Other Rooms, from 1948. Also, two hundred pages or so "Why not give it a go?" he thought. He grabbed it and walked to the armchair spot just before his eyes opened as plates and a sudden and kind of violent leap backward was given, taking it one step further and practically hiding behind the bookshelves. The day before he had seen the back of a head, now he was positive it was his. Kurt's. He repeated the name in his head and his breathing came to a tidier beat. He tried to look as cool as possible and shuffled again to the seats. He decided it was best not to look at him, even if the curiosity was killing him. He had him there, right there, no more than ten feet away. He figured opening the book would be better than staring so intensely at his lap, not only this kid didn't like Blaine –for some unknowable reason- but he now probably thought he was a pervert too.

He had to watch. If he could just pluck up the courage to look at him, just... a small glance over his book. The words so close and somehow the feeling of temptation were invading him as seconds went by. He swallowed and closed his eyes. He heard a chortle and his sight automatically flew to the kid in front of him, contrary to his will. Still, he saw nothing, as his entire face was covered by the book; The Turn of the Screw, a most depressing and somewhat scary book. The first part was a problem for him, though he did like scary stuff. Edgar Allan Poe was, in fact, a writer he very much liked; not his favorite at all, he had to admit, but he was without a doubt interesting.

"Perhaps if you focus on the words, you'll be able to move forward from the title."

He was paralyzed yet somehow he managed to quickly bury his head in the armchair, holding the book right opposite to his eyes, causing another delightful scoff to come out of the other boy's mouth. He was talking to him and, boy, did he have a dreamy voice?

"If you can't handle me talking to you, I doubt you'll be able to handle that book," he continued, this time barely muttering without ripping the eyes off the pages.

"Excuse me?" Blaine finally said after a minute or so, still sheltering off the pages.

"So you can talk," he quietly raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong about this book?" he asked, daring to take a peek, only to see an impeccable hairdo.

"Oh, no, there's nothing wrong about the book, although it seems there's plenty wrong with you," yet no face visible. Blaine faintly noticed how the sun was slowly disappearing behind a bunch of bright clouds.

"Huh," he let a clumsy snort out "you don't know me."

Well, that was a golden retort.

"You're not really coming off as bright right now," he said, closing his book "you're not even making an effort," and he looked up. If it hadn't been because Blaine was already puzzled due to the strange conversation, he would have been even more bewildered. The "baby skin, pointy nose, cocky halo and slender" description was as accurate as could be and it should have had a ton of other positive and adoring adjectives. For a minute there, he just stared at Kurt Hummel, with his electric blue eyes, smirk and graceful eyebrows. "See? You can't even maintain a conversation," he raised another eyebrow.

"I'm Blaine," was the only clever –and still, barely- thing that he came up with. He held out his hand for the other boy to shake and introduce himself.

"Sure, you must know who I am by now, though, so..." he took the book in his hands and got up. Blaine retrieved his hand back to his side.

"Why would you assume that?" he stammered, hesitantly following him.

"Because I saw you last night at the party," he began, no hint of anger on his face this time "you're friends with Duval and Thompson, aren't you?"

"I'm friends with Nick and David, yeah," he was still slightly mesmerized. They weren't flirting or anything but there was a suspicious implication in the perfect haired boy's voice, even if the intentions in his tone were something he couldn't quite fathom.

"Well, they do not like me; after all, I'm not that easy to forget, am I?" he asked more to himself than to Blaine, however he added "You should know," and at that point his face turned sour.

"I'm sorry if I offended you last night, it wasn't my intention to..." he shrugged for a moment without really knowing where he was going, before Kurt cut him in the middle of his sentence.

"To stare? At a party full of people? Yeah, well, you're not really supposed to," he stated, especially emphasizing the "you".

"I... I'm sorry, I said already..." Blaine tried to apologize again, confused.

"Whatever," the boy with the cocky halo indeed sentenced with a miserable and exasperated roll of eyes, starting to go downstairs. He was frozen and honestly couldn't comprehend what he had done wrong; it wasn't like he had serenaded him. The sound of the bell pulled him out of his trance, for the tenth time in three days or so, making him run downstairs and out the place hurriedly. He saw him strolling down Pointstrat Avenue to his left and tried to reach him, far enough so that he wouldn't get more upset or think Blaine was a complete psycho.

"Hey, hey! Excuse me, can you tell me what I have done to y—"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stop talking or chasing me," he replied turning his head over his shoulder with an acid and totally fake smile before disappearing beyond the corner. Blaine stopped dead. He didn't know what else to do; he didn't want to push or disobey Kurt. He squinted a bit with his mouth slightly open and he bit his lip before turning around and starting his way back home. He couldn't bring himself to decide whether going to Lima's Bookshop had been a good or a bad call.