"Blaine, honey, come down! Your father and I are about to have lunch!"

From the bathroom, a smile lit up his son's face. He hadn't had much dinner last night –because of reasons- and to be honest, he was starving. He jumped three stairs at a time, sliding his hand down the shiny rail. He greeted both his parents and sat down as his mother placed a plate full of sandwiches.

"Yum," he breathed and reached out for one.

"So, Blaine," his father talked "any plans for today with your friends?"

"Not really. We don't usually make much; we just gather at Jim's and decide there what we're doing for the day," he kept on chewing, eyes fixed on his food.

"Then you don't mind if today they start working a little bit?" he asked, grabbing the newspaper on the table.

"Wha— No! Not at all, I mean... Have they been absent or something?" he got all flustered, wide eyes with worry.

"Not at all. Today is day one, son," he frowned slightly "What is the matter?"

"Oh.." he sighed relieved, waving the matter away "Just, you said 'they start working a little bit' and it freaked me out cause it sounded as though they ought to be but they weren't and..."

"They're alright, son, don't worry," he comforted him and Blaine breathed one more time. He really wanted his parents to approve of his friends, even to like them "By the way, I went to the mechanic's yesterday," he folded his daily and left it on the table before standing up "a nice, simple garage a couple of blocks down from here."

"Is the car alright, dear?" the woman asked, while washing some dishes.

"It sure is, darling," Walter pecked his wife's cheek, ripping a sweet smile from her lips "So, as I was saying, I'm sorry, son, but you can take this day off," his father continued, looking at him and raising his eyebrows.

"That's great," he knew exactly what he was going to do.

"Are you sure? I don't want you to be stood up or anything," he joked and his wife laughed.

"Oh, Walter!" she giggled, lightly nudging his husband's chest and walked to the table to summon the empty dishes "I'm sure Blaine doesn't need to be surrounded by people all the time to be entertained, honey?" she grabbed Blaine's face by the jaw gently and he looked up at her, soft smile revealing "So handsome," his mother continued with a loving note on her voice. She caressed his cheek for a second before returning to the counter.

"There's this bookshop I'm going to," he mentioned "it's great; I'm reading lots of books," he told them with a glitter in his eyes that resembled an excited child on his birthday.

"Reading is good, Blaine, I'm glad you're doing that," his father congratulated as his mother nodded.

"Yeah, heading off to it actually, so..." he took a sip of the bubbly, almost black soda. He got off his chair and walked up to their parents so his mother could press a kiss on the top of his curly head with a "See you later, sweetie," and his father did the same with a firmer spirit and in a more masculine way "I'll send them your regards," and Blaine laughed within at the formality of the statement.

After getting dressed with a short sleeved shirt and the lightest pair of jeans he could find –boy, was June hot in that place?-, he walked down to the library. And he thought of Kurt, of Kurt Hummel. He had no idea what he was going to do with him. Albeit there wasn't much to do with him; he didn't want them to talk, to walk together, to be in the same library, to bond or anything that had something to do with Blaine.

And why, was the most important uncertainty? He had no idea.

They hadn't even exchanged words that much and they had seen each other no more than three times.

"Whatever," Blaine thought, trying to understand but with a huge and growing disappointment in the pit of his stomach "sometimes we just look at someone and know that we don't like them almost immediately," it was not helping.

The fact that Kurt didn't like him –Kurt Hummel, Hummel. He was in no familiar or amiable place to call him just Kurt- wasn't of his own liking, even if there was not much he could do about it. For Christ's sake, the kid wouldn't even talk to him. Or so it seemed.

He just waved away the subject in nuisance and stepped into the cool air inside Lima's Bookshop.
----------
"Kurt!" his father called, usual tiredness in his voice. He gulped.

"Coming, dad!" he replied from his room. He briskly went downstairs just to find his father in the kitchen, back to him, hands grasping on the counter. Kurt's energetic blue eyes opened just a little bit as he took a step closer to him "Dad?" he said with his delicate voice.

Burt turned his head around slowly and not much "Yeah," he sighed "I'm still here," addressing the usual yet this time unasked question in Kurt's mouth.

There was a not awkward, yet bitter pause.

"What's up?" he asked casually.

"I, huh... I need you to help me tomorrow in the shop," he let a rough hand slide heavily down his face "Can you do that?"

"Sure," he agreed right away. He gazed at his father out of the corner of his eyes, who had now his back against the counter and rubbing his eyes.

His father had been like this ever since his mother had left. Not because she wanted to, for sure. None of them wanted to. Burt Hummel was a lonely man, but still polite and he did try to carry on as he could, he simply couldn't let a thing like that bring him down. Not when it was something he couldn't do anything about and especially when it was something that didn't affect only him.

On his side, all Kurt could do was sucking it up and help his father as he could, try to be as bright and happy as he could whenever around him. Even if he wasn't. Sure, he was proud of himself and the fact that he was one of the most popular kids in town, but still his life was now dull and it lacked the colors, emotions and all those fresh and new twirls that were constantly present when his mother was around.

"So whatcha up to today, kid?" he took a mug of coffee, dragging his words just a little bit.

"Mercedes is out this week with her parents, she went to Greensboro, in North Carolina to visit her cousins," he muttered "and Rachel's dating this kid, Finn, from school and she's going out with him today, so... I guess I'll just go to the library," normally he would've said this with a more evident delight in his voice and a small smile, but instead all that the muscles in his face seemed able to do was to wince.

"Something wrong?" his father asked slight concern showing in his forehead.

"No," "I just need her a lot" he finished in his head. He couldn't bring himself to tell the truth to his father. Not because he normally lied to him, but because he did not want to bring up the subject. They rarely mentioned her, even though they both knew it was pretty much all they could think about.

"Okay, if you need something, I'll be at the workshop," he proffered. He patted his son's shoulder as he walked by him and left through the door, leaving the tears to clump in his eyes.

"No, no, no!" he reprimanded himself, hastily making them disappear from his eyes. He stood ramrod straight and allowed a steady moan to leave his throat.

He had a nice, two-story house on Blue Street, with his father's place of work right on the other side of the street and two blocks away from Pointstrat Avenue –to say the same- from his favorite library.

When he walked in, making the familiar bell above him sound like it did almost every morning, an old man raised his eyes and set them on Kurt through his lenses. Noah Beaster was an old friend from the family and he knew both Burt and him very well and the same was with his mother. It was her indeed, who had introduced them all.

Elizabeth, Kurt's mother –and whose name he had kind of secretly adopted on his own account, too-, used to read to him every single night. Tales for kids as a toddler, not fairy tales necessarily, but they always had happy endings. And as he grew, she started reading things slightly more suitable for grownups or teenagers, feeding him with imagination, passion about diving into entirely different worlds, vocabulary and an incredible and snappy wit.

And that was why he considered this bookshop to be so close to him, it had a special place in his heart; he would always save a special corner in it for anything related to his mother, from her favorite coffee blend and her unique apple, vanilla and wood perfume to her favorite Danielle Darrieux and Doris Day albums and Lima's Bookshop.

Thinking about how she had walked around the place a thousand times, stepped on the same stairs, grasped the same knob, stroked the same spines and just... the fact that she had been there was enough for him to want and spend as much time as he could in Lima's Bookshop. And not that he believed in ghosts, but when he reread the books she had sometimes hummed to him in his childhood and a peek into his teenager years, he could remember her voice so clearly it hurt. And he felt in touch with her, just a tad more than during the rest of the day.

And that was why when he went upstairs to keep on reading The Turn of the Screw and recognize the back of a curly, dark head a sudden exasperation and anger rose in his chest.

"Are you seriously going to be here all the time from now on?" he snapped. Bryan or whatever-his-name-fucking-was –though deep inside he was quite sure it was Blaine- turned around with fear in his face. He swallowed harshly and really soft wrinkles emerged above his eyebrows "Well?" he insisted coldly. He turned around and placed himself again in the chair uncomfortably, under the icy gaze of Kurt, who started giving a few disinterested yet slow steps, attention fully concentrated on the kid. He noticed how he was fidgeting yet trying to conceal it.

Gee, they both knew he didn't like him but he wasn't going to murder him.

"If I annoy you so much, why don't you just leave?"

Or maybe he was.

Kurt stopped dead and faced him so quietly it scared Blaine even more.

Was he even fucking serious? Who did he think he was? The amount of things he wanted to yell at him was so big, he closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled and bit his lip so hard he could almost taste the blood.

"I'm not leaving. I was here first," he articulated with a plastic smile, as if he was talking to a two year old.

"It's not your property," he looked confused, shocked and offended and when Kurt practically haul himself at him, he jumped on his chair.

"I'm not someone you can just step on or walk over," he placed his hands on the armrests, coming far too much into Blaine's personal space for the taste of either one of them "I'm not letting you do that, ergo, I am not leaving," he practically spelled. He split brusquely but kept on eyeing him "As much as I hate the mere idea of sharing a room with you," he spitted. Blaine, whose eyes had never been quite as wide a moment ago, was now intently looking at Kurt, who was now turning his back on him and his breathing less and less uneven by the second.

"You know, if I wasn't as polite as I am, you left a pretty open spot for a dirty joke right there," had he really said that? Neither of them could believe it. Blaine held back his breathing and Kurt merely sighed and disappeared behind the stack of books and grabbed his own without taking much of a sideways glance to it, knowing where he had left it the day before. When he returned to the armchair circle only a few feet away, he took a quick look at what the boy was now reading again, too peacefully.

"Do you even know what that book is about?" he asked still with that edge on his voice, walking gracefully to his usual armchair, making Blaine's eyes set on him again, still patient and apparently innocent.

"Excuse me?" Why on earth was he so nice and courteous all the time?

"It sure will make people even more suspicious than those bowties of yours," he poked, crossing his legs and opening his book.

"There's nobody here and what are you even talking about?" to Kurt's satisfaction, he could notice the tiredness becoming more and more notorious as he dropped his head to the side a little.

"Not to mention the way you stare at people. Or me, for that matter," he continued, Blaine's words unheard "By the way, have you made it past the cover or are you still stuck on it? Because a wonderful way to start, believe me, is to—"

"Stop it!" he lowered his voice with the second word, trying not to get Mr. Beaster's attention. With the right elbow on the armrest, he rubbed his forehead, eyes closed. Kurt smiled at how he was getting on his nerves "I haven't quite started it yet, no. I arrived a couple of minutes before you did and... Well, you haven't given me a real chance to start... reading... it," he exhaled clumsily, dropping his hand and locking eyes with the boy in front of him, who was looking at him through his eyelashes "Have you read it?"

"No. Don't want to;" he practically ignored his query "It's really about people. Lots of weird, interesting personages; transvestites, tomboys, queer ladies, a quadriplegic, illnesses, lots of drama... There's also the..." he doubted for a moment "the protagonist," he cleared his throat as indifferently as possible.

"What about him?" Blaine asked, frowning. Kurt shot a grimace at him and contorted his whole face in disgust and awkwardness, returning his eyes to his own novel "What's wrong with him?"

"There's nothing wrong with him!" he raised his voice sharply, making Blaine flinch again.

"Thank God my parents didn't ask me what I was reading," he whispered after a silent pause and Kurt squirmed at the mention of Blaine's parents. He actually squirmed at the mention of anybody's parents, in plural, so he usually tried to steer clear from that subject "If my father ever found out I'm reading about people he doesn't think highly of... No matter how Truman Capote the book is," he joked, offering a low chuckle. His eyes flickered to Kurt's displeased face for a second "My mother, on the other hand-"

"Yeah, well, I don't care what your parents ask you," he cut him. Blaine looked at him again, this time a little hurt. What had his parents done to that boy?

"What is the matter with you?" he asked between calmly and snapping, and confused and sympathetic "You're acting like a child."

"I wish," he muttered, trying to hold back the tears. Jesus, why was he being so sensitive? It definitely was not being a good day for him.

"A stubborn, little one, not in a good, joyful way," Blaine continued not noticing how Kurt was sinking more and more into the chair, hiding his face. When he got no answer back, he proceeded "If you're not happy with the life you're leading, it's not my fault."

And in that moment he didn't know whether to start laughing like a maniac, yelling bloody murder, slap the shit out of that bold character or just break and fall to his knees, crying, like he hadn't done in so many years.

He swallowed with new, hot tears beginning to cloud his sight and closed his book. Blaine expected him to shot one of those massacre-like looks but instead saw one of the most heartbreaking expressions he had ever witnessed.

Kurt stood up with eyes hard and impenetrable yet mussy with emotions, his chin high in the air and left the book in its regular place, without looking again at the other boy.

"Wait," Blaine called puzzled from his seat, stretching out his hand to grasp his arm and he only brushed it, but when he did, he snatched his hand back as though the touch had burned. Kurt's bearing, on the other hand, didn't even waver, he went downstairs and Blaine could've sworn he had heard a pitch in his breath.

There was something going on with that kid and Blaine was pretty sure he needed someone to talk to. Now, it was a long shot, and he was fully aware of it, but for a moment he wished he could be that person. How could he? How could he achieve that, knowing that he had hurt that kid, whatever he had done? Actually, he had done something, but whichever was the reason that what he said had actually touched the boy, made him feel that bad.

There was something he had to do, anything. And Blaine thought that first and foremost he had to start talking to him, even before gaining his trust. Otherwise it would be plain impossible.
----------
The very next day, Kurt was almost positive he wouldn't be going to the bookshop. He tried to resist the urge, knowing for sure that Blaine would be there, but after a couple of minutes he realized how stupid he was acting.

Was he really going to allow some flinchy newbie to restrain him from going to one of his favorite places in the world?

No, that didn't make much sense.

Once in, he took the current novel he was working on and when he sat down to read it, he noticed it wasn't his book. This was Blaine's book. Blaine. Polite, stupid, prying, albeit overly-nice Blaine. When he started reliving their last conversation in his head, he dropped the suddenly sizzling book in his lap, releasing a shaky pant. He left the book on the table with a sour flavor in his mouth and went back to the shelves, looking for his own book. But after looking for it, he came to the realization that it wasn't there. Then it hit his mind.

Blaine.

Only this time it was plain stupid, prying Blaine.

He went downstairs, thumping his feet on every step he'd take, until he reached the countertop where his elder friend was.

"Noah, has someone borrowed any books recently?" he held onto it, his nails about to chip through the wood.

"That nice fella, Blaine Anderson," he went through the record notebook he kept.

"Noah, give me his address," he spelled, careful not to come too strong onto him, otherwise he'd get nothing but a phone call from Mr. Beaster to his father "Now, please,"

"29 Red Street," he said simply, gazing at Kurt "Try not to harm him or I'll be responsible too, kid," he joked with his regular sense of humor.

"Can't promise you anything," he called out before storming out, rebounding the violent bell against the wall and back.
----------
"Hey!"

Why did he have to be so merry all the time?

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he uttered brimming with anger "Give me my book now," he extended his hand. Blaine looked at it and laughed under his breath, left hand on his pocket and the other one holding the door open, with him resting lightly against it.

"No," he shook his head with a soft smile playing on his lips.

"No. No?" Kurt repeated, astonished "No," he continued.

"No," he confirmed. He drew out the hand on his pocket and made a gesture towards him "did you find another book in the place yours usually is?"

"Hell, yes, I found that stupid book of yours so I correctly assumed that you had my book. Now, give it to me," he insisted in an intense and dangerously quiet tone. When Blaine did nothing and just plunked there, contemplating at him fixedly he warned him "I'm starting to lose my patience."

"What is it about 'my' book that bothers you so much?" he pried once more. But this time his voice wasn't teasing him, it wasn't even curious; it had a genuine mist of concern.

"What difference does it make?" he replied, this time more calmly yet still sharp.

"Well, I think you should read it," he suggested somewhat timidly as he stepped aside for Kurt to come in starting to clench his fists again.

"I don't want to read your goddamn book!" he shrieked in a far too high pitched voice for his preference.

"Why not?" he asked firmly yet not in an invasive way.

"It is none of your concern or affair, stop prying into my life as though you're a shrink or..." he waved his hand in the air looking for some accurate word to come out "Or..."

"God?" he proposed.

"Ha, ha... Do not, speak of God to me," he released a shallow laughter and smirked mirthlessly. Blaine's eyebrows shot right up.

"You don't believe in God?" he asked. Considering Lima was a pretty small town, he'd expect most people to have religious points of view. But it wasn't really that much of a surprise. After all, "most" wasn't the same as "everyone".

"What do you think?" they both fell in silence for a while before Kurt noticed the door was closed. And they probably were alone because he had yelled unconsciously at least three times in the past five minutes and no one's head had poked out of nowhere. No idea why, this was completely unnerving for him and he started to fidget. Especially when feeling the other boy's piercing eyes on his face.

"Look, just give me my book and I'll be out of your hair, I..." he begged looking at him in those marvelous, dark honey, gleaming irises. But when concentrating became too difficult, he had to avert his gaze "I just want to get my book back," he asked with appealing eyes.

"Can't you just tell me why you won't read it?" he pleaded.

"Because, Blaine, you are a nice guy, I'll give you that," he slid closer to him, whose big eyes were still following his every move "I don't like you one bit, but I know courteousness when I see it and you're a true gentleman and whatever," he opened his eyes for a second and shrugged "but this is something I do not wish to talk about. Not to you, not to anybody, okay?" he gave a hesitant nod, which Blaine returned with a guilty gulp.

"You're right, I'm sorry," he apologized "I'll be right back, I'll go get your book," he said and attempted to turn to his left and go up to his room, but a hand closed slouchily around his wrist.

"I'm not really in the mood to read anymore," he gave in with a softer version of the same defeated look he had given Blaine the day before "Besides, it's already late, just... bring it to me tomorrow, to Noah's bookstore, okay?" he asked with his head low and looking up at Blaine, who was standing in the third step.

The way Kurt was staring at him with those vigorous yet lost eyes made the world either revolve faster or missing of all motion. It was right there and now, way less than a minute but way more than five seconds. And it was one of Blaine's most glorious memories, deep into a swirl of predominant Tiffany blue, lime and maize.

"Okay," he nodded breathlessly, causing Kurt to open and close his mouth, without anything to say. He muttered a flushed "Thank you," before he opened the door with a last significant look at Blaine and left.

He had made a connection. Not everybody did what he had done with Kurt and vice versa. There had been a spark, and it didn't necessarily have to be a romantic spark, at all –at all, he repeated and forced into his head. But he knew from now on Kurt couldn't just ignore him, even if talking to Blaine wasn't going to be the part of the day he would most look forward to, they still were going to share moments. Personal moments, Blaine hoped. Besides, if he wasn't wrong, he had just told him to meet him tomorrow.

He smiled to himself.
--------------------
It was Sunday. Five in the morning. The sky wasn't quite dazzling and bright yet, but that wasn't the only reason the sun wasn't glimmering against a blue and energetic screen.

In the midst of the foggy drowsiness and reluctant to open his eyes, he could feel a gentle drumming against the glass. He knowingly smiled, perceiving the familiar, quite known dull and not-so-clear light through his eyelids. And then the smell of rain shocked right into his nostrils, making him inhale a big, deep breath of fresh air.

Without a doubt, Blaine's favorite weather was this one: the clouds, the rain and the blowing wind, everything about it. He loved every season and summer was beautiful, too, but as he recalled, the heat in New York didn't strike quite as strongly as in Lima, where he now was.

But he had been in this little town for almost two weeks, that –even if he was having an amazing time- had gone by, oh, so incredibly slow, and had been two of the hottest weeks in his entire life. He looked over to his left and through the big window. If his bed wasn't so comfortable and the floor so fresh and nice to lie down on, he'd say it was what he liked the most about his new room. It was broad, letting tons of sunlight during sunny days and allowing him to see the bluish, gray giant clouds during days like these.

The rain was lovely and all, but it still was five in the morning.

He rolled over and snugged his face on the pillow, rubbing his cheek against it and sighed contently. The day had gone off to a beautiful pre-start.
----------
Hours after that, he took a pleasant and now-in-need-of warm shower, had a simple breakfast on his own and left for Jim's. Even as eager as he was to meet Kurt Hummel again –it still didn't feel entirely right to call him just Kurt- he had other friends. Wonderful other friends.

"So, boys, what lies ahead, in this ethereal morn?" Nick imitated a Scottish accent when they all met inside, since it was still raining.

"There's not much we can do with this weather," Blaine said.

"Rain? This isn't rain, it's downpour, man," David whined, looking out the picture window to his left. He sighed heavily and with the elbow on the table, was about to rest his chin on the palm of his hand when he noticed his friend watching him. "What?" Nick raised his eyebrows with a condescending grin on his face. "Nick, for crying out loud, 'downpour' is not a weird word to use!" he exclaimed.

"If you say so, slender," he returned to his Coke with a smirk. "So, we're not doing anything today? We're just going to..." he placed the glass bottle back on the table and lied on the scarlet backrest. "Sit here all day?" he yawned noisily, causing David to glare at him slightly. "Oh, come on! Did I offend Mr. Purist?" he stared at him putting his hands on his chest causing the other to click his tongue and lift his eyes to the ceiling for a second before exhaling again and looking out the window.

"Bite me," was all he said creasing his forehead and drinking from his soda.

"Sorry to intrude into your married-couple-wise quarrel," Blaine stepped in still chuckling ."But I actually have plans for today," he said casually with a soft smile and playing with a napkin.

"Oh my God, I know that look, you so have a date!" Nick spat out, completely excited, slamming his fist loudly on the table, causing the bottles and glasses to bounce and clank against the table, attracting some eyes in their direction.

"What? No! No, no, I do not have a date," he shrieked, frowning and looking around wildly. His friends' eyes widened.

"Chill, Blaine," David patted his hand over the table. "It's fine," he teased.

"I'm leaving now," Blaine finished the conversation not giving time for Nick to begin a complete and new sarcastic mock. "Want to have dinner later, though?" he asked, as he stood up and drew a dime out of his pocket, tossing it gently on the table.

"Sure thing, six thirthy?" Nick returned.

"You know when I'm hungry," Blaine gave him a nod and the clear eyed boy touched the tip of his beret in response.

"I'm glad we found him," David said after a moment with a fond smile appearing on the surface.

"Tell me about it," he took another sip of his bottle with a simpler smile, but an honest one, nonetheless.

"He makes it so much easier to bear with you," they both said at a time. They looked at each other before cracking up.
----------
He whistled The Willows' newest hit The Church Bells May Ring and muttered some of the words as he walked, hands in pockets, the already-acquainted-with road to Lima's Bookshop. He had stopped by his place to grab a jacket since it was getting real chilly and Kurt's book, being careful about it not getting wet or ruined.

When he got there, he joyfully nodded to Mr. Beaster who returned the salute with a smile and a double take, stopping him on the foot of the stairs.

"Boy, let me give you a towel, you're soaking," he knit his bushy, white eyebrows together and disappeared into a room that seemed to be under the staircase. He popped up again from behind the wall with a cream colored towel. "We don't want you to catch a cold now, do we?" he asked, handing him the piece of material.

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Beaster," Blaine beamed as he tried to dry his head mostly. The little amount of gel he had put in his curls was now positively gone and he adorably frowned at this perspective. "Done, thanks," he repeated once more and gave him back the towel.

He danced his way up the stairs and was ready to find the other boy sitting in his usual armchair when he raised his eyes and found him instead trying to catch his reflex on one of the windows, tongue between teeth and fixing a lock of hair with a golden nuance into place.

"Goddammit," he moaned under his breath.

"It looks just fine," Blaine interfered, making the other boy jump and turn to look at him.

"I didn't know... you were here," he managed to mumble, all flustered.

"Your hair, I meant," he clarified.

"Yeah, I guessed you were talking about that. The rain didn't exactly melt my face," he gave him a look, before finally placing the tuft where it belonged, still not quite comfortable or sure about the free-and-easy attitude Blaine was proffering.

"I'm pretty sure it would still look fine, too," Blaine nibbled his lip to stop himself from expressing his every thought out loud. His eyes trailed after the other boy walking past his seat and standing in front of him; he wasn't precisely near his face or anything, but it already felt physically too close for comfort for Blaine's opinion.

"My book?" he asked chewing on his lip adorably, this day way softer than the last time. It still looked like he was trying to hold in his bad temper and not to snap so much but if yesterday he had behaved like a hungry lion, today –so far, so good- he was nothing but a mild kitten.

Blaine stuck the blue book from under his jacket and handed it over to Kurt, who took it with that cautious, intrigued gaze of his.

"I'm sorry about yesterday," he heard himself say, without knowing exactly where that had come from.

"Please, let's not talk about that again," Kurt pleaded, holding the book close to his chest and walking to the stack of books, to their left.

"I was a jerk," he insisted, following him with a pained expression.

"Were you?" he asked with a soft smile and raising a delicate eyebrow.

"Yes, I was," he replied, slightly gaping at his face. He nailed his gaze to the carpeted floor as he spoke. "Look, I know you probably think of me as a dumb attempt of a knight trying to rescue you-"

"I'm not a damsel to be rescued," he shook his head, vaguely and distantly offended, pretending he was looking for the spot where he usually kept his book, just not to look at Blaine in the eye. He had no idea why he caused that effect on him, but there was something in that kid's eyes that just drove him... nuts. And he was pretty sure it was in a bad way; he had been quite an asshole to him, he knew that, no doubt, even if he didn't regret it. And he had to admit, he was a handsome fella but the way he sometimes gawked and addressed to him made him feel both flattered and uneasy, mostly.

"Exactly," the other boy agreed hurriedly in a needy way.

After a pause of just staring at each other, Kurt's rather cold eyes mellowed into softer ones. "Why are you being so nice to me? I've been more of an ass than you have," he tilted his head sideways. Blaine swallowed.

"People are supposed to be nice," was everything he handled to say. Quite honest yet stupid. He was this close to saying "besides, you seem to have it tougher than you think, so I want to help you," but it sounded pretty patronizing. It seemed his hopefully-soon-to-be friend didn't quite believe him, because his eyebrows gathered in the middle of his forehead and a smile spread.

"I guess you'll just tell me one of these days," he waved it away as he took Blaine's book out of his spot and Blaine's heart skipped a beat.

"So we'll see each other again?" he couldn't stop the words flying out his mouth fast enough, leading his hands to his chest when Kurt pressed, practically chucking it at him, Capote's novel against it, barely noticing the faint contact. He blanched, none the less, praying that Kurt had not heard that.

"Well, you are in my bookshop," he only teased with another smirk before plopping down with his customary and natural elegance, still looking at him. Blaine tried to hide a grin, realizing Kurt wasn't really that nasty of a person after all.

"Right," they both giggled faintly and Kurt gave an up and down glance at Blaine.

"You can sit, you know?" he said after what felt like ages, eyes glued to the yellowish page. "You're seriously never going to get out of the title," he scoffed at him once more, in a still-not-so-quite friendly way. He ran to his seat, obeying Kurt.

"I think the reason I can't quite get through the first part is because-"

"We're always interrupting each other?" Kurt sent a hint, still reading which Blaine both took and giggled at but also got into a fascinated trance over the idea of doing anything to each other.

"No, I..." he smacked himself back to Earth. "Because perhaps it's not the right book for me," he admitted. "I don't know if I'm that much into... such complicated, grim things," he shrugged.

Kurt dropped his hands and laid his beloved book on the little round table between them. Without a word, he stood up and vanished once more, though Blaine could still see him through the spaces left in between the bookshelves. To be more specific, it was his mouth he could see.

"Should I follow you, or..." Blaine started but Kurt shushed him with a playful smirk; that gorgeous smile of his with those seemingly perfect lips, all pink and pretty. He didn't even bother to try and reprimand these thoughts, because it was true.

He was pretty sure he liked boys but he had never thought of anyone that way. And there was a much higher teenaged population in New York than in Lima, but no... His mind was flying to places where the only boys in the room where him and Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel and his eyes and his lips and...

"You zone out really easily, don't you?" How had he not realized Kurt was back, standing right in front of him and that they were making, maybe too intense, eye contact? Blaine, obviously, absent mindedly, but Kurt was confused and turning a rosier color.

"Yeah, lot going on in my mind," he whispered, not expecting Kurt to respond with a "What about?"

They locked eyes again before Blaine chuckled nervously and looked immediately away. If he was going to be friends with Kurt –hell, if he was going to talk to him- he would have to be alert and watch those moments. Alright, he had never liked a boy that way before, but he had never imagined he would be fidgeting, daydreaming and blushing all the goddamn time. Besides, he didn't really know Kurt and even if the enchantment of the first time he had seen him was present, his personality was too complex and puzzling. And there he was again, not speaking. "Say something, idiot!" He yelled at his brain realizing Kurt's features were going from amused to worried.

"Nothing," he rubbed his eye. "Never mind," he slipped, biting his tongue. He also became aware of the book in his hands. "Huh... What is this?"

"Swallows and Amazons, by Arthur Ransome," he told him. "It was one of my favorite books as a kid," he smiled, full of melancholy.

"Did your father or mother read it to you, when you were a child?" Blaine asked, twirling it in his hands and exploring it as though it could start talking any moment. Kurt's smile froze and faltered a little when, for the second time, the word mother came out of the dark haired boy's mouth. He knew answering was dangerous; if he said yes, it might lead up to more questions about his mother and he was not telling Blaine she was... Well, that she was no longer there.

On the other hand, telling him no would also bring queries that he would have to lie about. "Kurt, it has a map!" he exclaimed, eyes broadening and giving the other boy a dazzling smile. "Is this fully illustrated?" he practically capered, going through the pages.

"I... I don't remember, I mean... It is a book for children actually. Some say it's Robinson Crusoe but for children," he tendered. "But I'm not sure," Blaine caught a glimpse of him for a second and returned to some of the drawn spots.

"I don't remember," Kurt repeated more to himself, starting to swirl deep into his own thoughts. He couldn't believe it, honestly, her mother had read him the entire collection once, at least. And they were lots of books, twelve, if he wasn't mistaken.

The boy facing him went from eager to panicky, frowning slightly "Kurt?" he hesitated. "Are you alright?"

There was no way he was really starting to forget her. Not after all these years... Right? He had been carving every single detail into his mind for eleven years now, her image was not about to fade away now. What if he needed her?

"Yes," he lied through his teeth, eyes away from Blaine.

Was he supposed to jot down all of the things he could think of about his mother in a notebook or something, since he obviously wasn't going to trust anyone with all those little random facts he so very much cherished? Nobody would even understand, nor care. He knew his father would, of course, but he didn't really want to haul all of his silly problems down onto him and confine him in an even more pronounced nostalgia. Not to mention, he really wanted someone else.

Sure, sleeping with lots of girls and having quite an amount of friends was awesome but Mercedes was too drawn into her own affairs sometimes –not that he complained about it or about herself. He loved her and they were best friends, but the only thing they really shared was their passion for music and performing. As to Rachel Berry, the very same went for her, only she sometimes comprehended more. She didn't have a mother as well, but she wasn't dead either; she was just living someplace else, working, so Rachel lived with her father and uncle. Sometimes, though, she understood the need of a maternal body and attitude in the house.

"Stop it!" he told himself off, he was overreacting big time. Even if he was forgetting some details, it didn't mean she was vanishing.

Blaine didn't want to insist, scared that the progress they had made that day would just go away if Kurt snapped again, but he was truly distressed about the whole thing. Even more about the fact he couldn't do anything about it; it really was Kurt's personal thing, as he had explained the day before, but he still longed to make him feel good and smile for longer than ten crappy minutes.

"Do you want to go out with me?" It happened again. Words were coming out of his mouth without his permission yet again. And dear, had that line been wrong.

Kurt turned his eyes to him, this time fretful and shocked.

"What?" his piercing voice a little bit too loud. Blaine started waving his hands in the air, trying to look as misunderstood as possible.

"I-I meant as friends..." he clarified eyeing anxiously at the other boy, still taken completely aback.

"Oh," he sighed rubbing his chest "Huh... I don't know," he wrinkled his nose and shot a glance at his book.

"God, Kurt, I really didn't mean it that way," he swore with a desperate and apologetic look.

"Blaine, I know you didn't," he laughed it off now, more relaxed. And Blaine could've sworn a tingling sensation was spreading through his entire body. It was a simple thing he heard about twenty times a day, but listening to his own name coming out of that mouth, slipping through those lips, was beyond simply listening to his name.

It was Kurt saying his name, in the most tender and mellow way ever.

"I'm just not sure..." he assured him, scratching his forearm "I'll get you back on that one," he offered with a still amiable wink. What was going on? One moment he was a jumble of nerves, brows frowning and sharp comments and the second after that, he was a roller coaster of nostalgic happiness, longing and good manners.

"Alright," was all he came up with and he just zoomed out of the present, staring at the floor behind Kurt.

"Blaine?" Kurt hummed again, kindly smiling.

"Hmm?" he focused on his face, leaving the carpet alone.

"The book? You're seriously never going to start one," he reminded him, laughing and causing the same tickling sensation within Blaine's chest.

"Yeah, you're right," he said quietly and opened the book and gazed up again when Kurt spoke.

"I'll end up thinking you're only here to look at me," he smirked distractedly over the brim of his book before returning to his reading. Blaine's eyes widened more if possible, before pretending to be really interested in his own. And then his words were the ones to be misinterpreted.

But Kurt was a teasing and mocking person like that. Right?

Right.

And to be fully honest, Blaine didn't really matter.

"I know you're not reading, I hope you know that," he insinuated not caring to avert his gaze.

"God... Damn it," he muttered under his breath and started reading, this time for real.