Much to Walter Anderson's pleasure, the day had cleared out almost completely and the only leftovers from Sunday were a few clouds, scattered all over the place. Thank God the rain had stopped, otherwise how could he drive his new car? Still, some drunken moron, obviously, had made a little scratch on the passenger door on the second day. And he just couldn't allow showing off his car with that stupid mark, could he?

"Good morning, darling," he greeted his wife with a soft peck on the lips who turned her head from the counter.

"Good morning, honey, coffee?"

"Please," Mr. Anderson thanked as he sat down on the chair and unfolded that day's newspaper. In that exact moment his son came down, skipping the last two stairs, fresh and just out of the shower, hair still damp.

"Good morning, family," he sang with a cheerful smile as he let his eyes wander from his parents to his plate.

"Someone's in a good mood, today?" his mother beamed, making his son's own smile wider, walking to the table and putting down a plate with scones.

"Just got up on the right foot, I guess," he shrugged and reached out to the delicious smelling plate.

"How are you liking Lima, son?"

"I love it, dad, seriously," his eyes gleamed and his father smiled back. Blaine knew most of his friends, especially those with respectable, formal, strict parents referred to their fathers as "sir" but he had never had such a problem with his. He doubted he could ever call him "Walter", but "dad" was more than enough for both of them. "It's small but it's delightful," he took a sip of the coffee his mother had just poured for both of them. He chuckled under his breath, picturing Nick's reaction if he had been there just to hear him say "delightful".

"Glad you are having such a good time, honey," his mother hummed still standing next to him. He looked in her warm, bright eyes and hugged her around the waist, feeling like a five year old child. "And those friends of yours seem to be pretty kind," she patted his back.

"They really are, and hard working. They were the last ones to leave the other day at the construction," his father pointed out. Blaine's eyebrows shot up and his eyes widened, his smile getting bigger and bigger by the second, before he pulled his cheek back from his mother's stomach: so apparently his parents were just fine with his friends.

"I'm... I'm really glad you like them," he told them both, overwhelmed and his voice wavering a bit. His mother tightened an arm around his shoulders and kissed his curls before going back to the counter and saying "Well, they are your friends."

"You, of all people, couldn't go wrong when choosing the right people," Walter remarked and Blaine's heart wrenched in the most fantastic way, he was getting emotional and receiving too many compliments all of the sudden. "Too early to tear up, Blaine, don't," he scolded himself. "I'm going to the garage today," his father continued, standing up. "Got to fix that little scratch," he shook his head, placing his empty cup near the sink.

"Where are you going, dad?" he asked, checking out the clock on the wall. It was exactly nine o'clock.

"To Hummel Tire and Lube, little place just a couple of blocks down from he— What?" he exclaimed when his son gasped gravely. His eyes looked like plates and he had covered his mouth with his hands. "What happened, Blaine?" his father repeated, frowning.

"Nothing, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he stumbled upon words, fumbling. Kurt's last name was Hummel and it was a tiny town, it had to... He licked his lips that were now very much dry as his mind raced. He was acting kind of stupidly, though "kind of" should've been replaced by "quite". He was being an idiot, even if it was Kurt's family who owned the place, what about it? He might not even be there. Was he just going to go running and force Kurt to talk to him, an aspect which was barely improving between them?

True, Kurt was now much softer with him, but he still doubted spending time with Blaine could be a dark, strong secret of his.

But then again, what did he have to lose?

"Hey, dad, can I come with you?" his face shot right up from his cup, looking for his father's eyes.

"Sure, son," he replied. "Are you positive you're fine?" he insisted.

Blaine only nodded with a hidden, secretive smile.

This day was turning out to be splendid.
----------
This day was turning out to be a living hell.

"But, Kurt, we slept together," Sylvia said, following him hurriedly down the street.

The day was far too hot for him to be practically running with his long legs and trying to squirm out of the physically inexistent grip of some silly, needy, pathetic blond girl. He clenched his fists hanging to his sides and inhaled deeply, summoning as much patience as he could.

"So?" he spat out through gritted teeth still not looking at her.

"So?" she repeated. "So I think I deserve an explanation."

"We didn't get married, Sylvia, we just..." he rubbed his temple and closed his eyes, stopping when the girl stood in front of him and started to slid her hands up his chest, to curl them behind his neck.

"Marriage is not what I have in mind," she raised an eyebrow suggestively and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Look, Sylvia, we had a nice time but it was a thing of the moment," he sighed firmly and untangled her hands from the back of his head. "The magic's gone," he mocked her with an exaggeratedly fake excited expression and kept on walking.

On one hand, he knew he had been far too much of a jerk just now, but she was also such a pain in the ass.

Two more blocks and he slid the key in the hole and opened the front door. Finally: his house.

His first favorite place in the world, right before the library. It was so warm, so cozy, so familiar, so theirs. It really did reflect him and his family; in the wooden furniture, the happy pictures, the pleasant scent... Too bad the amiable and nice atmosphere wasn't as notable as it was before, when his mother was still around.

They really needed her, and in the past few days, when everything was feeling more complicated for Kurt, those exasperating feelings of lacking something –that something being clearly her presence- crawled right back and clang on to him, boring into his chest and leaving what felt like huge black holes, swallowing and disintegrating every sort of good feeling, turning them into dust. So yeah, no happiness for Kurt Hummel. At least, not for now.

"Kurt, need you in the shop. Can you come down?" his father's voice asked from the kitchen.

He froze where he stood on the stairs, on his way to the bathroom. He bit the inside of his lower lip to stop himself from spitting "Well, I was going to take a shower," to his dad.

And there he was again, feeling angry and wanting to snap, fierce and sarcastic.

How could he even feel bothered by his father? He was simply talking to him, nicely asking to help him out with his work and all he was selfishly thinking about was taking a shower and cool off, when his father, obviously couldn't afford to relax. Not that they didn't have money, after all, Burt's job wasn't exactly abundant, so pretty much everyone came to him, but still, thing weren't emotionally or mentally great at the Hummel's residence.

"Yeah, sure, dad," he answered cordially, hoping he sounded convincing enough.
----------
Ten minutes later he was standing there, his back leaning against a table, legs crossed and staring at his nails.

"Yeah, this needs some oil," his father's voice emerged in his thoughts from time to time, but left just as quickly, leaving room in his head to keep on thinking about some of his favorite musicals, just to keep calm. "Kurt, could you give me that wrench?" his son passed it to his greasy hand and left for the office, waiting for another customer to arrive.

"Good morning," an adult, low voice resonated slightly in the garage a moment after and Burt turned from where he stood analyzing some guy's motor.

"Mr. Anderson," at that, Kurt stopped staring at his nails and frowned. Anderson? Sounded so familiar... Well, it was a common last name, but with no apparent reason Noah Beaster's voice echoed in his head, though he couldn't place the word in a particular, logical sentence. "How are you doing today, sir?" he took off his cap in a salute manner, getting a affable nod from the other man.

"Things couldn't be better," the man said. From the aside office, Kurt studied him through the glass, fighting to look beyond his own reflection in it. He didn't ring a bell at all, the curly black hair, he had a normal height and no he lacked any characteristic features that could be important or whatsoever.

"Getting used to Lima?" his father went on, getting back to the car he was working on before Mr. Anderson interrupted him. "Getting used to Lima?" What? Perhaps he had just move—

He gasped loudly and straightened up. Fortunately, no one had heard him, so he proceeded to mutter little "Oh my god, oh my god"s under his breath.

So he was Blaine's father. The newbie's dad, no wonder Blaine had that admirable dark mass of hair on his head. He prayed he wouldn't become one of those regular customers at Hummel Tires & Lube.

"Hi," a, this time, familiar voice greeted happily, making Kurt jump in the air.

"God... Damn, Blaine," he rubbed his eyes, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth "Hi, hi, how are you?" he breathed. Why was it so hard to remain calm whenever someone talked to him?

"I'm great, how are you?" he asked, hand on his pockets and swaying on his feet.

"Why are you always so happy? Seriously? Don't you have any problems in your life?" he spilled, not quite snapping, but close enough.

"Gee, thanks," Blaine frowned but chuckled nonetheless. "What are you doing here?" he continued, oblivious to Kurt's frustration.

"I'm helping my dad with some stuff," he crossed arms across his chest.

"By hiding?" the other boy teased a bit, smirking and raising an eyebrow. Kurt blinked slowly and stared, bored, at him.

"I hide when I saw you coming," he shot back, a cool grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, hey, now, I thought we were friends now?" he joked again, but just partly. Kurt laughed, loud and shallow.

"Really, now? How come?" he snorted his eyebrows inches from meeting his hairline and a grin plastered on his face. Blaine mumbled a timid, still mocking "I don't know," making circles on the filthy floor with his right foot. "I don't recall hugging you or showing you any public display of affection," he grinned, still distant. "Or friendship, for that matter."

"You came to my house the other day," he suggested, hoping it wouldn't get Kurt mad at the memory of it. He thought he was doing quite well.

"Yeah, because you had my book," he clarified, laughing.

"Only friends borrow and lend books."

"You took it from me, I didn't exactly lend."

"Well, then I must be very comfortable to take something from you," the corner of his lip showing fake fear.

"From me?" he repeated, taking a hand to his chest and imitating Blaine's emphasize.

"From you," he nodded with a friendly, affirming smile.

"Should I be offended or something?" he placed a hand on the table to his left and the other on his waist.

"Unless you like scaring me off?" Blaine shrugged. "I don't know," he finished and they both laughed a bit more. "Had a good day, so far?" he continued after a pause, hopping on the table. He grabbed a rubber small ball lying on the table and started playing with it, sending it from hand to hand.

"Ugh, not really," he answered before he could stop himself. Still, Blaine's reaction didn't make him regret it. He raised his eyebrows and patted the place next to him with a barely noticeable grin. "I doubt that old, stinking table will support us both," he said suspiciously.

"I'll pay for it," Blaine tilted his head sideways and his smile grew encouragingly, leaving the ball behind him. Kurt snorted with a soft laugh and sat gingerly on it. "So, what happened?"

"Not much, really, but I had to wake up early and go to a friend's house to help her decide something for a date tonight and then I ran into..." he sighed. "A girl. And she was a pill for a while but then I just... blew her off," he admitted, gaze lost in a dingy spot on the wall. He had regretted being so rude to Sylvia and he was starting to hate the fact that he couldn't actually control his temper, but he was not about to come off as some vulnerable, weak person. So, he omitted telling that part to Blaine. He turned his head to find the other kid frowning a bit. "Nothing important or big, just... I'm in a really bad mood," he finished shaking his head and fixing his eyes on the floor before them. Blaine's eyes lit up faintly and he gripped onto the rim of the table, swaying his legs quietly.

"You don't seem to be in a bad mood right now," he dared to mention, glancing at Kurt who froze but relaxed two seconds later.

"Yeah, you're right," he whispered more to himself than to Blaine. A soft smile grew on his face, making that sort of stubbles on his cheeks that he had only recently noticed. He shook it off and cleared his throat, averting his gaze to the wall to his right, so that the curly haired boy could only see the back of his head.

"So, want to go for a drink or something?" he asked. Kurt, visibly flustered, turned around with light suspicion and doubt in his eyes.

"I dunno," he bit his lip, suddenly closing again.

"Come on," he purred, bumping shoulders with Kurt who just glared at him. "Look," he called. "We go out now –asfriendsKurtyouknowthat-," he fumbled quickly, when the other boy gaped as to interrupt him. When he closed his mouth, Blaine continued. "Today, we go out today, and if you don't feel comfortable or don't have a good time, we'll just stick to our routine at Lima's," he wrapped up his idea quite satisfied with it and a hopeful glow in his eyes.

"Okay, fine," Kurt agreed, making Blaine smile much broader than he should. He energetically got off the table and held out a hand for Kurt to grab even if his feet were inches away from the floor. He raised an eyebrow and hesitated before getting up without even brushing Blaine's body and walking out the door of the office.

The boy stood there, still holding his hand out to the air and had to bite the inside of his cheek in order to avoid the huge relief creeping out of his throat and trying to form into a smile.
--------------------
"So, where shall we go?" Blaine asked fighting himself from bouncing up and down as they stepped out of the workshop.

"I have no idea," Kurt sighed. A sudden breeze fluttered his hair back and brushed his cheekbones as the sun continued to spread heat all over the place.

"I know a place called Jim's, we could go there, it's pretty cool and—"

"Yeah, I know it," he perfunctorily cut the enthusiastic kid.

"Oh..." he jerked his head lightly. "Do you go there?"

"Not really. But I've seen your little friends hanging out there more than once," a light hue of contempt.

"What, Nick and David?" he frowned in thought, turning his head.

"What, you got a lot of friends?" he snorted once more and directed his gaze to Blaine just to see him cringe. Kurt moped lightly at his own rudeness but kept on walking, trying to lift his chin but failing miserably at it and focusing on the street. "But no, I don't go there," he spoke up casually and trying to steer the conversation away from his crudeness.

"Well, do you know someplace else?" Blaine asked in return, voice a little hoarse. He cleared his throat.

"We can go there if you want to," he offered feigning polite indifference. "Is not like your friends infected the place or anything," he teased with an extravagant shrug and ended with a smirk to assure Blaine he wasn't serious. Completely serious, at least. The latter chuckled, evident hurt still in his eyes, but not angry. No, Blaine seemed the kind of person who would never lose his nerves or snap at anyone, very much unlike Kurt. That assumption was what made him wonder about how Blaine could ever get along with someone like him and why, oh, why would he ever attempt to befriend him.

"Are you mad?" Kurt asked gingerly. Despite his statement and the fact that he didn't exactly love his reading-buddy's friends, he could feel a stab of guilt in his chest. Blaine raised his gaze off the floor to bore into Kurt's eyes and smiled softly.

"Nah, 'm not mad," he answered after a moment and went back to scrutinizing the street. It wasn't anger or anything what made his stomach tighten, but the fact that Kurt didn't like his friends, which felt more like disappointment. What was wrong about Nick and David? They were both cool and funny and nice people and they had friends of their own so it wasn't like they were known as the losers of town.

After a couple of silent minutes, they got to Pointstrat Avenue and he held the door open for Kurt who gave him a skeptic eye roll and strolled in, leaving a satisfied Blaine with a perky grin.

They took place to the left, contrary to the direction in which Blaine's usual booth was. The silence remained for the next few minutes as they read their menus –Blaine peeking over his to admire Kurt's subtle tongue running his lower lip, tucking it in a little, from side to side, highly concentrated and how inhumanly smooth and soft his skin looked- but thankfully it wasn't uncomfortable at all and he found it quite refreshing, not having to talk to fill every gap.

"Good morning, what can I get you?" an unfamiliar waitress appeared on their table, looking down at a small notepad though she smiled with a surprised air when she noticed him. "Oh, hi, Blaine, fancy seeing you here," she greeted happily. "Not with Nick and David today, are you?"

"Nope, not today," he shook his head. Linda wasn't the usual girl who took their orders but Blaine knew her, too and remembered her name, mostly because it was his mother's too.

"Yeah, well, sometimes even I need a break from those two, what do you guys want?"

"I'll just have a Coke," Linda turned to Kurt, still jotting Blaine's order down.

"Strawberry milkshake," he decided with a charming smile and it surprised Blaine not to find any mockery in his voice.

"Coming right up," she took the two menus from their hands and left.

"She your girlfriend?" he asked with a slight teasing tone. "And it is back," Blaine thought.

To Kurt, it was obvious that she wasn't, since Blaine didn't really look like he was one to care for dating. It was also probable that Blaine had issues. Yes, cause people just didn't stare at Kurt like that. Of course, people did ogle and eye him up and down, in all sorts of ways and with all kinds of intentions but there was something in this particular kid that threw him off whenever he tried to unveil his expression or find the words to describe what he found in his regard.

Kurt's query, however, threw Blaine off. With all the remarks regarding his bowties and retorts about his staring, he was positive Kurt had convinced himself he was his not-so-secret admirer or something.

By the looks of it, he hadn't. A knot he didn't know he had in his stomach relaxed: one step closer to hiding his secret even deeper and, hopefully, keeping Kurt around for a while, without scaring the hell out of him.

What would be Kurt's reaction to finding out Blaine didn't exactly fancy girls? And more precisely, fancied one boy in particular.

The discomfort settled back in.

"No, we're not even friends, actually," he shrugged. "I just talk to her when we're here and we... order, you know?" he admitted. Kurt gave an uncertain nod and started playing with his long fingers.

"So, where are you from?" he asked then, locking his wide, curious eyes with Blaine's.

"New York," he said and he was almost positive a glimmer flashed all over Kurt's face.

"Ugh, you're so lucky," he muttered. "If I could ever get out of this pigpen, I'd definitely go there."

"Really? To do what?" Kurt eyed him carefully as if with suspicion.

"I don't know, something," he sighed finally.

"You can do something here, too."

"Believe me, it can't be done," he let out, flat and the shine from an instant ago transformed into deception.

"You will get out of here," Blaine encouraged him quietly an instant later and Kurt glared at him with a scornful grin.

"Right," he kept on gliding the tip of his right fingers over the back of his other hand.

"Come on, Kurt," he laughed calmly. "You know better than anyone that you're... different."

"I don't know if 'different' is the word since I'm like everyone else," he simpered quietly. "Only better."

"You sure are better than most of them," Blaine reaffirmed with a kind smile. Kurt blinked, at a loss for words and limited to mouth a carefully timid "Thank you".

"Here you go, guys," Linda came back with a silver tray and put down their drinks on the shiny table.

"Thanks," they both uttered. Blaine took the glass in his hand to take a sip when he noticed Kurt was still staring from under his eyelashes at him. When they locked eyes, he blinked and averted his gaze to his hands.

"Ho—" he began.

"Hey, Blaine! How are you, my dear friend?" a boy with brown hair popped out of thin air, his hand on the back of a pretty girl with bangs so blonde they were almost white and a bulky, knee-length dress, white with hot pink polka dots that matched her headband. They were both beaming at him as the keen kid placed his right hand on their table, slightly turning his back on Kurt, who looked frustrated. "Haven't seen you in a while, going to Wednesday's dance?" he bobbed his head, cheeks red from all the smiling.

"Huh, hi Sandy," he laughed quietly, forcing himself to summon every ounce of politeness in his body. "I had no idea, actually..." wrinkles forming in his forehead.

"Oh, you should totally go!" he bellylaughed raising his eyebrows. "It's going to be superb!" he went on snorting a bit as he laughed once more, wholehearted and kind of lame. Kurt opened his eyes in disbelief, shaking his head and gaped at Blaine, who bit his lip and covered his mouth to hold back a laugh. Sandy followed his gaze still showing his teeth and when he saw Kurt he retrieved his hand from the table and straightened up a bit. "Well, well, well, if it isn't one Kurt Hummel!" both hands went to his waist, into fists. He gave a lopsided smile and looked around. "How are you, Kurt?" he asked again.

"Oh, I'm superb, Sandy," he lazily mocked him with a false grin, enough for Blaine to only notice.

"Are you going to Wednesday's dance?" he leaned into the table again, propping on his wrist still with an extravagant, toothy smile. "It is going to be superb!" Kurt couldn't help to snort this time.

"You can bet we'll be there, Sands," Blaine stepped in before anyone could make more of a fool out of Sandy himself.

"Why, aren't those joyous news to hear!" he sang again regaining his posture and putting an arm around the blonde girl's waist. "See you around, fellas!" he did kind of a military salute and laughed openly, locking eyes with the girl, next, who was inexplicably snickering in return. They waved in unison and started walking to their right.

"The guy is like a cartoon, coming out of a toothpaste advertisement or something," Kurt leaned serious over the table once he was gone.

"He's not that bad," Blaine tried not to give in and laugh. The other boy parted his lips searching for something coherent to say and narrowed his eyes, but reclined back on his seat in defeat. The hazel eyed boy opened his mouth to steer the conversation back in place, in hope of returning it to the exact moment when Kurt was about to say something, before the other spoke again.

"No wonder everybody likes you so much, you're far too nice," he played with his fingers, eyes on them and raising his eyebrows. As much as Blaine really wanted to know, he couldn't help to be taken aback, shooting his eyebrows straight up.

"How do you know that?" and wasn't surprised when, for the tenth time in the day, he heard Kurt snorting in impatient disbelief and superiority.

"Are you serious?" he tilted his head. "Everybody is going on and on and on about 'that newbie that's not very tall but compensates it with his ways, and have you seen those big eyes? So dreamy, and good Lord, his tousled hair is so nice I just want to touch it and', ugh..." he said in a fake, high pitched tone, as in quoting someone else. "Just... please, you're a crowd pleaser yourself, Blaine," he snickered taking another sip from his drink.

"Do you think I'm nice?" he offered half heartedly and slowly.

"Nice? Sure," Kurt quirked an eyebrow and fixed his eyes on Blaine's, not making a big deal out of it. "You're the epitome of nice and polite and... charming," he shook his head, still with a derisive aim.

"So... you like me?" he tried again, assuming more than asking, in what he knew was somewhat of a flirting way, never taking his eyes off Kurt, intently watching his reaction. He couldn't spot anything but a vague pout.

"You're nice, that doesn't mean I like you. It can be positive and whatever but it can be just as negative. Nice people are usually boring," he explained as he scratched his face and grabbed a napkin, pressing it on the table, to dry off the circles of water around his glass, increasing the ball of nerves that was Blaine by never looking at him. "Though I'm still on the fence about the whole thing," he lifted his chin lightly and wrapped his mouth around the straw, obliging Blaine to look away at once. "You're nice but I have yet to find if the rule applies and you're boring too," he swallowed and pouted in thought.

"Am not," he scoffed, exaggerating an offended frown in a teasing way.

"Ah-ah-ah," Kurt interrupted with a finger and warning eyebrows, raising. "That's up to me to decide," and after a pause, Blaine could've sworn he saw the tiniest of the smiles, which he returned with an amplified and much obvious one.

"Do you even know them?" he glanced back when he retrieved and laid his back on the red, shiny leather.

"Who?"

"Nick and David," Blaine said without blinking.

"Oh... Huh..." he clicked his tongue. "No. I don't quite intend to," he sang and continued to slide his long fingers up and down the cold, tarnished glass, leaving an opaque and darker trail.

"Why not? They're all kinds of awesome," he frowned, a smile spreading on his face.

"Yeah, well, they're your friends," he pointed out, striking the argument immediately as if with a bat, far away.

"I think you could easily get along," he shrugged, more eager than he was supposed to be. Why did the notion of Kurt and his two new best friends actually liking each other was so important to him?

Why the sudden vision of the four of them hanging out at Jim's was so appealing and why the picture in his head included his arm around Kurt's shoulders or in a nearer, more probable –he belittlingly snorted within- future, stealing subtle glances from one another and fingers quietly brushing under the table?

Unfortunately, it was all very surreal: that wasn't him, he was not that person. He could never come out to his friends and to Kurt or just tell the world in such an open way he could just touch him –he cringed- that way, in front of David and Nick as if it was the most natural thing ever. Nope. Well, now that sucked.

"Why? Why should we even try and get along?" he clearly wasn't having the same vision. In fact, it looked like he didn't want anything to do with it.

"Because the three of you are great," Blaine replied simply.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow impossibly near to his hairline. He looked so much very, very surprised.

"You think I'm great?" the words came out with a color in his voice that made Blaine think the boy across the table had just discovered he was actually a perverted, creepy stalker, as he led a hand to his chest. And the expression on his twisted features could have easily been decoded as disgusted if it weren't for the utter and striking confusion in them.

"Well, I did invite you to have a drink," he glanced sideways, deadpanned though a second away from smiling at Kurt's reaction.

"I've been an ass," Kurt squinted a bit, a few light blue veins becoming slightly more noticeable beneath the translucent skin of his eyelids. "Like... a complete jerk."

"I think we've been through this already," Blaine chuckled under his breath. "You have been... unfriendly, but we're still talking, what's the big deal?" he tried to wave it away. He didn't want to confirm Kurt he liked him, even as friends, and that conversation could have easily been twisted down that path any moment now. There was a moment of silence, though, and Blaine thought Kurt was going to insist on the subject, but thankfully...

"Wow, must be my lucky day," he snorted and leaned forward to catch the straw between his lips. Blaine easily slapped his mind away from staring and providing Kurt a definitive and even more obvious reason to think he was in fact, a creep. Why did that keep happening to him? It seemed every time Kurt did something with his lips other than talking, he was suddenly mesmerized. Well, it was silly. Silly and hormonal and he couldn't help but feel invading, just contemplating at his mouth, though not with lust but with a thoughtful gaze. So, in his defense, it wasn't that creepy.

Because after Kurt had become somewhat more human towards Blaine and appeared now to be so much more reachable and not as distant, Blaine could feel the puzzle pieces of the thick wall, under which the real Kurt was concealed, starting to fall apart. And hopefully, in only a matter of weeks, he'd be freed from it. Because Blaine knew that Kurt Hummel wasn't really the teenager he was now and that he had probably been for a long time already, there was something about him screaming that everything was not okay, never mind what he said out loud.

For a second, the sound that camefrom the street became louder until the farthest and opposite of him door was closed again.

"It might be and then again it might be not," Blaine mumbled amused, but worried in the same measure.

"What?" Kurt looked up with a frown and a hesitant smile. He watched the boy bite his lip and nod towards the door. When he scooped around, he could see a not so tall guy wearing a beret with a cheeky, amiable grin and an Afro-American guy with a similar accessory on his faintly haired head with a way less conceited ambiance. "You have got to be kidding me..." he uttered, slamming his hand on the table before turning his head to Blaine with a cold, murdering look. "Did you know they were coming?" Blaine frowned.

"Wha- No, no, no! I swear I had no idea," he hurried, shaking his hands.

"Yes, you did, you told them to come," he continued, convinced what he was saying was true.

"What? No, that's absurd, I didn't!" when Kurt stared at him with the same face as before –even though, this time he look much more bewildered and there was now clear loathing in his face. Blaine wanted to squirm only under the fiercely intimidating look. "Look, you don't have to stay if you don't want to-"

"You're damn right I don't want to! And I won't!" Blaine decided to ignore those words and approach calmly. Kurt still had his torso slightly twisted back, one hand in the back of the seat, the other on the border of the table, but facing Blaine with the most glacial expression ever, his nostrils flaring and teeth gritted.

"But please, would you mind giving it a try? It'd be really nice if-"

"What? No, no way," he cut in shock. "Besides, why would I?" he sneered, cruelly, absolutely no mocking smile in sight. There was a sad pause.

"For me?" he whispered with too much hope in his eyes. And when Kurt narrowed his further and bored into them with appalled and extreme pity, he frowned and felt more embarrassed than ever. "I thought we were friends," Blaine said with his relaxed glistening honey eyes reflecting the stupidly unexpected disappointment. He averted his gaze when he heard Kurt's voice speaking again.

"Well, you thought wrong," he derided again, this time more hesitantly and lowering his voice but with a snide note nonetheless, and strutting away from the booth to his right and out the closest door, without looking back afterwards.

Blaine sat there, lips parted, faintly squinting and frowning ever so slightly. His hands were resting dead on his lap as he blinked, annoyed and confused. What the hell had just happened? He hadn't done anything, anything wrong at all and now he was alone. It was all going so well and it had ended so abruptly and in such an inexplicably... confusing way. He realized things with Kurt and Kurt alone usually seemed to be this confusing. Perhaps a little bit too much for his own liking. Not two seconds afterwards he was hearing Nick and David's voice drawing nearer, probably talking to him, until he felt a hand patting his shoulder and back as he steered his eyes away from the window, focusing on his friends, who were now standing next to him.

"What was Hummel doing here?" David asked, frowning a bit.

"I don't know," he muttered miserably, fixing his eyes back on the thick glass, through which he could see the clouds starting to swirl in the sky, spreading and painting it white. His friends exchanged glances.

"Are you alright, bud?" he continued as he slid in the seat opposite to Blaine, after Nick.

"Yeah, sure," he replied almost automatically not wasting one second. "Hey guys, have you ever like... talked to him?" he looked at them.

"What, Kurt?" the same talked.

"Where's the waitress?" Nick asked, a hesitant hand about to wave in the air.

"Yeah," Blaine gave a dry nod.

"Why are we even sitting here, anyway?" his other friend began to twist his torso in all directions, still ignored.

"We've talked but nothing ever happened, like... We used to... talk, just... Talk, we weren't best friends but we got along. He was always kind of conceited," he admitted with something that sounded strangely like an affectionate chuckle. "But we're used to that, aren't we?" he turned to Nick jokingly and patted his back.

"This isn't our booth," the other one continued, oblivious to their chat, scanning the room with his squinting clear eyes and holding onto the silver rim of the table. David frowned and Blaine raised his eyebrows in amusement. His mouth was barely opened while he continued to look around, at the moment, past Blaine's head. "This isn't our tabl—Oh, oh-ho-ho," his face transfigured into condescending contemptuousness, as he laughed with a dangerous dishonesty and shook his head softly.

"Anyway, so he was always like that?" Blaine picked up the conversation, taking his eyes off Nick.

"Anyway," David agreed. "No, he wasn't always like that. I mean, very... sure about himself, not the thing with the girls, though. That's been going for a year or so," David considered, stroking his chin.

"No, he did not," Nick continued to be unheard in the background.

"So he wasn't always like this or..." Blaine started, gesturing with his hand. "Sorry, I'm getting confused."

"Ever since we became teenagers, if you want to put it that way, yes, he has always been conceited and snarky, yet socially successful. Don't ask me how, I have no idea," he began to explain once again. "But this is a small town, you know that, and I used to go to kindergarten with him and he was the nicest kid ever, so..." he trailed off with a soft shrug.

"Huh," Blaine's eyebrows went up for a second in calm surprise. It wasn't a lot of information to take in, but it was certainly interesting.

"Yeah, I don't know what happened," he nodded blankly staring into nothingness.

"Who does he think he is?" he slammed his hand on the table quietly.

"Okay, what on Earth are you even talking about?" David gave in and turned to his friend.

"That stupid Sandy Ryggory is sitting at our booth," he shook his head. "Our booth! I can't believe it, can you believe it?" he scoffed, baffled. This time it was David that shook his head, squinting at his friend trying to comprehend how his head worked. "Yeah," Nick exhaled shortly, totally misunderstanding David's response. Blaine was chuckling when he recalled.

"Hey, guys, are you going to this Wednesday's dance?" he asked and it seemed interesting enough to Nick cause his head all but snapped in his direction with a satisfied grin spreading on his face.

"Well, why, look who's coming around! Way to go, triangles, taking initiative and talking about going to parties and such," he reached out over the table and tapped his arm, proud before sitting again and pointing at him with an impish smirk. "You, naughty boy."

"What is wrong with you today?" Blaine frowned and Nick's smile fell as David shook with silent laughter.

"What you meant is 'are we going to the dance', Blaine," the least weird of his friends corrected him.

"Right," he nodded.

"You're with us too, now," he half-joked as if he was explaining something to a five year old.

"Right, sure," he bit his lip gratefully and kind of bashful. He was pretty sure he was blushing. "Thanks," he had no idea where it came from but every time David said something implying their new friendship and sort of stating it and the fact they were actually friends who had grown to like him that fast, he would melt into an emotional mess.

"I don't like this table," their other friend said. David exhaled, rattled.

"Oh my God... Nick!" he let out in an exasperated huff.

"What? It's not our regular booth, I'm not comfortable with this," he crossed his arms with an adamant shrug.

"What are you even talking about? You're not comf—"

"Yes, it's betrayal," he explained simply and calmed. Blaine continued to stay back and stare, as he always did, the happy laughter bubbling in his stomach, ready to erupt from his throat any minute now.

"What?" David's word was so sharp, it was palpable as it shot out of his mouth and cut the air like a blade.

"We're cheating on our booth."

"We are not- You can't even cheat on a fucking table, Nick, what are you talking ab—"

"And that waitress?" his index finger did circles in the air as it flew to David's chest and nudged it. "I don't like her, either."

"I hate you," David stated deadpanned and continued to repeat while Blaine started to laugh out loud, unable to hold it in any longer. "I hate you, I swear to God, I hate you—"

"She's not Amy! And she hasn't even taken my order yet," he proceeded stubborn and folding his arms again.

"Dude, you're an idiot," David moving his head side to side.

"Oh, but you love it," his face changed to a mischievous, convinced smile.

"No, I do not. I swear to God I do not," he guaranteed with high eyebrows.

"You wish. Look at Blaine, he's pissing," he pointed at his friend with his chin.

"No, am not," he put himself together in his seat with a little grin.

"Yeah, you do," Nick's identical gesture grew impossibly until his cheek hurt, prolonging the words and humming the sounds in such a teasing way he was almost savoring them. "So, are we going to the dance?"

"I can't," David sighed, visibly relieved it was finally over.

"Yeah, you can," Nick muttered, Blaine's Coke bottle making circles in its place between his fingers.

"Oh my God, enough already!" they both began to chuckle uncontrollably when David nearly yelled.

"You know you love it," Nick deflated trying to keep it low, but his voice got higher towards the end of the sentence, letting the laughter come out again.

"Alright, that is it," he slid off the booth.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry! I swea—" he laid across the plastic seat, but David had already walked out of his reach. "Come on, honey, don't leave," Nick turned around on his seat, following his friend with his gaze. David bit his lip to stop himself from smiling and silenced him with his hand before walking out the door. Nick turned around, laughing and winked at Blaine in complicity, who was clutching at his stomach trying to catch air.

"I feel sorry for him," Blaine admitted, still beaming.

"Nah, he'll be alright. After all, he is living in my house, he's used to it," he closed his eyes for a second and waved his hand in the air, triumphantly, tightly smiling at the waitress. Blaine laughed once more and noticed the annoyance from before was far gone. And strangely, it didn't come back as strongly as he thought it obviously would when his mind flew to that place.

While Nick talked to the waitress, Blaine mulled over Kurt and his friends. Seriously, how could he not like them? He was sure if he had just been there, he would've enjoyed himself as much as Blaine had; they were hilarious and the friendliest people he had ever met. Not that back in New York he was brimming with friends, but he was positive not everyone was as nice as them.

"Why can't he go to the dance?" Blaine asked after Linda left once more, thankfully, he noticed, without any trace of anger in her face. And that was one of the things Blaine liked so much about Nick, he wasn't a douche; perhaps he was conceited and too honest from time to time, but he wasn't a bad person. Not nearly.

"No idea, you'll have to ask him tomorrow," he shrugged. They stayed quiet for a second. "Ugh, I swear to God, that Sandy guy is such a pain in the ass," he rolled his eyes and the skin around Blaine's eyes crinkled when he laughed again. "Besides, the guy is so ridiculous, have you heard him talk?"

"Yeah, he's just... really enthusiastic and... energetic," he offered as politely as possible.

"No, he's an idiot. You're just too nice to admit it, but I bet the guy is high all the time. Dr-ugged," he spelled with emphasis. "On speed, all day long, I tell you," he continued to mutter under his breath, tapping his fingers on his thigh under the table. He chewed on the inside of his cheek absently staring at Sandy, still sitting at their usual booth. "Just like a freaking cartoon or something," he dropped his shoulders.

Blaine closed his eyes and smiled.
--------------------

Tuesday 14th, June, 1956

The wind was still whistling outside, swirling and hitting the window. No sun beams shining through the window yet.

For a change.

Kurt had no idea what was wrong with the weather, but summers in Lima tended to be warm and yes, wet, but not this wet. It was being too cool and damp for him to be happy about it. For example, right now he was lying in his bed with eyes still closed and instead of pulling the sheets aside and feeling sticky and hot, he was tugging at them and wrapping himself, holding them close to his chest. He turned sideways and ended with the mouth twisted and open against the pillow, the skin of his stomach touching the also cool mattress. His eyelids were heavy and demanded to stay closed, a plea he almost gave in to, if it weren't because he saw it was eleven in the morning already. He groaned and turned around again, freeing himself from the linen in a brusque movement.

After a refreshing, forty minute shower in the bathroom and a twenty minute daily session of going through his wardrobe, he went down the stairs, hearing two familiar voices as he walked closer to the kitchen.

"Fortunately, I'll be gone to some place where my talents are not wasted. Lima is too small for them," he could sense a handful of pride and certainty in the melodic voice of his friend. The back of her dark hair was all he saw before the words flew out of his mouth, stepping into the room.

"It's too small for your ego too, so..." he crossed his arms, resting his shoulder against the doorway. She turned around in the chair and clutched at the back of it as the brightest of smiles appeared in it. Kurt replied with a fainter one as Rachel stood up and ran to hug him. He laughed and patted her back under the glare of his father. "What? She knows she's conceited," he shrugged as Rachel pulled away keeping her right arm around his back.

"And we know you are, too," she sang, bopping his nose with her finger.

"Being what we are, how can we not be conceited, Rachel?" they both smiled.

"Anyway, kiddo, I'll be at the garage if you need anything," he shook his head with a loving chuckle.

"Okay, dad."

"Goodbye, Mr. Hummel," Burt nodded at the two of them with a tight smile as they took seats in next to the circular, small table in the middle of the kitchen.

"How long have you been here? I was asleep."

"Yeah, I know, I came and started screaming towards your window very a la Shakespeare: I basically started reciting a couple of verses in song, as Romeo, but..." she sighed with a longing air without losing an ounce of satisfaction about it. "Your father saw me, well –heard me, actually- and told me to come in, something about I was probably disturbing the dogs, anyway, so..." she trailed off as they looked at each other with soft smiles. Stubbles appeared in her cheeks as she grinned wider and rested a side of her face on her fist, elbow up on the table. "What about you? How have you been?" she nodded seriously, causing Kurt to snort.

"Rachel, it's been four days," he replied lazily. "I've been fine."

"Oh my God, why would you lie to me?" she asked with a theatrical tint of dismay in her voice.

"Okay, how do you do that?" Kurt knew there was no case in trying to convince her otherwise. He had no idea how she did it but every single time he attempted to hide something in the least, she would unveil his intentions right away.

"Natural gift," she shrugged with a bubbly smile adorning her red lips, looking up and batting her eyelashes distractedly. She looked back at him and smiled again. "Just like my artistic ones."

"If being short is a talent then you might be another Debbie Reynolds, she is just as tiny," he teased and she puckered her lips.

"As long as I get to do a movie with Gene and Donald," she purred smugly.

"Rachel!" he said through a scandalized laughter. "I'm assuming things didn't go very well with Finn, otherwise you wouldn't be saying so."

"Things went swell with Finn, he's splendid," she grinned meekly. "I think I really like him," a hint of a smitten glimmer flashed across her face as she averted her gaze.

"Lovely, then I'm guessing you two will be going out again?" he spread his arm across the table, resting his head on the palm of his hand still sluggishly.

"Probably, it's up to him, he has to invite me again," she pushed her hair over her shoulder so it formed a cascade of straight, shiny almost black hair, sliding down her back.

"And what about your father? Is he okay with you dating a giant?" he continued. "You being so short... Your children genes will be so conflicted as to which DNA to listen you will probably explode," he pursed his lips. Rachel rolled her eyes and opened her mouth but her friend was ahead of her. "Yes, I am done."

"Yes, well, mother knew him before she left, when he was really young, it seems her and Finn's mom were acquaintances, so she will be okay with it and father doesn't –know him, that is-, but he's not too worried," she moved to fold her arms resting them on the table and pressing her lips to her forearm.

"And your uncle has a saying in this?" he asked as he watched her search for a comfortable pose.

"Hardly," she lifted her mouth to stop the sound from drowning. He gave a sideways smile and closed his eyes. He was still so tired. Maybe, if Rachel left early, he could still grab some sleep. Why was he so tired, anyway? "Kurt," she tried to catch his attention. He hummed softly in response, eyelids still concealing his gaze. "What's wrong?" she tried again.

"Nothing's wrong, Rachel," he sighed, this time making a bigger effort to keep his eyes shut. "Right now I'm just really tired."

"You keep saying that but I don't buy it, and you know I don't," she added immediately, anticipating any effort from Kurt to avoid the discussion. "And you also know you don't have to tell me anything, but maybe you should have someone to talk about it. Someone you can trust wholeheartedly and always, you know?"

"There's really nothing to talk about," he reassured her.

"Gee, what is it that has got you so closed up?" she mirrored his position, frowning and studying his face, searching for any secret she could find in it.

"Rach, drop it," he warned finally opening his eyes and quirking an eyebrow. Her uneasy stare remained but either way she stopped talking about it.

"I should go, anyway, I only dropped by to say hello because I hadn't seen you in a few days," she explained, straightening her black skirt. "See you tomorrow?" she added hopefully as they stood up.

"Sure," he gave her a small smile and she imitated the gesture with overwhelming gratitude in her eyes before throwing herself at his arms and hugging him tightly. "Rachel, geez, we really saw each other last week," he joked sweetly, squeezing back nonetheless.

"It's just really good to see you again, Kurt," she whispered to his ear in a solemn way that made Kurt feel concerned himself. Was he really that bad and he couldn't even see it? Did Rachel really notice how much of a wreck he was while he didn't seem to care enough to make a big deal out of it? And was it that obvious to the rest of the people surrounding him, too?

What about his dad? Did he also perceive the emotional disaster –disaster, period- he was?

When they pulled back they smiled once more and they started walking towards the front of the house; and when he opened the door, a smiling and, also, familiar face greeted them –for Kurt, for the second time in the day.

"Oh, um, hi," the nervous smile turned into a frown when those hazel eyes settled on the short, brunette girl.

"Why, hello?" Rachel greeted tentatively with a surprised smile and feinted to hold out her hand, swinging her eyes from the stranger to Kurt's wide eyes and scandalized expression. She frowned too, for a second before raising her eyebrows and exhaling with a laugh, realizing something. "Why, hello, indeed, my name is Rachel Berry," she reached out decidedly to shake Blaine's hand, which was dangling at the side of his body. He looked taken aback for a moment before reciprocating the kind smile, feeling sort of shaken up himself. "And you are?" she encouraged him, still clasping his hand but Blaine was too busy staring like dumbly at Kurt, his head hanging low but the outrage written all over his features. Blaine imagined him basically spitting his disgust to his face and he would have still felt as intimidated and belittled.

"Blaine, Blaine Anderson," he tightened his lips in an apologetic way for the delay.

"Well, it's nice to meet you Blaine Anderson," she nodded with a secretive smile. "I'll leave you two alone," he turned to her friend knowingly and left, not without subtly winking at a further befuddled Blaine.

An unresolved silent settled in when Rachel's footsteps faded and he had no idea where to start.

"Huh... Hi," he repeated. Kurt was clutching at the threshold with his left hand over his head, the other one in his pocket. His eyes were still strained, fixed on his feet and Blaine could see the way he was about to tear the inner flesh of his lower lip apart with his teeth. He blinked ploddingly and looked up.

"What—What are you doing here? What do you want?" he sighed pointedly, annoyed.

"I... wanted to talk to you," he shrugged, trying to pluck up some courage –not to mention, patience.

"Well, I told you yesterday and I still don't understand why you would ever want to talk to me and I don't—"

"Jesus, Kurt!" he exclaimed abruptly and stamping in desperation. Kurt winced softly and opened his eyes with surprise. "Would you just... shut up, for a second?" he begged, still showing frustration with his whole body language. When Kurt didn't say anything and stood there, frozen but seemingly willing to listen, Blaine continued. "Look, I'm just going to be honest and, like... Tell you the truth. I'm..." he licked his lips, searching for the right words and twisting his brain for his jumbled thoughts to unknot and, hopefully, pour easily enough out of his mouth, without making a fool of himself. "I'm tired of this," he began. Still having Kurt's silent and therefore encouraging attention, after what seemed to be an hour, he continued: "I'm tired of me chasing you and you being... reluctant to it because you're lost and because you don't understand why I want so badly to talk to you. I'm tired of you not being able to assimilate why would someone, or why would I, want to be your friend and I'm tired and sick of arguing with you every two days with you walking out on me and then me going back to talk to you and then you're all smiles and jokes and next thing I know you're leaving me alone again and it's just... We've—I've," he corrected himself, his heart pounding wildly in his chest, but his voice strangely steady all the same. "I've reached the point where I just... I don't care anymore," he breathed and fixed his intense, sickeningly sentimental stare on Kurt's.

Kurt continued to scrutinize him. He couldn't move, he could barely get any oxygen to reach his brain and he couldn't think. At the moment, all he seemed capable of was taking in Blaine's every word, which were leading up to what, exactly? Kurt had no idea. One moment he was saying something and the next, it sounded as though he was saying the completely opposite thing. He held his breath until the boy in front of him began speaking again.

"I don't care if you decide that I'm nuts for wanting to talk to you or to be your friend, I don't care if you continue to be all sarcastic and witty and snarky and... You. Because I think it's awesome and you're hilarious and..." he bit his tongue from saying perfect, pausing. "And I don't think you're a bad person, so I'm done with you thinking you're not worthy of someone wanting to be near you. 'Cause you are worth it and you're letting yourself go to waste by doing much less than what you could. I don't care if you're angry because I "stare at you" or because I want you to meet my friends, I don't care," he inhaled and wetted his mouth once more. "And I'm not..." he shook his head almost imperceptibly and blinked slowly, feeling cheesy but forcing the words to come out. "I'm not letting go again. I'm not letting you go."

Kurt raised an eyebrow and inhaled, without realizing he was in need of air.

"You're not letting me go," he repeated quietly.

"No," he stated after a second. "I'm not letting you walk away again."

Kurt had never had so many questions in his life but either way he limited to bat an eye and lead his fingers to massage circles in his temple.

"What if I don't want?" he let out with the same airy, light ambiance, almost lost.

"What do you mean?" Blaine frowned, thrown off.

"What if I don't want to be your friend?" he shrugged groggily with his right shoulder. "Other than me not quite knowing why you want to get to know me," he recalled waving his hand, like it was an annoying little detail. "What if it's me who has a problem with you?"

Blaine stayed quiet for a minute, squinting ever so slightly and Kurt could literally see the infinite, numerous possible answers being pondered and flashing by in his eyes.

"Then... then you tell me and I back off," this time it was his turn to drop his shoulders and it seemed he was weighing the defeat with disappointment and of course, in his head, Blaine would be praying that wasn't the case. "Simple as that," Kurt looked at him and nodded unnoticeably, his offer sinking in.

He considered everything Blaine was revealing –and even knowing which his answer would be already-, his brain, working with lethargy, told him he was, too, in fact, tired. He was so very worn out, of everything that had happened in his life; the physical forms of his mother's affection and her warmth disappearing overnight, his father working as hard and being as drained as he was, the fact that even though he loved those three only, close people he had more than anything in the world, he still needed that someone to talk to, and Rachel's voice casually rushed back to his head; "And you also know you don't have to tell me anything, but maybe you should have someone to talk about it. Someone you can trust wholeheartedly and always, you know?" and he felt his hands shake and his mind stammer as he thought of the possibility of that person being.... Well, Blaine.

"Then you'll have to get adapted or we'll have to work something out..." he muttered, finally, making that cloying and hazel stare unglue from the light wooden porch floor. "Cause I'll tell you to lay off or to bite me more than once, probably," he snorted and Blaine's hopeful and extremely relieved face left Kurt with no option but to roll his eyes and step away from the doorway, letting him come in.
----------
"Okay."

The sound of a book closing heavily echoed in the upper ground. Kurt's head snapped and looked up from his worn out pages and smiled, barely showing his teeth.

"And?" he offered, not knowing which question to formulate first, wanting to know his every thought as soon as possible.

"It's..." he pressed a fist to his mouth, drowning a frolic beam. "It's amazing. I loved it!" he laughed and Kurt smiled hugely back. "It's so childish and it makes me feel so unattached and just... Perfect, it was perfect," he nodded and locked eyes with Kurt flattered ones, who considered his –and he felt a twist inside when he in his mind admitted it- friend's words, a certain something within swelling at how accurate they were, accordingly to the way he felt. It was, after all, the stories his mother read to him as a kid. It would always make him feel so childish and unattached.

"Well, I'm glad you liked it," he complied satisfied, after a moment of sheer silence. "Which was your favorite part? Tell me all about it," he bounced and Blaine had never seen him so eager. It was almost ridiculous how he could go from being mood-swinging, difficult Kurt to this whole other person Blaine was in the presence of right now.

"I feel so accomplished," Kurt said with a smug grin and raising one shoulder, minutes later, when Blaine finished describing with exquisite details his favorite part.

"Yeah, so do I, sort of," he chuckled, gleaming eyes studying the adventurous cover of the book in his lap, stroking it.

"Anyway, do you need me to recommend another one?" he asked, gaze back to his book, trying to regain some of his old aloofness. Not that he wanted to push Blaine away but he was being too nice all of the sudden and it wasn't his fault if Blaine had liked one of his favorite books for almost the exact same reasons he did –other than his mother having anything to do with it- or if he was smart and had understood and appreciated the same tiny things he had and continued to treasure each time he reread it.

"Nah, I don't really feel like reading. At least not right now," he admitted, apparently not noticing that Kurt was behaving slightly cooler than before and resting on the chair lazily, throwing his head back, relishing in how all the muscles in his throat tensed pleasurably. He sighed contently.

He heard Kurt clearing his throat next to the lines that, unexpectedly, came out of his mouth.

"Feel like going to, hmm, Jim's?"

His shocked eyes widened and he could notice how flustered the air surrounding Kurt was when his head sprang up, gaze glued to the book.

"But you hate Jim's," was the first thing that he shot. "No."

"What? I don't—I don't hate Jim's, but—Wait... What?" he fumbled.

"No," Blaine repeated.

"No?" Kurt mirrored, brow furrowing.

"Thank you," he nodded quietly.

"What for?" he shook his head in exasperated confusion, bordering horror.

"For being willing to go to Jim's when you don't even like it," he chuckled and fought back the urge to ruffle his hair when he stood up from his armchair.

"I just said, is not that I don't like it, Blaine, geez—" he continued to stifle with a higher pitched voice than normal as he followed him with his eyes.

"Well, perhaps you don't hate it, but –Where?" he held up the book and Kurt pointed his chin towards the bookshelves that covered the maroon wall vaguely "—you don't feel entirely comfortable," he continued, uninterrupted, walking to where Kurt had indicated him and looking for the name of the authors or a tag for different genres. "And still, you're asking me if I want to go there," he finally shoved it in between the other two books of the series and lollopped back to the armchair, reading spot. "You're kind of stepping out of your comfort zone. I'm proud of you," Blaine finished, adding the faintest of mocking notes in the last sentence.

"You make me sound like a member of Alcoholic Anonymous," Kurt grinned and crossed his arms. "Being proud of me, for crying out loud," he shook his head with a smile taunting over his lips and he returned to his book, placing both hands at the sides of it. Blaine chuckled.

Deep down, he really was. It was sort of his personal accomplishment, he had reached a point in which Kurt had offered himself to go to the diner, this time not caring –or perhaps, just not taking into account- that David and Nick might be there again, especially after what had happened the day before.

"I think I'm going to try and finish reading Capote's novel," he said after a moment, plopping down onto the chair once more. "I really want to give it a shot, you know?" Kurt hummed in agreement distractedly and Blaine was about to open his mouth again when realization struck his eyes and made him look up.

"Wait, what? The one... With... The one you were reading before?" he asked, fidgeting with his hands.

"You certainly are eloquent today," Blaine joked, surprised at his loss for words. "But yes, the one I was reading before. The one you didn't like," he reminded him, testing the waters. In return, Kurt merely glared at him –severely- with a warning yet unadventurous grin.

"Anyway," he closed The Turn of the Screw, not taking his strict eyes off Blaine. "I should go back home, actually, my dad might need me at the shop, now or later, I don't know," it was his turn to stand up as he brushed his clothes off.

"Oh, okay," Blaine agreed hesitantly. "I guess I'll just head home, then," he shrugged, watching without blinking as Kurt walked right before him and started going down the stairs. He followed and caught a glimpse of his wristwatch to notice it was only noon. He groaned in annoyance at the anticipated boredom.

"What? See you tomorrow, Noah," Kurt smiled at the elder as they walked towards the door.

"Have a nice day, kids."

"Bye, Mr. Beaster," he sang back, polite and diverted, before he focused on Kurt's question again. "Nothing, is just earlier than I thought and my parents aren't home, so... I'll have to make my own lunch and Nick and David are working and... stuff," he finished ranting as the clink of the bell hanging above the door goodbyed them from the inside of the library and the daylight greeted them.

"Actually I should go that way," Blaine nodded back to the deserted avenue behind them when they reached the corner. He stopped walking when Kurt didn't really seem to notice him and raising his fist and pointing with his thumb in the opposite direction. "My house's down there, so I guess I'll—"

"Wanna come over?" Kurt asked, blinking repeatedly, Blaine's breath and saliva going to waste. He dropped his hand with lethargy and eyed the other boy's expression.

Unreadable.

Nothing behind it. He couldn't see anything beyond his expectant yet not particularly hopeful gaze. How would he ever possibly fathom or filter any of Kurt's sincere realness?

On the other hand, a tidal wave of emotions hit Blaine right in the middle of the face.

At the sight of Kurt batting his eyelashes, having never looked so adorable, his walls down and inviting him to something as simple yet revolutioning as his house, his instinct was, at first –and, for the first time in his life- to lean in and kiss him. Right there.

He rarely came off as other than perfect or seductive to Blaine. But this time he had entered a whole new level and he just looked like the prettiest thing ever, no matter how silly and common –perhaps even, human- the concept sounded when related to Kurt Hummel.

But he couldn't do that. For many reasons he did not want to get busy with at the moment. The most he could, and wanted to, too, was to dedicate Kurt the most adoring smile.

"I'd love to."
----------
"Sounds like I'll have to read it?"

The radio was low in the background, music interspersed with news and such, while Kurt prepared a small lunch for both of them, Blaine chatting with him and waiting sitting in a chair after having his every attempt to help shot down.

"Yeah, it was amazing, one of the first books I read when I got here, actually, I just really like Ray Bradury," Blaine smiled at the recent memory, drumming his fingers on the table to the music. "I'm surprised you don't know it, though,"

"Oh, no, I know it, I just haven't read it," Kurt sauntered across the kitchen and placed a bottle of cool water, a tray with fresh sandwiches and two glasses on the table.

"Oh, yum. How do you even know so much about books? I mean, honestly—" He grabbed one of the many sandwiches lying ahead of him, in the middle of the table. "—you're so... Cultured."

"I just love reading and I've read a lot," he imitated Blaine's action waiting a moment to suppress any chance of a brush of fingers or similar.

"But you're so young. You probably know more books than my dad, which is saying something because he is also so well educated and clever and knows a lot about everything. The smartest guy I know," his eyes got a little lost while he led the glass to his lips and gulped. Kurt was openly staring at him.

"Wow, do I detect a tad of extreme admiration towards your dad?" his singing voice falsely sweet and dripping a mix of irony and mockery.

"Maybe," he shrugged and beamed timidly, blushing. "He's just so great and he's admired by everyone, really," he pointed out. "But yeah, he's the best," he smiled with affection more to himself than to Kurt. "Anyway, so what, you've been reading since you were a kid?"

"Basically," he replied gingerly, after a moment; they were stepping into some dangerous ground there.

"But, when did you learn to read? I mean, I'm sure you couldn't start reading Charles Dickens at the age of 6, no matter how much you liked it," he rolled his eyes, laughing.

"So you don't know anything about cars," Kurt cut him in rapidly, not quite interrupting him and using his acting skills in his favor.

"I beg your pardon?" he tilted his head inwards, taken aback and the ghost of an amused smile hovering over his features.

"I saw you on the shop the other day when you came in with your father," he poured some water in his still empty glass. "When my dad started talking about cars, you looked pretty lost," he continued at Blaine's silence. He seemed to think about it for a second, recalling and gaping ever so slightly. Kurt knew he was making the whole thing up and prayed for Blaine to buy it and not return to the previous topic, which could easily deviate into a deep talk about his mother, something he was not up for at the moment.

"I don't even remember being there when they started mentioning car parts and stuff but... yeah, I don't know anything. I probably didn't understand what they were talking about," he shrugged. "And I went looking for you," he snorted with a bashful laughter and scraped over the smooth glass with his nail, avoiding Kurt's eyes which were in fact, secretly looking for his.

"Hey, Blaine?"

And there it was again, for Blaine. The desire to be trusted and intimate enough to just, naturally lock eyes with him adoringly and relish in the music of his sickeningly sweet voice. The casualty of it all, to be permitted to reach out and cover his hand with his own, to stroke the back of his silky one with his fingertips and to have the ability to move closer to him and press his lips softly to his. The music in the background, akin to all the songs nowadays gave the moment a certain unreal credibility and exciting calm.

All too soon, and not knowing if luckily or unfortunately, Blaine heard a knock on the front door. Kurt, who had his eyes nailed to his knees while waiting for a reply, blinked up, looking kind of lost.

"I'll be right back," his eyes travelled from Blaine's face to the hallway before getting up, dragging his chair back a bit and walking away.

"Two times in one day, kind of unusual, don't you think?" he could hear from the kitchen, not even making an effort to listen. The voices just soared from the porch as he twiddled with his glass and the rim of the table.

"Always so sweet," he distinguished that as Rachel's voice, he wondered, recognizing it from that very morning.

"I'll go pick you up at the library at four pm tomorrow, okay?" she said with enthusiasm when Blaine was done recalling the moment the three of them had shared if not hours ago and back to Earth. "You're always upstairs, right? So I'll jus—"

"What? No, no, Rachel, please, just... I'll go down," Kurt stopped her.

"But how will you know I'm there already? No, really, I'll go up to get you—"

"Rachel, please. I just... I know it might sound stupid to you but I... I don't want you there," Blaine raised his eyebrows. That had sounded pretty harsh...

There was a silence in the hall that left an oblivious Dean Martin singing Memories Are Made Of This, during which Blaine didn't know if he should sink into his chair again –he hadn't realized he had turned his head to his right- in case someone was coming, until he heard Rachel's voice again.

"Excuse me?" she didn't even sound hurt just shocked.

"I'm sorry but it's just... A really sacred place for me and so intimate, I hate it when it's crowded and it's just full of people—"

"Kurt, no one even goes there, and I'll be there only for a moment, it'll be only me, until you put your book down or whatever you do with it when you finish and that's it," she pressed in disbelief.

"No, but still, just... Please, Rachel. Sacredness? You know about that, right? Being... religious and all?" he started. Blaine frowned from the kitchen. What the hell was he talking about? "What if you had a shrine dedicated to one of your many icons and heroes and someone just entered without knowing where they're standing, having no idea how meaningful that place is to you?"

"If this is because of your mom, Kurt, I—" Blaine could hear a bewildered shushing and low, careful voices afterwards. He blanched without knowing why, but he came to the realization that whenever either of them got too deep or anywhere near the subject of their families, Kurt would change subjects right away.

"What about Blaine?" Rachel spoke up again and this time Blaine could feel the blood draining from his face as an absurd chill ran down his body. "Why is he allowed there?" He neglectfully strained to listen desperately closer, catching nothing but stillness. Followed by quick footsteps.

Followed by Kurt's careful and quick searching face in the doorway.

Blaine jerked his head clumsily back in place when their eyes locked briefly, with the most ridiculously obvious ambiance, feigning cool interest in the cracks on the ceiling and before he knew it, Kurt was already gone.

He had so many things to think about, he didn't know where to start. The possible ideas, the daydreams simmering in his head; the improbable ways that conversation could've finished in and the silly, smitten lines Kurt would never really confess nor say –at least not out of Blaine's brain.

A minute or so later, the sound of the chair next to him being put back into place shook him out of his entrancement, Kurt settling in with a casual smile.

"Sorry for that," he said as if nothing had happened. Blaine thought it might be better that way, just to avoid all the awkwardness that would get in the middle if either one of them brought up the embarrassing fact that he had been stupidly and evidently eavesdropping.

"Don't worry," he gave him a lopsided smile and took a sip from his water.

"Just Rachel, seems like I'm having dinner with her and her parents tomorrow," he grinned, raising his eyebrows. "My dad, too," he added foolishly. Blaine offered a dumb nod, not knowing quite what to do.

What on Earth was going on? The first time he had seen Rachel he had thought she was Kurt's girlfriend. But then she had smirked at him in a strange, confusing way, which only meant she liked him as well or that she knew something... What if she knew Blaine liked boys, or worse, Kurt?

The mere thought of it terrified him to the core. He relaxed his face, hoping Kurt hadn't noticed anything though it looked like he hadn't, since both his eyes were fixed on the bottle before them, in the middle of the table.

But then, was she jealous? Otherwise, why would have she asked why Blaine was allowed in the library? And good Lord, which was the answer? He would have to mull over that later and try to untangle the frustrating mess of ideas and discard the least likely and most longed for ones.

And now they were having dinner with their respective families. What the heck was going on? If that didn't scream boyfriend and girlfriend's parents meeting reunion, then he didn't know what did.

Once again, Kurt's voice awoke him from his trance.

"The other day, when you said I was better than most people in this stinking town..." he started, quieter than ever.

"Yeah?" Blaine shook his head up to look at him, their eyes not meeting.

"How do you know, though? We don't even know each other that much. You don't even know what I want to do if I ever grow up and get out of here."

Overcoming how taken aback he was because of the question, the sadness and –frustratingly enough- reappeared confusion in his face made Blaine forget all about Rachel. Still, Kurt's query wasn't exactly aiming for self deprecation of any kind, so he tried and limited to answer what he had been asked.

"I just... I see you, I guess. Not completely, yet, but I see further ahead of what you are right now? I think you could say that. Or at least, that's what I like to think," he started to build, experimentally, not quite knowing where he was going, yet aspiring for inculcating some encouragement. He didn't want Kurt to close up if he felt he was being belittled by someone vain enough to state they knew him better than he knew himself.

Blaine, though, was positive Kurt wasn't acting; it wasn't easy, pretending to be something you're not. And there was sincerity in Kurt's words and reactions and it was so instant, they just came naturally. And Blaine thought, the problem was Kurt had pendent to figure some things out.

Perhaps –and hopefully- he was simply too transfixed and alienated in his own world, therefore ending up in thinking that was the real Kurt.

The deadpan look on the boy sitting next to him was unyielding and rather unnerving.

"You know you're crossing some lines pushing me to change, telling me there is more of me behind this cocky, bored, dispassionate fa�ade of mine, don't you?"

Once more, Blaine was rendered speechless.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he felt kind of conceited himself, being so pleased and satisfied at Kurt saying those words. He tried his best to look bashful and encouraging.

"You've got some nerve," Kurt raised an eyebrow daintily.

"That's why I'm pushing you at a slow pace," he nodded with a fond, secretive grin. "You're not dispassionate though," he remarked, pointing at him with the glass half full of water in his hand.

"I used to brim with life and passion, so yeah, I am pretty dispassionate," there wasn't even any trace of sadness in this last observation, it sounded more like resignation and Blaine didn't know what was worse. He was thinking of what to do –was it too soon to reach out in a physical way? Maybe to take his hand?- when a new sort of footsteps and a hoarse voice came from the hall.

"Hey, Kurt! I—" Burt stopped mid track in the threshold when he set his eyes on the other kid. Kurt jerked his head back to look at his dad, startled. "Who's this?"

"Oh, dad, this is Blaine," he turned back to look at Blaine for a split second before dropping his gaze to the table yet again. "My dad, Burt."

"Oh, hey, nice to meet you. Blaine Anderson?" he asked as he walked up to him and shook Blaine's hand in his, rougher, clumsier and bigger.

Dispassionate.

The word resonated in his head.

This was a dispassionate man, not Kurt. Of course he couldn't say that to neither of them –"So what did you think of my dad? I know yours is the best, as you like to brag, but mine is pretty cool too, huh?" "Yeah, he was pretty dispassionate, like... dull and depressed, but hey, man, I liked his baseball cap."- but then Kurt's next sentence answered back. "I used to brim with life and passion."

Of course, it wasn't his fault. It wasn't their fault. He had no idea what had happened and why it was that the Hummels had that somewhat sluggish air around them all the time, but the fact that it was so much more perceptible in Burt Hummel than in his son Kurt was oscillated between confusing and hopeful.

Maybe there was hope for both of them.

"Yes, sir," he bobbed his head politely after a second.

"Right... Right, yes, I've met your father. Fine man," he nodded back.

"He sure is, Mr. Hummel, thank you," his face lit up at the mention of his father, unable to restrain himself.

"Anyway, boys, I'll get back to the shop then," he started walking backwards towards the doorway.

"Oh, dad, we're having dinner at the Berry's tomorrow night," he called back. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure, Kurt, you know I love Rachel," Burt smiled tightly, but it seemed honest none the less.

"Awesome," he replied and welcomed the kiss his father planted on the top of his head with closed eyes, sighing in contentment.

"See you later, kiddo," he patted him in the shoulder one last time and waved at Blaine before finally walking out the door.

"Bye, dad," he smiled and muttered quietly after his father left. He exhaled once more, this time freeing all the suppressed anguish.

"Kurt?" he could hear small and unsure Blaine ask. And as terrified as he was, he did look up, to discover a puzzled and sweet boy, willing and curious.

"Dispassionate," Kurt nodded again with a sad smile, tears pooling in his tired, defeated eyes. He sensed Blaine noticing this out of the corner of his eye, getting his chair closer to his, doubt in his every movement. "I'm just so tired," he mumbled as he exhaled shakily. He dug the heel of his hand in his right eye, feeling as the warm tears spread, his other hand fisting over the table. "So tired," he repeated under his breath, closing his eyes, letting them come to rest and feeling the thud of his hammering heart against his chest when he felt the warmth of an unseen source closing in over his fist. Had it been someone else or the day before, his eyes would've flown open in alarm and horror, kicking that person out of his house.

With Blaine all he did was enjoy the gesture and when he looked at him blearily through the haze of the upcoming tears, and didn't saw the disgusted, diverted, awkward look –or the normal pitying one, at the very least- he was expecting, he disarmed.

He fell into Blaine's arms, which were there to catch him faster and stronger than he thought they would, tighter. His back was uncomfortably bent and his fists were grasping the now soaking fabric of his shirt, the other pair of hands running up and down his back, soothingly.

Blaine shushed him calmly, with the tenderest of touches, pulling him up to wrap his arms around him, his chair as close as possible, Kurt still taking shelter in his chest, arms pressed against it, his knees between Blaine's spread legs, both trying to get as close as possible.

"It's so, so broken, we're so broken," he mumbled through quivering, incomprehensible sobs.

"Hush," his deep voice vibrated in his chest, Kurt feeling it more sudden and securing. "It's gonna be okay Kurt, it's gonna be alright," he held him tight and calmly, the comforting shhhs hummed out as in lullaby and the hands travelling up and down his spine still, so familiar and warm.

"So broken," he repeated, as Blaine began to sway softly.

You're gonna cry, cry, cry and you'll want me there,

It'll hurt when you think of the fool you've been.

You're gonna cry, cry, cry.