Too damned bright. Blaine pinches his eyes shut and rolls away from the glare behind his eyelids. With movement, agony swoops through his head, as if his brains gone spinning in the opposite direction of his skull. His pained groan is less than a whimper, for his tongue has cleaved to the roof of mouth. Even the texture of his sheet is harsh and heavy on his body. His blood is a too strong throb in his chest and behind his eyes. Blaine tries to swallow the cotton wool feeling in his mouth and then opens his mouth to breathe more deeply. After a moment, he dares to unglue his eyelids a sliver. Winces through the stab of pain that follows.

Hes overslept, that much the light in his room tells. The rest of him confirms a hellacious hangover. His mouth is sticky sour in that way alcohol leaves it, no matter how thoroughly he brushes his teeth or how much water he drinks the night before. Hes desperately thirsty. Carefully, Blaine rolls back toward the windows light and his nightstand, hoping—ah, yes—to find a glass of water. Half-full. He props himself up and reaches for it, takes a long, sweet sip, and feels at least one percent better for it. Last night, how badly did he overdo it?

The memories are a jumble: present, but arranged like a freshly dropped pile of pick-up sticks. Carefully, he concentrates to extract one. Its still bleary—not a crisp recollection. Reminds him of sitting in the Dalton chapel, watching, through lumpy leaded glass panes, the distorted motion of students walking past in the quad. It was one place on campus Sebastian wouldnt look for him—a sanctuary for quiet thought, to consider what he was doing. Nothing wise back then, though it had seemed right and important at the time.

But Blaine doesnt need that memory welling up. The present is what matters. He tries to focus again—and to sit up. This time, his attempted motion prompts a sickening twist of his stomach and a flutter of anxiety. And a question. Did Kurt come to him last night? Blaines in his pajamas, which indicates perhaps not? Or he didnt wake. Or— Surely he didnt black out. He remembers enough to know he wasnt that drunk at any point. Blaine relaxes against his pillow. Thinks.

Start at the beginning. Everyone arriving, Dani pouring ouzo for all, then dinner, games, dessert, movie. Kurt looking so beautiful. Approaching Kurt in the kitchen—that part of the night is vivid and flush with the heady trace of his desire and fascination. His recollection brims with flashbulb bright details: Kurts taste and scent and voice and hands. The tenderness in Kurts eyes, the gentleness of his touch. Kurt holding him, after, as if they both might break if he didnt.

And now, Blaines clock reads just after ten in the morning. He grits his teeth and sits up, tries to retrace the evening after that. Remembers Kurt held him until Blaine chose to withdraw. Remembers being the one to surreptitiously venture down the hall to the bathroom to clean his face and hands and bring back a warm soapy washcloth for Kurt. They didnt speak much then. Blaine watched Kurt retreat back into himself as he dressed, his gaze everywhere but on Blaines face. Blaine couldnt summon the courage to ask the simplest question: Are you okay? The same question Kurt had asked him.

"We should get back out there," Kurt finally said, with a lopsided smile.

The movie was wrapping up and soon after, Mercedes left with Dani and a promise to meet Sam for brunch on Sunday after church. Artie struck up a conversation with Blaine about the short film hes working on over the summer. Working title: The Hungry Ghost. Blaine frowns and dredges up Arties description: a white Christian conservative woman failing to find peace in the afterlife and having to revisit the sundry victims of her sanctimonious bigotry to understand her sins. "Very political," Artie said. "Obviously."

Blaine recalls he said something about the people who would most benefit from a story like that wouldnt watch it, to which Artie replied, "You never know. I just want it to exist, right?" He also recalls telling Artie hed send him samples of his work, including the short piece he wrote for Arties dog film.

"Silence was the point with that one," Artie said. "So people would have to engage with their own emotions, not be manipulated by a soundtrack."

"Yeah, sure, I get that," Blaine agreed. "But it inspired me."

"Cool, cool." Artie at least seemed pleased at being a source of inspiration.

Then, theres a light rap on his closed bedroom door. "Yeah?" Blaine says.

Kurt opens the door wide enough to peek around it; he speaks softly, "I thought I heard a miserable groan." His smile is tentative and sympathetic. "Hi?"

Returning Kurts smile is easy. "Hi," Blaine replies. "Come in."

In Kurts hand is a tall glass of thick red juice, garnished with a sprig of watercress. "V8 juice with a dash of Tabasco." He explains. "The closest I could get to a virgin Bloody Mary. It should help."

The offer tweaks anticipation in Blaines mouth, and his stomachs queasy hollowness agrees. "Thank you." Blaine says. He straightens and drags his fingers through his hair. Then he takes the glass from Kurt. Holds it with both hands and braces himself to drink it. Notices Kurts dressed already in classic Levis 501 jeans and a clinging black Vogue t-shirt. Classic red paisley bandanna around his neck. His hair, though, is unwashed, but brushed free of its morning tousle. Blaines conscience pangs for having missed his mornings responsibilities.

"Aspirin?" Kurt says, producing a bottle from his pocket and tipping it with a rattle.

Blaine swallows a tangy mouthful of juice, but the guilt doesnt go with it. "Yes, please," Blaine says, and Kurt shakes a pill into the cap and offers it to Blaine.

"So... how do you prefer to spend a morning hungover? Do you need food? Quiet? Dark? Solitude?"

"Um," Blaine says. He has to think on it. Its been a while since hes had a hangover, and hes been more accustomed to hiding his state rather than indulging his misery. "Food, definitely."

"I can make you a big breakfast, whatever you want—eggs, hash browns...?"

That sounds good. "That would be amazing."

Kurt seems relieved at having something to do. "Okay, Ill go make you food—take your time getting up."

And hes gone before Blaine can summon up his own question: What about you? Dont you need me by now?

##

Once hes brushed his teeth and shaved, Blaine makes his way out, feeling at least functionally human. The wooden blinds across the windows are turned closed, and its just the fuzzy sunlight creeping around their edges that illuminates the space. Blaine smells coffee and eggs and other savory things. His stomach growls.

"Nearly ready," Kurt says from where he stands by the stove. He gestures with his spatula. "Just have a seat."

Blaine sits at the island where theres a single place laid for him. "Have you eaten already?" He reaches for the French press, and pours himself a mug of coffee, adds extra sugar this morning.

"I had something earlier," Kurt says, and he sets to transferring things from pans onto a plate. Then he presents Blaine with a pile of herb-flecked scrambled eggs, crispy hash browns, grilled tomato halves and field mushrooms, and two slices of buttered wheat toast. It looks and smells amazing.

"Wow, thanks," Blaine says, and he picks up his fork. Looking at the food, hes hungrier than he realized. Which reminds him: "What about sex? I know I overslept, and I—"

"Im all good for now, Blaine," Kurt says with an peculiarly forceful smile. "Please, just enjoy your breakfast and drink your coffee. Theres more juice in the fridge too, if you want it. Im going to take some laundry downstairs."

"Sure," Blaine says.

But its not long after Kurt disappears out the door with a basket full of bathroom towels that Blaine finds himself frowning at his scrambled eggs. Which are perfectly seasoned, fluffy and moist, and doing wonders to settle his icky stomach. But Kurt—it feels like hes doing that distancing thing again. Is breakfast an attempt at softening an incoming blow?

After last night, might Kurt have second thoughts about Blaine staying on for the summer? Hadnt Blaine resolved not to push things? Some of what he said last night surely crossed a line. God, I want to savor you. And then offering to blow Kurt in the kitchen with his friends right there? What was he thinking? Embarrassment burns under Blaines skin.

Even so, the flickering bright memory of the closeness with Kurt after all of that, it still feels good and sincere. Yet, Blaines dragged back to another unwanted memory of Sebastian. An inflection point: lying in bed, in the afterglow, feeling tender-hearted and safe, and blurting, without thought or caution, for the very first time to anyone not his immediate family: "I love you."

The response was laughter, and Sebastians laughter always held an edge of something darker than joy. Blaine thought it made him sound so sophisticated. "What did you say?" Sebastian asked. His smile had that mocking kink to it. Once Blaine found it irresistibly sexy.

Blaine repeated himself, clear and sure of his heart, more tenderly the second time, touching Sebastians palm with his fingertips. "I said, I love you."

"No, you dont," Sebastian said, blithely. He pulled away to reach for his undershirt. "Its just the sex making you mushy."

Blaine stared at Sebastians back and, despite the flood of sun across Sebastians bed and the exertion still glowing in his muscles, the warmth of Blaines affection turned to a chill.

That was when he should have walked away, only he didnt. In his youthful idealism, hed taken it to mean only that Sebastian needed to be convinced of the truth. He didnt recognize love because hed never been loved, not properly. Blaine could show him.

It had taken several sessions with his therapist to untangle. Have you heard of co-dependency, Blaine?

And now Blaine hears an echo of Sams kinder and gentler, Maybe youre just stoned on oxytocin from too much sex. Not that Sam meant it the same way, and thats not what happened last night.

Kurt didnt laugh and neither did Blaine. And no one said, I love you. Blaine evicts Sebastian from his frontal lobe. He cant see the value in his subconscious kicking up these memories. Kurts nothing like Sebastian. So, determined, Blaine concentrates on the flavors and textures of his food until his plate is clear. Then he fills the kettle, empties the used grounds from the coffee press, and puts his plate in the dishwasher. Finally he goes to turn the blinds a few degrees and let in more of the days light.

Kurt comes back in. "Feeling better?" he asks.

And Blaine, though he cant stop himself from searching for it, finds no guile or dissembling in Kurts smile or gaze. "I am, thank you. Breakfast was superb."

If anything, Kurts smile brightens. But Blaine needs to assuage his own troubled heart. "I wanted to apologize," he says. "For last night. Sam always says Im a slutty drunk, and Im sorry if I was... way too much."

"Too much?" Kurt does laugh, but theres no cruelty there, just sweet incredulity. "Blaine, seriously? You seduced me and then gave me several very satisfying orgasms. None of that was a problem for me. In fact? It was refreshing."

Blaine blinks. "Refreshing?"

"Yeah," Kurt says with a demure little one-shouldered shrug. He goes to the sofa and sits down. Gestures for Blaine to join him. "I mean, for me, not having to ask for it? Having you come on to me like that, so hot and bothered? Wanting me?That was all... kind of special."

"Ah." Blaine doesnt sit, but instead goes to pour boiled water over fresh coffee grounds. Hes unsure if kind of special includes everything: the way Kurt looked at him after, the way Kurt held him. Except he doesnt, in this moment, feel right pushing for more explicit acknowledgment of the moment they shared in the denouement of those several orgasms.

"So really, be as forward as you want," Kurt continues. Hes twisted on the sofa, one arm draped along the back of it. His chin rests on the back of his hand. "Most of the time, Im the one worried about being too much."

Unblinking, Blaine stirs the coffee grounds, mindful not to ding the sides of the glass too forcefully with the spoon. He takes a breath and considers asking about the other, related thing thats been creeping on his nerves. Sets the lid on the press and watches the swirling flecks of coffee stain the water brown. Decides, in this case, asking is better than not asking. "Is that why you didnt come to me overnight? Or did I sleep through it?"

"No." Kurt straightens. "But Dani doesnt buy the top shelf ouzo, and knowing how much youd had, I didnt want to disturb you." Kurt says. "I took care of myself."

"But its why Im here, Kurt. I wouldnt have minded."

"Maybe not? But I minded. I didnt feel right waking you."

Still Blaine cant banish his nagging disappointed in himself. Wont assume Kurts, but offers another apology anyway, "Im sorry."

Kurt only shakes his head. "Dont be. Despite the song, Im not an animal, Blaine, and youre not under an obligation to stay sober on a Friday night."

Blaine nods. "Okay, but next time, Ill abstain from the ouzo." He rallies a smile.

"Consider it a sort of initiation?" Kurt says. "Dani likes to see who people are when their inhibitions are down. We had a similar night when the band was new. Worst hangover of my life, but it was an awesomely fun evening. I should apologize for not warning you. Youre such a happy and affectionate drunk."

The compliment is enough to cheer Blaine. He pours his coffee and brings it over to the living room, sits carefully at the other end of the sofa with Kurt, but not carefully enough to avoid the pounding pulse of pain that flares in his head with the minor change in altitude. "I did enjoy last night," he says, grimaces, and lightly touches his temple. "But I dont need a repeat of this headache any time soon."

"I remember it well," Kurt says gravely, and then he reaches to squeeze Blaines knee. His expressions softens with his voice. "So, look, Im not going to make any demands on you this morning, all right? Ive got a hair appointment I need to leave for soon anyway." Kurt stands up and adds, "You just rest up and be lazy, okay? And dont feel guilty. Ill do the dishes later when the noise wont hurt so much."

"Okay," Blaine says, and he watches Kurt round up his sunglasses and a denim cadet cap, his phone and his keys. He takes Caroles mock-up off the dress form, neatly wraps it in tissue paper, and tucks it into a military green canvas field bag.

Blaine notes his own contrary emotional alchemy: how within himself, Kurts generosity and exhortation to not feel guilty strives to have the opposite effect. Makes him more acutely aware of his lapse. Hes let himself down, regardless. But wallowing doesnt help; hes no good to anyone if he does that.

"I may be a few hours," Kurt says as he slings the bag across his chest and goes to the door. "I have to go to the post office too, run a few other errands downtown. Anything you need from Midtown while Im there?"

"No, I dont think so?" Blaine says. He stands up too fast and immediately regrets it.

"Take it easy, yeah?" Kurt says with a sympathetic wince.

"Yeah."

##

The first thing Blaine does after Kurt leaves is have a long, too hot shower. He turns the jet to its thuddiest massage setting and lets it hammer at his shoulders, neck, and scalp. He comes out of the shower pink-skinned, light-headed, and slack-muscled. He towels his hair dry and slips back into bed naked. With the cool sheets soft and light upon his warm body and his belly full, he falls asleep almost instantly.

When he wakes, Kurts still gone. Blaine pulls on his old Dalton track pants, long gone baggy around the knees, and a red and white striped t-shirt. A glance in the mirror has him regretting not having done more with his hair. Its in full on Medusa-mode rebellion on one side and comically flattened on the side upon which he slept. He takes some time wetting it and combing through enough product that he wont look like hes auditioning to play Harvey Dent.

He considers doing the dishes then, because the worst of his headache has receded. But its Saturday, and Kurt asked him not to. Anyway, his body still protests being upright and mobile, so he lies down on the sofa with his tablet and aimlessly scrolls through his Twitter feed. Thinks about calling Tina after a visit to her Instagram.

He rejects that idea because shed only push him for more details about the week with Kurt than hed be comfortable sharing—and then he might end up tempted to ask for her advice. But, as much as hed like to have someone else tell him what he should be doing or how he should be feeling about everything, this, he has to work through for himself.

Maybe the moment last night was simply what it was: a moment of human closeness when they both had the need for it. Must it be more complicated than that? Is there truly more to analyze? Perhaps attempts at digging into it will only make a mess of something that was simply good. An uncomplicated moment of shared affection shouldnt require deconstruction. His old insecurities have him wanting to pick at Kurts motivations. But he knows that only results in picking at his own scars. He can accept Kurt cares about him. Dont overthink everything, he reminds himself.

Blaine sets his tablet aside and heads back to his room. His brain needs a stickier distraction. He unplugs his headphones from his keyboard and sets to working through some old practice pieces. He doesnt attempt anything new, just embraces the comfortable concentration that comes with following familiar patterns. He works through his favorite Chopin études, a Scarlatti sonata, and Mendelssohns Gondellied—pieces long memorized in his repertoire but to which hes added his own sensibility over the years. As the music spirals up into the high ceiling of his room and eases the tension within him, he adjusts his posture and moves on to Bachs Sinfonias. And so his Saturday ticks sedately into afternoon.

He hears Kurts return, and wraps up his practice. He stands, stretches, and goes out. The headache is gone.

"Hey!" Kurt says. Hes got a paper bag from the corner deli in his hand. His hair is shorter at the sides and back, and his high-brushed coiffure is streaked with new shining gold highlights. His skin looks dewy and fresh, so he mustve got a facial too.

"Your hair looks amazing," Blaine says.

"Why, thank you." Kurt makes an asymmetrical curtsy. He hoists the bag. "I brought lunch. Same order as last week? A Reuben for you, turkey and Swiss for me."

Blaine goes to get plates.

"Youre looking better?" Kurt asks.

"I hope so," Blaine says. "Im feeling at least eighty-five percent better. So if you need me now, Im up for a bit of energetic jostling."

Kurt laughs. "Im fine," he says. "Lets just have lunch."

They sit at the dining table with their sandwiches, and Blaine cant stop—though he tries to talk himself out of it—the way Kurts declining of his offer, no matter how kindly, feels more like flat out rejection this time. It reinvigorates his worry that something is amiss and hes at fault. Even though he cant see it in Kurt. Kurt is relaxed and reassuring. Friendly.

"So I was wondering how formal youd want to be about this summer and our arrangement?" Kurt asks as he peels open his kaiser roll to rearrange its filling. "Do you want to sign something? It wouldnt be legally binding, but I drew up a short contract back when I was first thinking about doing this."

"You want me to stay then."

Kurts eyebrows rise. "Didnt we agree to that yesterday?"

"We did. I just, um?" Blaine takes a deep breath, tries to let it out evenly, but his anxiety shakes through it.

"Whats going on?" Kurt asks. "And please dont say its nothing."

Blaine inhales deeply again and gathers the words he needs. "You didnt come to me last night or this morning. And just now? You didnt want my help, and its afternoon. You usually do by now, and I worried that youd changed your mind—gone to someone else maybe—because Im not... Because I screwed up somehow, or—"

"Blaine, its okay, I promise. Nothings wrong. Ive taken something today. Ill be okay through this evening."

"Oh," Blaine says.

"Are you disappointed?" Its said not without humor.

"No..." The denial is reflex. "But, you took something? I thought— You told me you dont take medication for this?"

"Not usually and not regularly? But I have something for emergencies. Off label prescription."

Blaine only frowns more. "Is today an emergency?"

"Not at all. But you were bound to be under the weather, and I, sometimes, even though I dont like taking them all that much. Its nice to give myself a break, you know?"

Of course, Blaine doesnt know. Cant quite convince his doubts to rest: the fear that hes let Kurt down, and Kurts simply too kind to tell him plainly. "Um," he says and searches Kurts face again for any sign of—hes less sure for what—reproach or disappointment? Doesnt find any, which only leads to frustration at his own struggle to break free of his stupidly anxious maundering. "Im fine though," Blaine insists. "You didnt need to take something you dont like just because I drank too much last night. I can still help you out." He smiles for emphasis. "I like doing it, Kurt, and its my responsibility here, isnt it?"

"Blaine, I took it for my own sake as much as my concern for you, all right? Youll have plenty of opportunities to help me out. I just wanted today to be less..." Kurts lips twist as he gropes for the word. "Cluttered. If only for myself."

"Cluttered?"

Kurt nods. "I used to thrive on it—having lots of hobbies and projects and ambitions to balance. Keeping busy helps, most of the time. But theres a point where I can overdo it, and it becomes a sort of self-destructive hamster wheel of busyness, and then—well, I neglect myself.

"And, worse, I neglect the people I care about. Because this?" Kurt gestures toward his crotch. "This doesnt really let me have a break. This past weeks been a big change for me. A good change, so please dont worry that youre falling short in any way. Its just—I needed to catch my breath, and I wanted to be clear-headed when we talked about making this official for the summer."

"Okay," Blaine says, nods. "Okay. I should probably apologize again for..." He runs a hand over his hair. He can still feel the traces of his nap in its asymmetry. "For being weird and skittish today. Ive been so worried that I fucked up massively last night. Even though you keep telling me things are fine."

A new understanding lights Kurts eyes. He glances away for a moment, and speaks more gently when he responds. "Im good with everything that happened between us last night. So long as you are?"

Its the way Kurt leans on the everything that steals Blaines breath. He takes a moment to steady his voice and nods. "I am."

"Good!" Kurt says, blinking rapidly and offering a tight, but relieved, smile. "So, about signing a faux legal contract?"

"A gentlemens agreement?"

"Yes, that sounds better." Kurt flashes a grin. "Its just one page, a straightforward exchange of accommodation, including food and utilities, your own bedroom, the furniture thats there, and use of the shared living spaces, in exchange for, uh, how much did we agree on? Two-fifty?"

"Yeah," Blaine says.

"That and sexual service as required, unless for reasons of physical separation or health—mental or physical—and that includes hangovers." Kurt looks back at Blaine with a grin. "Or if its impossible or harmful to provide for some other reason Im not thinking of right now. Consent will be explicit and affirmative and any given acts are subject to ongoing negotiation for both parties. Which means, um, for example, just because you asked me to blindfold you doesnt mean you cant change your mind later."

"Right." Blaine smiles. This conversation feels better. Easier.

"And same for me."

"Like when youre not comfortable waking me when Ive drunk too much..."

"Exactly. Or if I ask for something youre not keen on, even if youve been keen before? I dont know, like, say, I ask you to blow me and youre not wanting to, you can decline without indulging your worry or guilt, okay? You can even say, Hey, Kurt, I never actually want to blow you again, and we can work with that."

"Short of having my jaw wired shut, I cant see myself ever saying that."

"It was an example only," Kurt says. "I know what a strain this has put on previous partners, and while I want to be able to rely on you, I dont want to abuse your generosity or your highly developed sense of responsibility. Whatever we do together, I want you to be okay. Thats a priority for me. I dont want to be too much for you."

Slowly, Blaine nods. Part of him wants to protest the notion of Kurt being too much for him, for didnt Mae West say it best? Too much of a good thing can be wonderful. But he doesnt say anything. He needs to respect Kurts experience and the concerns that arise from it.

"You dont actually have to sign anything," Kurt says to Blaines silence. "Im okay keeping this as a verbal agreement only."

But Blaine can discern a nervousness underlying Kurts determined smiling that prompts him to ask, "Will you feel better—more secure—if we do sign it?"

The tension Blaine noted leaves Kurts face. "I think... yes, maybe I would?"

"Then lets sign it."

"Great, thank you. Wow." Kurt gets up and goes to his room, comes back out with a single printed page and a pen.

Kurt passes Blaine the page to read. Blaine pushes his plate aside and brushes the crumbs off his fingers before looking it over.

"Anything you want to change now?" Kurt asks. "We can always amend things later."

"This is fine," Blaine says. "Pretty much what we talked about in email, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, so..." Blaine picks up the pen, uncaps it, and neatly signs his full name, prints it below, dates it, and slides the page and the pen toward Kurt. "There."

Kurt just stares at Blaines signature for a long moment, fidgeting with the pen. His breath shudders and Blaine sees the the shine gathering in Kurts eyes.

"Good?" Blaine asks. He reaches out and puts his hand on Kurts shoulder.

Kurt nods silently and then musters a thick sounding, "Yeah. Yeah. Im just." He sniffs and firms his grip on the pen. Signs his name, a little messily. "So grateful. You cant know." He breaks off to wipe his eyes with his wrist and sniffs again. "Sorry," he says, self-deprecating grin. "Side-effect of those pills I took. They can make me maudlin."

"Hey, no, its perfectly fine." Blaine rubs his back. "Im grateful too."

Kurt looks confused. "Really?"

"Of course." Blaine withdraws his hand and straightens. "So, I know youre not needing an orgasm right now, but is there anything else I can do to help out today? Help with the dishes or fold towels or...?"

"Actually," Kurt says, a little shy. "I was wondering—when I came home you were playing. It was lovely to come home to live music. Could you maybe play some more for me this afternoon?"

"Oh," Blaine says, warming with pleasure at the request. "Id love to play for you, Kurt."

##

Kurt lies on Blaines bed while Blaine plays. He begins with the Bach again. Where he left off. Something about the baroque patterns soothes his brain—always has. Following along the intricacy of Bachs recursion and variation is like the aural equivalent of contemplating a fractal or a Buddhist mandala.

From behind him, in a pause between pieces, Kurt mumbles drowsily, "Thats beautiful—what is it?"

"Bach," Blaine says. "Practice pieces he composed for his students. Hes a personal favorite."

"Really?" Kurt asks. "I wouldve taken you more for a Romantic, you know, Mozart or Beethoven. The evocative emotional stuff. Not that I know my classical piano all that well. I stopped lessons about the same time I gave up ballet, but... yeah. I still play a mean Oh, Susanna!"

"Bachs still evocative, I think? Consider, um, for example—can anyone hear his Toccata and Fugue in D Minor and not imagine some manic vampire pounding away at his keyboard in a foreboding castle?" Blaine turns and plays the opening of it with theatrical flourish.

Kurt laughs. "Good point."

"And this one... Its a violin piece, but its fun on piano." He plays the first several measures of the Prelude to Bachs Partita #3 in E. Bright and cheerful. "Doesnt it sound like joy?" He lets his fingers go idle, and he swivels his chair to face Kurt. "Didnt Liszt say something about that? Music embodies feeling without forcing it to contend and combine with thought."

"Ill take your word for it."

"Here," Blaine says, "Close your eyes and just listen. Old Franz can make the case for himself." He plays Liszts Liebestraum No. 3.

"I recognize this one," Kurt murmurs.

When Blaine finishes, Kurts quiet, and Blaine lets them stay in silence for a few heartbeats. Then, softly, he asks, "What did that feel like?"

Kurts slow to respond, and Blaine turns his chair around again. Its creak is out of place.

Kurts lying with his eyes closed and brow furrowed, one hand lax and fanned out across his chest. "Um," he says. "Being at a black tie event with Isabelle? Or that scene in All About Eve." Kurt grins.

"No," Blaine says, laughing, "What emotion does it feel like?"

Kurts frown deepens with thought, but he doesnt open his eyes. "Would you play it again?"

"Sure."

And Blaine does, taking care to feed into his performance his own emotion—the sweet yearning.

When it fades to silence the second time, Kurt doesnt wait for Blaine to prompt him. "Its like... a delicate sort of happiness and wonder, at the start. For something new—newly discovered or acquired. It builds into more passion—intensity of that feeling. Fascination and excitement. Kind of like... good sex? Or... making love.

"You can hear the climax and the afterglow. And then? I dont know, it almost gets mournful? Like longing for something thats now impossible to reach again. Before it resolves into a soft note of sadness. Resignation to futility. All good things..."

"That ones Liebestraum," Blaine says. "Love Dream."

"So... its about waking up from a really good sex dream?" Kurt asks, he pushes himself up to an elbow and faces Blaine with a glint in his eye and a quirk of his lips.

Blaine returns Kurts amused grin. "I guess—sure, yeah."

"Who knew classical music could be so sexy?"

"Obviously youve never had sex to the "Blue Danube Waltz"." Blaine keeps a straight face, and with one hand plays its well known opening.

Kurt cracks up. "No, oh my god." Then he sobers rapidly. "Wait a minute... have you?"

"No, actually, Im not sure I even could! But—it was a question on this purity test that went around Dalton my junior year."

"Purity test, huh? And how pure are you?"

"As the driven snow." At least he was then; for Sebastian it was an invitation—and a challenge.

Kurt snorts as he laughs. Its cute. "Well, anyway, you play beautifully," Kurt says. "I took lessons when I was younger, but never really cottoned on to the classical stuff. I liked trying to pick out my favorite songs from musicals and pop songs. Then... Im not sure why I stopped playing, but it just sort of faded out."

"I can do pop songs and musicals too. And, well... a lot of stuff, really."

Kurts not sitting up, hes just leaning there and blinking slowly at Blaine. "We really should go to Callbacks."

"Tonight?" Blaine asks.

Kurt shrugs and yawns. And then yawns again. "Maybe not tonight, but sometime? We could do some karaoke. You could play piano."

"Sounds fun." Blaine says.

The softness about Kurts features is different from last night. Less raw, more calm. Still beautiful though. Blaine lets the silence come between him and he lets himself look at Kurt, and Kurt looks back without any weight. But its still direct, and Blaine lets his gaze fall away, lest it lead him to indulge some of the feelings he oughtnt.

Its Kurt who breaks the stillness. "You know, its so weird when Im like this." He lowers himself back to to rest his head on the pillow, tucks his hands under his cheek, still facing Blaine.

"Because of the medicine you took?"

"Yeah, when the compulsions gone—that constant background noise. When everything inside goes quiet and theres no urgent anything. When Im..." He gestures toward his groin. "Just kind of inert down there."

"Inert?"

Kurt grins and shrugs a shoulder. "Its weird because it makes me think about how sex is actually kind of weird. I mean, culturally, socially, whatever. We put all this time and effort and energy into getting it, having it, trying to keep it, whatever. Like genital friction is peak human experience. And when I step back from my own muddled drive, it just seems... kinda weird. Sometimes."

"Yeah, I can see that. So much stress and effort for want of an orgasm, right?"

"Makes you wonder if human civilization is all in aid of just that. Better and more fucking."

Blaine laughs.

"More seriously though," Kurt looks down at the bedspread, picks at a bit of invisible lint. "When I was younger and this all started and—well, I told you about the girl who gave me my first hand job."

"A bit, yeah."

"Back then? Brittany was sweet and everything, and having her help—it did help. But there wasnt any real desire. No thrill. Just a transaction. It wasnt that I didnt care about her. It just... " Kurt turns his face into the pillow. "It all felt so fucking impossible. To be where I was and to even hope to have any of the things I wanted, to feel so trapped and alone..."

"Its hard enough being gay in Ohio, I cant imagine how much harder it was for you."

"Romance was what I wanted most—aside from getting out. I wanted to feel that thrill and desire for someone who felt the same thrill and desire for me. I wanted it to be mutual. I wanted sex to be about connecting with someone, not just getting off because my body was stupid.

"And then, the heavens parted." Kurts lips pull into a wry slant. "I met my first boyfriend, and I had that mutuality and romance with him for nearly two years. Things were good. Wonderful. The future seemed so bright, then. But I learned high school romances dont survive graduation."

"Im sorry, Kurt."

"Yeah. So, it got messy again. I was in a new city, the only friend I had was Rachel, and the compulsion was worse than it had ever been in high school, and even though I was finding partners and the occasional boyfriend, it became, a lot of the time—especially the in-between boyfriends part—this functional transaction again. And even some of the boyfriends... I put up with things I shouldnt have just for the sake of security. Its not like there werent good times. But a lot of the time? It still wasnt... something I enjoyed or wanted. Just something I needed.

"After enough botched attempts at a relationship again, I gave up on the idea of that. Resigned myself to the transactional orgasms with guys who didnt really care about me, and without that sense of connection—or even all that much genuine pleasure on my part. Just scratching the itch to get through the day."

Blaines unsure what more to say. He knows expressing too much sympathy, for Kurt, can seem like pity. Which is unwanted. "Thats rough," he says.

When Kurt raises his gaze to meet Blaines the softness is back. Which is why I want to say thank you again, Blaine, because its been amazing to have sex that feels this good again. That I can feel good about. To desire someone again in that way, and to have that... reciprocated."

"Oh..." Its not a surprising thing to hear. Kurts already expressed his enjoyment of the sex theyre having, even in superlative terms. But this seems like more, like Blaine needs to be very careful. But he cant say nothing, and anything he says needs to be the truth. "I feel... not dissimilarly, Kurt. Ive never had a lover like you."

"You mean horribly needy and disruptive?"

"No, generous."

"You think so?"

"Mmhm."

"Huh." Kurt looks at him like its never occurred to him that anyone would describe him that way. A soft kind of shock. He swallows and rolls to his back. Looks straight up for a while, and doesnt say anything more.

"Didnt I already tell you? Youre the best Ive had."

Kurt smiles at that, but then soon sobers. "For what its worth? Im not... Im not trying to make any of this into something it isnt, Blaine, but I want to be sure you know how much it means to have you here now and for the next few months." Kurts tips his face toward Blaine, and his eyes gleam with more than his gratitude. He wipes his wrist across them and sniffs. Offers a wobbly smile. "You know, last night I told Rachel I was scared I wouldnt know how to make this work with you, and she told me—in a very rare moment of Rachelian insight into the human condition—that maybe I shouldnt be trying to make it work, I should just... let it be what it is."

"Let it be? Seems like sound advice. After all, who would argue with Paul McCartney?"

Kurt barks a laugh and pushes himself up to sit. "Damn it. I knew it was too good to be true. Ill be sure to tell her, her good advice is plagiarized." Kurt rubs his eyes with the heels of his hand.

And Blaine finds the opportunity to ask, "Are you okay?"

"I am. Didnt I mention? Those pills make me maudlin. I should probably go try to sleep it off instead inflicting more of my mushiness on you. If I can, anyway. The stupid things make me both sleepy and sleepless."

"Want me to make you some chamomile tea?"

"Thanks," Kurt says. "That might help."

While Kurts lying down, Blaine replies—a soft yes, depending on other factors—to a text from Artie inviting him to stop by the studio tomorrow afternoon, and he emails his father to ask about having some of his furniture from home shipped. That unexpectedly feels like more of a commitment than signing Kurts contract. His stomach flutters, light and nervous, but in a happy, anticipatory way.

His summer has properly started. Hes got the stability of a place to live and the excitement of budding new friendships. And however it will be with Kurt , it is, Blaines certain, the start of a relationship that will endure. Let it be is good advice, and taking the summer with Kurt day-by-day, without making or defining their relationship into some sort of ill-fitting shape its not, leaves open the possibility of discovering something new. Whatever that may be, itll be worth it. Its going to be a great summer.

##

"I was thinking?" Kurt says. Blaine looks up from where hes reading on the sofa. After his nap, Kurts showered and now hes dressed up, wearing dark trousers with a colorful paint spattered pattern that resembles one of Hubbles deep gazes into space and a short-sleeved periwinkle button up thats thin enough Blaine can tell Kurts not wearing an undershirt. The shirts stiff folded collar is high, and Kurt has forgone a scarf. It conceals most of the purpling bruise Blaine made last night, but still offers a glimpse from just the right angle.

The evenings taken on that tireless melon-hued light as the sun lazily slumps its way to the west. Kurt fairly glows in it. "Yes?" Blaine asks.

"Theres a great spot for pizza just a couple blocks from here," Kurt says. He unbuttons and then buttons again the maroon button below his collar. "We could have dinner out tonight? If youre up for it? My treat?"

"Sounds good—Ill change."

Blaine goes through his shirts and slacks hanging on the rail, frowning at each. Wants to put something together to impress. He decides on Mustang red pants that flatter his ass; a navy, coral, and white plaid shirt; and a bow tie with a discreet geometric floral print to coordinate. Leaves his hair in its current looser style and grabs a light cotton blazer in case the evening breeze turns cool later.

Its a short walk to the restaurant, toward the river. Interior light glows through the grape vine motif stained glass above the door. Inside, the woodsmoke and savory scents from the pizza oven dominate. Theyre early enough that theyre able to get a table outside on the street. Their waiter lights the candle in the center of their table; it flickers and leaps in its square, lumpy glass holder. The glass is like those Dalton chapel windows he was thinking about this morning. To banish any bitter aftertaste of that recollection, Blaine opens his menu and asks Kurt, "So whats good here?"

The murmur of other diners spills out the door when their waiter comes back with a carafe of water for their table and asks for their drink order. After last night, they stick to soft drinks: Italian soda for them both. Kurt gets lemon, and Blaine raspberry. The breeze shuffles through the leaves of some shaggy potted plant next to their table. Blaine sips his ice water.

"We could split a Grandma Pie?" Kurt says. "Its their specialty. Maybe get something to start too? The mussels are always good here."

So they share a bowl of steamed mussels in a fragrant tomato broth while they wait for their pizza. Blaine watches Kurt use the shell of one mussel to tweeze the meat from the next. Blaine sticks to using his fork. The mussels are fresh, tender and sweet with a hint of the sea. Blaine proposes a toast, lifting his glass across the center of the table. The glass is cool in his hand but the heat of the candle warms his wrist. "To the coming summer," he says.

Kurt meets him with a clink of his bottles neck against Blaines, and they drink.

They eat in easy silence for a while and the Saturday night energy of the street builds as the sunlight slowly turns gray.

"So, um, last Sunday over lunch?" Kurt says with a wrinkle of his brow, as if hes uncertain of something.

"Hm?" Blaine looks up. Discreetly wipes his index finger onto his napkin and reaches for a chunk of ciabatta to mop up some of the broth on his plate.

"I didnt really give you a chance to answer that question I asked. About... why someone like you hasnt had much luck in love either?"

"Oh, right..." Blaine pries another mussel from its shell. Wonders why Kurts asking again now.

"Im only curious, Blaine. Im not going to judge you." Then more wryly, adds, "Its a bit late for that anyway."

"Um?" Blaine begins. He recalls giving Kurt options about which version hed prefer—therapist or disgruntled exes. Kurt had only wanted Blaines.

"But if its too awkward or painful, you dont have to."

"No, its not that—Ive just been, for whatever reason, thinking about Sebastian today." Blaine touches the side of the candle holder, lets himself feel the smooth humps of the glass. Sense memory ricochets in his chest. "He was my first... well, only... serious boyfriend. Back at Dalton."

"Are they good or bad memories?"

Blaine shrugs. "Neutral overall. I mean, Ive done the work and learned my lessons and forgiven him. So I think, maybe, its just my subconscious reminding me of those lessons."

Kurt glances down but his eyebrows rise.

"Which sounds a little ominous, I know. But Im fine, really."

"You try to always be fine, dont you?" Kurt asks, but its more affection than challenge. A statement of new knowledge or understanding. But it still pricks Blaine uncomfortably. Kurt must notice; he continues in a gentler tone. "So what happened with him? What did you learn?"

Its not that Blaine doesnt appreciate Kurts directness, maybe its more that—at times—he knows he can struggle with his own, and he doesnt want to. Not here with Kurt. Its important that he not. "Well," Blaine says, and he has to pause to shift his glass and the candle holder out of the way when the waiter arrives with their pizza. He cant speak with a stranger hovering over their table anyway. Its a little awkward, shuffling things about to make room for the large pizza board. Kurt hoists the bowl of empty mussel shells and Blaine stacks their dirty plates while the waiter sets down clean ones, and then finally the pizza itself. Crisp and fragrant and steaming hot. Just charred at its edges.

"Pepper?" Kurt asks, lifting the grinder once theyre alone again.

"Please," Blaine says. He watches the twist of Kurts wrist as he turns the grinder. "So according to my therapist, I have a tendency to interpret any positive seeming attention as affirmation and affection."

Kurt nods once, slowly.

"Sebastian... he gave me a lot of attention. He was incredibly forward, and very explicit about his sexual interest in me. It was..." Blaine purses his lips. "It was overwhelming, but also so flattering. And really hot."

"Perils of the whole lonely hormonal adolescence, huh?"

Blaine laughs without much humor. "Yeah, partly that." Hes uncertain he wants to delve too much into the parts that werent that, but he cant really avoid them either. "He pursued me with persistence and intensity, and I mistook that for... more than it was. More than it could ever be. Looking back, I think I was just an easy mark for him."

"Oh dear," Kurt says.

"It sounds harsh. But I was young and full of romantic hope, and I ignored or rationalized away any warning signs. And Sebastian—hed been around. Hed talk about how hed lived in Europe, the guys hed been with. He had more notches on his bedpost than seemed credible, but, somehow, it just made me feel special? That this sexy, worldy guy was after me?

"Anyway, as we got to know each other, hed also tell me stories of his difficult childhood. Some of it was relatable, sympathetic. Other stuff? I dont know. Id catch him in lies sometimes. So I dont know how much was true or if they were things he made up or exaggerated to rouse my sympathy."

"Jesus, Blaine."

"It was messed up. I was in love with him, and that made me a malleable source of fun for him. Whenever his ego needed feeding, I was willing to feed it. And he, in turn, knew exactly how to keep me hungry for him.

"He used up a lot of my innocence and trust, and I let him, because it felt good to have his attention. It made me feel wanted, and being wanted felt like being loved. And that was something I desperately wanted to feel."

The sympathy in Kurts eyes, when Blaine finally looks up, halts Blaines breath. Kurt reaches across the table, past the pizza, and offers his open hand, palm up. Blaine takes it, and Kurt squeezes his fingers. "So he chewed you up and spat you out, huh?"

"Pretty much." Blaine looks down at Kurts fingers around his own, wishes again, pointlessly, that Kurt had been his first love. How different it would have been. "That kind of fucked me up for a while. A teacher... noticed. She made an appointment with my parents and they got me a therapist. It helped, and Sam was there for me, and he gave me a safe place to be. I learned what it was like to have someone who genuinely cared about me."

Silence settles between them, and Blaine hopes hes said enough, but not too much.

"Do you think... um," Kurt begins. He looks sad.

"What?"

Kurt bites his lip and frowns. "Do you think, on some level, youre worried Im like that? Like him?"

Blaine shakes his head. "I know youre not."

"Yes, but—"

"I think its just that I need to remember to take care of myself, in all my relationships."

Kurt smiles in relief. "Yes, thats important. I dont need or want a martyr, Blaine. If you ever feel like youre struggling with that, let me know and well make adjustments to what were doing, all right?"

"Yes," Blaine says. Cant quite manage eye contact. "Thank you."

"You dont need to thank me. I care about you, your well being," Kurt says. "In case you doubt that."

"I... dont." Blaine says. "I dont doubt that, Kurt."

##

After dinner, which they topped of with the best tiramisu Blaines had, they head west on Flushing Ave, to leisurely walk off the heaviness in their bellies. Kurts yawning more frequently, but says the fresh air and movement helps. Their meandering takes them zagging north toward the river and the base of the Manhattan bridge until they end up in John Street Park.

They cross a foot bridge to pass over the tidal basin, where Kurt points out the the rusted iron footings peeking out from among the reeds, antique remnants of the previous centuries old industrial buildings. The path they take ends in an arcing U at the rivers edge. They stop and lean on a curved railing. The river murmurs and sighs over its rocky bank, and they look out below the belly of the near bridge and across the glittering water to the night-shrouded towers of the Brooklyn Bridge and the sparkling Manhattan skyline.

Its more spectacular than any postcard. Even more than Blaine anticipated when coming to New York was a dream only. "Do you ever feel like you need to pinch yourself?" Blaine asks. "Being here, in this city? Sometimes Im convinced Im going to wake up, back in my bed in Ohio."

"All the time," Kurt says. "No matter how familiar or routine, those moments still catch me. Like when the angle of the sun hits Manhattan just so, or walking at night and looking up and seeing... all of this." He sweeps one hand across the cityscape before them. "Were not in Kansas anymore."

"Yes, but I dont want to go home."

"No," Kurt says. "There may be no place like it, but theres no place like this either."

"No place Id rather be," Blaine agrees and they fall into a comfortable silence for a time.

The rivers ceaseless flow is calm and the night air gentle. Beside him, just as calm and gentle, is Kurt. The city lights glow on his face and gleam like stars in his wide open eyes. Kurt takes a long breath and releases it slowly. Eventually, he casts a glance at Blaine, and Blaine sees peace. "I didnt expect it would be like this when I placed my ad," Kurt says softly.

"Oh?" The steadiness of Blaines heart falters.

A private sort of happiness dimples Kurts cheeks as he bends his neck and pauses, seeming to search the rocks below their feet. "Though I hoped for better, at best I only let myself expect someone I would find mostly tolerable—you know, nice enough, not too stupid, and lacking in the more disgusting or obnoxious habits—whod be able to keep up with me."

"I hope Ive managed to exceed those minimal standards," Blaine teases lightly.

Kurt chuckles and rolls his eyes. "I like you, Blaine, even when were not fucking, and the fucking is pretty great. Its not just more connected, its more fun."

"Thats kind of you to say, Kurt."

"Its not kindness. Its the truth," Kurt says.

Blaine nods and tips his head back. On the riverbank, its easier to catch sight of the brightest stars overhead. "Im not sure what I expected when I agreed to meet you," Blaine says. "It just felt like something I needed to... explore? Does that make sense?"

"So youre a little impulsive too, huh?"

Blaine shrugs. "Sometimes? I try not to be. But it wasnt like that, really. I was intrigued, right from that first email exchange we had. I wanted to meet you and, I dont know? I think I was at a point where I was open to something different."

"Something different," Kurt echoes. "Yeah. Me too." And he looks at Blaine then, with clarity and interest. But the warmth that flickers behind it isnt the fractured desperation of his compulsion. Instead its something more sound and certain in its curiosity.

Blaine does his best to return it. They made a commitment to each other today.

Once more, Kurt offers Blaine his open hand. "Its getting late. We should head home." He tilts his head.

"Yes, lets," Blaine says, and he lays his palm against Kurts. Watches their fingers curl together in unconscious synchronicity.

Hand-in-hand, they turn and make their way back along the path and up the grassy slope toward the street. The glass fronted apartment building overlooking the park reflects the view.