"So?" I asked, pulling my own cheeky smile too.

He sighed, "Have Marvel tried to sue you yet?"

"Why would a comic book company try to sue… oh."

He chuckled, "Well?"

I sighed, "Ever the patient gentleman, aren't you Blaine?"

"You have no idea."

Grinning, I put some of my sass to good use and comfortably reached out for his hand, while he used his other to continue driving. He didn't object.

"I know you can hear what other people are thinking," I whispered, "But not me. Correct?"

He raised an eyebrow, peering over at me quickly as he spoke, "Isn't it my turn to ask the questions?"

"I'm getting there, I promise. I just need you to… confirm a few things."

I waited with excruciating patience as he turned his head towards mine and nodded slightly. In that moment, it suddenly dawned on me: this was it. This was the first sincere confirmation I'd been given that he was something slightly more than human. But what I couldn't grasp my head around was the fact that why was I the only one he couldn't hear? My face fell. Blaine noticed the change in my expression immediately.

"What's wrong?" he asked, circling patterns around my hand with his thumb. His cool fingers had a gentle numbing effect on me.

I confessed, "I feel like there's something wrong with me. I can't understand why I'm the only one you can't hear. Is there something wrong with my mind?"

At this he laughed, "I tell you I can read minds and you're worried there's something wrong with you?"

I gripped his hand gently, "Point taken." I looked away from his face for the first time, trying to find the right words. It was then that I noticed.

"Blaine! Slow down! Are you trying to get us killed?"

"What's wrong?"

"You're going a hundred miles an hour!" I was still shouting. I shot a panicky glance out the window, but it was too dark to see much. The road was only visible in the long patch of bluish brightness from the headlights. The forest along both sides of the road was like a black wall— and I didn't want to think what would happen if we crashed into it at the speed we were going.

Blaine seemed to read my concerns, "Relax, Kurt. We're not going to crash."

"Do you always drive like this?"

"Always. I hate driving slow."

I folded my arms trying to calm my own insecurities. "Fine. Forget crashing. Burt would kill us both anyway if he knew how fast we were going right now."

I watched with relief as the needle finally started drifting towards eighty."Happy?" he sighed.

"We're still going too fast. I'm pretty sure that when Burt last ordered parts, a Volvo pretzel was not amongst them."

Blaine grabbed my hand again laughing, "Enough commentary on my driving! I'm still waiting to hear your latest theory."

I bit my lip. He looked down at me, his honey eyes unexpectedly gentle."I won't laugh," he promised.

"It's not that. I'm more afraid that you'll… be angry with me."

"Is it that bad?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

He waited. I was looking down at our intertwined hands, so I wouldn't have to see his expression.

"Go ahead." His voice was calm.

"I don't know how to start," I admitted.

"Well, did you come up with this theory on your own?"

I shook my head.

"What got you started — a book? A movie?"

"No. It was Saturday, at the beach." I risked a glance up at his face. "I ran into an old family friend —David Black. His dad and Burt have been friends since I was a baby." He looked confused. "David's father is Artie Black, one of the Quileute elders."

I watched him carefully. His confused expression froze in place. "I went for a walk with David—and he was telling me some old legends. He told me one…" I hesitated.

"Go on," he said.

"About vampires." I realized I was whispering. I couldn't look at his face now. But I felt his hand tighten immediately against mine.

"And you immediately thought of me?" Still calm.

"No. He… mentioned your family." He was silent, staring at the road. I was worried suddenly, worried about protecting Dave."He just thought it was a silly superstition," I said quickly. "He didn't expect me to think anything of it."

"What happened then?" he asked after a minute.

"Finn and I found some books in the attic."

"And did those convince you?" His voice sounded barely interested. But his other hand was clamped hard onto the steering wheel.

"No. Nothing fit. Most of it was kind of silly. And then…" I stopped.

"What?"

"I decided it didn't matter," I whispered. His face was expressionless but pained somehow. "Really? Really, Kurt? Does it really not matter?" His tone made me look up — I had finally broken through his carefully composed mask.

"No," I said softly. "It doesn't matter to me what you are." A hard, mocking edge entered his voice. "You don't care if I'm a monster? If I'm not human?"

I didn't have to think my answer twice. I made sure our eyes met when I said it. "No."

He was silent, staring straight ahead again. His face was bleak and cold.

I sighed. "I shouldn't have said anything."

"Look," he said, but his tone was as hard as his face. "I'd rather know what you're thinking — even if what you're thinking is insane."

"So I'm wrong again?" I challenged.

"That's not what I was referring to. I just—can't believe you think it doesn't matter."

"I'm right?" I gasped.

"Does it matter?"

I took a deep breath."No." I paused. "But I am… curious." My voice, at least, was composed.

He was suddenly resigned. "What are you curious about?"

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he answered promptly.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

His lips twitched as he stared at the road. "A while," he admitted at last.

"Okay." I smiled, pleased that he was still being honest with me. He stared down at me with watchful eyes, much as he had before, when he was worried I would go into shock. I smiled wider in encouragement, and he frowned.

"Don't laugh — but how can you come out during the daytime?"

He laughed anyway. "Myth."

"Burned by the sun?"

"Myth."

"Sleeping in coffins?"

"Myth."

He hesitated for a moment, and a peculiar tone entered his voice. "I can't sleep."

It took me a minute to absorb that. "At all?"

"Never," he said his voice nearly inaudible. "I suppose I've trained myself out of it. The others usually can." He turned to look at me with a wistful expression. The golden eyes held mine, and I lost my train of thought. I stared at him until he looked away.

"You haven't asked me the most important question yet." His voice was hard now, and when he looked at me again his eyes were cold.

I blinked, still dazed. "Which one is that?"

"You aren't concerned about my diet?" he asked sarcastically.

"Oh," I murmured, "that."

"Yes, that." His voice was bleak. "Don't you want to know if I drink blood?"

I flinched. "Well, Dave said something about that."

"What did Dave say?" he asked flatly.

"He said you didn't… hunt people. He said your family wasn't supposed to be dangerous because you only hunted animals."

"He said we weren't dangerous?" His voice was deeply skeptical.

"Not exactly. He said you weren't supposed to be dangerous. But the Quileutes still didn't want you on their land, just in case."

He looked forward, but I couldn't tell if he was watching the road or not.

"So was he right? About not hunting people?" I tried to keep my voice as even as possible.

"The Quileutes have a long memory," he whispered. I took it as a confirmation. "Don't let that make you complacent, though," he warned me. "They're right to keep their distance from us. We are still dangerous."

"I don't understand."

"We try," he explained slowly. "We're usually very good at what we do. Sometimes we make mistakes. Me, for example, allowing myself to be alone with you."

"This is a—mistake?" I heard the sadness in my voice, but I didn't know if he could as well.

"A very dangerous one," he murmured.

We were both silent then and I was hideously afraid that I would never have another chance to be with him like this again—openly, the walls between us gone for once. His words hinted at an end, and I recoiled from the idea. I couldn't waste one minute I had with him.

"Tell me more," I asked desperately.

He looked at me quickly, startled by the change in my tone. "What more do you want to know?"

"Tell me why you hunt animals instead of people," I suggested, my voice still tinged with desperation. I realized my eyes were wet, and I fought against the grief that was trying to overpower me.

"I don't want to be a monster." His voice was very low.

"But animals aren't enough?"

He paused. "I can't be sure, of course, but I'd compare it to living on tofu and soy milk; we call ourselves vegetarians, our little inside joke. It doesn't completely satiate the hunger—or rather thirst. But it keeps us strong enough to resist. Most of the time."

His tone turned ominous. "Sometimes it's more difficult than others."

"Is it very difficult for you now?" I asked.

He sighed. "Yes."

"But you're not hungry now," I said confidently — stating, not asking.

"Why do you think that?"

"Your eyes. I told you I had a theory. I've noticed that men are crabbier when they're hungry."

He chuckled. "You are observant, aren't you?"

"Can't help myself," I joked, "Were you hunting this weekend, with Puck?"

"Yes." He paused for a second, as if deciding whether or not to say something. "I didn't want to leave, but it was necessary. It's a bit easier to be around you when I'm not thirsty."

"Why didn't you want to leave?"

"It makes me… anxious… to be away from you." His eyes were gentle but intense, and they made me feel tingly all over. "I was distracted all weekend, worrying about you. And after what happened tonight, I'm surprised that you made it through a whole weekend." He shook his head, and then seemed to remember something. "It was a very long three days. I really got on Puck's nerves." He smiled ruefully at me.

"Three days? Didn't you just get back today?"

"No, we got back Sunday."

"Then why weren't any of you in school?" I was frustrated, almost angry as I thought of how much disappointment I had suffered.

"Well, you asked if the sun hurt me, and it doesn't. But I can't go out in the sunlight — at least, not where anyone can see."

"Why?"

"I'll show you sometime," he promised. I thought about it for a moment."You could have called me," I decided.

He was puzzled. "But I knew you were safe."

"But I didn't know where you were. I —" I hesitated, dropping my eyes.

"What?" His voice was compelling.

"I didn't like it." I had started whispering again, "Not being able to see you. It makes me… anxious… too." I blushed to be saying this out loud even in a small voice.

He was quiet. I glanced up, apprehensive, and saw that his expression was pained. "I'm so sorry, Kurt," he groaned quietly. "This is wrong."

I couldn't understand his response. "What did I say?"

"Don't you see? It's one thing for me to make myself miserable, but a whole other thing for you to be so involved." He turned his anguished eyes to the road, his words flowing almost too fast for me to understand. "It's not because you're saying anything wrong, I just, I can't allow myself to want to hear that you feel that way." His voice was low but urgent and truthfully—his words had cut me. "It's not safe. I'm dangerous, Kurt — please, grasp that."

"No." I tried very hard not to look like a sulky drama queen.

"I'm serious," he growled.

"So am I. I told you, it doesn't matter to me what you are. It's too late."

He paused, his voice low and slightly harsh. "Never say that. You always have a choice to turn away. Always." I bit my lip not for the first time that night and was glad he couldn't know how much that hurt. I stared out at the road. We must have been nearing Forks now. He was still driving much too fast.

"What are you thinking?" he asked his voice still raw. I just shook my head, not sure if I could speak. I could feel his gaze on my face, but I kept my eyes forward. I had stopped holding his hand a while ago.

"Are you crying?" He sounded upset. I hadn't realized the moisture in my eyes had brimmed over. I quickly rubbed my hand across my cheek, and sure enough, traitor tears were there, betraying me.

"It doesn't matter," I said, but my voice cracked. "You can't understand how this feels."

I saw him reach toward me hesitantly with his right hand, and then he brushed my tears away gently never once veering off the road.

"I'm sorry." His voice burned with regret. I knew he wasn't just apologizing for the words that had upset me.

The darkness slipped by us in silence.

"Tell me something," he asked after another minute, and I could hear him struggle to use a lighter tone.

"Yes?"

"What were you thinking tonight, just before I came around the corner? I couldn't understand your expression — you didn't look that scared, you looked like you were concentrating very hard on something."

"I was trying to remember how to incapacitate an attacker — you know, self-defense. I was going to smash his nose into his brain." I thought of the dark-haired man with a surge of hate.

"You were going to fight them?" This upset him. "Didn't you think about running?"

"Did you honestly think I stood a chance at outrunning them?"

"What about screaming for help?"

"I was getting to that part."

He shook his head. "You were right — I'm definitely fighting fate trying to keep you alive." I sighed. We were slowing, passing into the boundaries of Forks. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

"I want to see you again tomorrow." I said confidently, "At school."

"Well — I have a paper due, too." He smiled. "I'll save you a seat at lunch." It was silly, after everything we'd been through tonight, how that little promise sent flutters through my stomach, and made me unable to speak.

We were in front of Burt's house. The lights were on, my truck in its place, everything utterly normal. It was like waking from a dream. He stopped the car, but I didn't move.

"Do you promise to be there?" I asked him.

"I promise." I considered that for a moment then nodded. I pulled his jacket off, subtlety breathing in his scent one last time.

"You can keep it — you don't have a jacket for tomorrow," he reminded me.

"Thank you. I mean I know you won't need it but thank you all the same." I hesitated, my hand on the door handle, trying to prolong the moment.

"Kurt?" he asked in a different tone — serious, but hesitant.

"Yes?" I turned back to him too eagerly.

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yes," I said, "unless you ask me to stay away from you, I can't keep that promise."

"No—not that. Just… if you do make that choice—to turn away—please don't hesitate letting go."

I shook my head, "Like I said, it's too late. I'm never saying goodbye to you."

He frowned, and his eyes were tight as he stared past me out the window. "I'll see you tomorrow," he sighed, and I knew he wanted me to leave now.

"Tomorrow, then." I opened the door unwillingly.

"Kurt?" I turned and he was leaning toward me, his pale, glorious face just inches from mine. My heart stopped beating.

In those few seconds I took his face to memory. I didn't know if I'd ever get a chance to be this close to him again.

"I need you to refresh my memory," he said. His breath blew in my face, stunning me. It was the same exquisite scent that clung to his jacket, but in a more concentrated form. I blinked, thoroughly dazed. He leaned closer.

"What do you need help with remembering?" I asked, my voice a cracked whisper.

Blaine swallowed. "Well, we just went out for dinner, right?" He gently brushed his fingers under my chin. "We held hands—" –his finger traced over my lips—"I even paid for the meal. I may not have been on one in a while but is it wrong for me to assume that was a date?"

I let out a noise that was somewhere between a sigh and a soft moan, "Of course not." I said breathlessly, "We met all the traditional requirements of a date." My voice was still a whisper, but barely.

"Huh," Blaine answered, "I'm pretty sure there's one more date tradition we haven't met yet."

I stared at him, unable to move until my brain had somewhat unscrambled itself. He looked at me, a faint smile on his lips and though there was barely any space between us anyway, leaned impossibly closer to me, head tilted. I closed my eyes.

The second his lips brushed against mine, I knew it was right. Everything about the moment was right. It was slow and it was sweet and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the butterflies in my stomach threatening to explode right out of me. He cupped his hands around my face and my hands reached to place a tentative placement on his thigh hearing him emit a small moan. It wasn't over the top it was just… right.

We broke apart mutually, foreheads pressed against each other. The silence between us wasn't awkward. We could feel both our smiles as we stared into each other's eyes.

"That was the first time I'd ever kissed someone," I admitted my hands reaching up to hold Blaine's face.

"How was it?"

"Refresh my memory?"

He laughed quietly and gently kissed me again, sending my head into a spin. I stepped out of the car awkwardly, having to use the frame for support.

I thought I heard him chuckle, but the sound was too quiet for me to be certain. That's when I looked up.

Burt was standing in front of the Volvo, his eyes wide and face full of shock, staring at me like I was the one who had just caught him doing something.

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to sink into a ball on the floor of Blaine's car but I had become a statue. This was not how I wanted him to find out.

Burt cleared his throat.

"Well—you're home early."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Blaine staring intently at me. It gave me the courage to simply nod.

Burt had to clear his throat again, "Er, why don't you um… invite your—friend—inside."

He didn't wait for me to agree or to even ask Blaine if he was allowed to step in for a bit. But Blaine had already exited his side of the car and was by my side. He took my hand immediately, whispering into my ear. "I'm so sorry, I should have heard him coming, it's just I was so… lost in the moment."

"I don't regret it." I told him fast. "We'll be okay—my dad's not going to kill us. I think."