Kurt's lying in the garden, the sun beating down warm against his skin as he stretches and yawns, rolling over on the lounger, onto his side as he props himself up on his elbow and continues to read.

Yesterday his dad and step-mum Carole had been equal parts shocked and ecstatic that he was home, fawning over him all day, listening to stories of New York, his dad laughing good naturedly at Cooper's relatively incident free plane journey, while Carole worried aloud about him.

"It's good of you to come with him Kurt, not many friends would do that," she'd told him, smiling proudly before rebuking her husband, "and don't laugh at the poor kid Burt, at least he's getting better," she'd said. To which Burt had agreed and nodded, saving his smile and laughter for when she was out of earshot.

But Kurt had just smiled at his dad and waved it off, carrying on with the dinner he'd been preparing. "Is Finn not coming home this week?" he'd asked, surprised by the lack of his lumbering step-brother.

But it turns out he's gone with his new girlfriend to meet her family, boasting to Kurt when they spoke on the phone about the fact they live in California and have a boat and her dad had took him fishing in said boat. Kurt had listened and made appreciative, impressed sounds at all the right moments, before saying goodbye with the promise of an invite for him to come and visit New York soon. But maybe not too soon.

His parents are at work now though, so Kurt's escaped into the back garden, into the not yet oppressive heat of a summer waiting to begin, relaxing in the near silence, a welcome change from life with Cooper in a city of millions.

Not that he doesn't love Cooper. He does, he really does, but when you spend weeks on end in an apartment with the same guy, well, it's only natural to welcome a break from that person. With his ear splitting laugh, crude humour and his inability to put his washing away, leaving socks all over the place.

So for now Kurt's just enjoying being alone, being quiet and undisturbed, feeling time slink past and not worrying about anything. He's got a lot of work to do, he knows that, and doesn't need reminding of it. But for today he's pushed it to the back of his mind, secured it under lock and key and is instead lounging beneath the sky with a whole other world in his fingertips, in the pages of the book he's midway through.

His mind wanders occasionally, to his apartment miles away, his favourite coffee shop, the taste lingering in his periphery, just out of reach. His thoughts stray to the guy in his class who'd asked him out last week; how he'd fumbled through a lie of 'I have a boyfriend', just to avoid the awkwardness of turning someone down.

Not that he doesn't want a boyfriend. It's more a case of not wanting to need a guy in his life. He hates the idea of falling for someone, falling hard with the weight of the world on your shoulders and a heart literally bursting with love, and therefore giving that person the ability to break your heart. No, Kurt definitely doesn't want that.

Although, when he tries to remember the last time he made a move, initiated a conversation or threw himself off the deep end and actually asked someone on a date, his mind comes up blank. He genuinely can't remember. And then he remembers why. He remembers the crippling, overwhelming, heart thundering fear of rejection, the way his words stutter and his palms sweat and the world seems to fight against every move he makes.

And then all of a sudden his heart goes out to Blaine. Young, innocent, partially-broken-but-still-smiling Blaine who was beaten for going to a dance with a guy, who at 16 can't build up the courage to talk to the boy he likes, let alone ask him out. But Blaine'll be fine, Kurt reassures himself, with his happy-go-lucky smile and his dark hair and the way he hums along to songs under his breath.

Blaine'll be fine, Kurt tells himself again, allowing his eyes to drift closed, body shuffling till comfortable, not letting his mind linger on the reason he's suddenly worrying about his best friend's brother. His best friends brother who has full, pink lips and bright, honey coloured eyes and who's probably never been touched by any hands but his own.

It's a few hours later, after he's dozed off and the sky has leaked navy above him, cold wind caressing his hair, when his phone rings beside him. He jumps awake, startled, blinking and shivering in the coldness of reality, the warm brush of imaginary skin against his disappearing with the wind before he reaches for his phone.

"Hello?" he asks, a yawn ripping through his body, toes uncurling as his fingers flex, pushing up into a sitting position.

"Hey, I rang around and there's a few other people back for this week too, we're going to Columbus to hit a few bars, you're coming right?"

Kurt groans, standing and stretching his aching back, grabbing all his stuff before shuffling into the house. "I dunno Cooper, I was kind of hoping for a quiet week here," he tries, knowing his excuses are pointless. If Cooper wants a night out, Cooper gets a night out.

"Well you've have two days to be quiet, now get you ass over to mine by nine 'cause we're heading out," and then he hangs up. Just like that, not giving Kurt so much as a second to respond.

Kurt tries ringing back, ready to feign inability or illness or apocalypse, but Cooper doesn't answer. So instead he trudges into his room and showers quickly before blow drying his hair. He dresses mostly without thought, pulling on grey, skin tight jeans, a striped t-shirt and dark blazer. He quickly fixes his face and hair in the mirror, starting to get a little excited to see his friends, who he hasn't seen in months, before slipping on his boots and pocketing his phone and wallet, heading down the stairs.

"Dad?" he shouts, wandering into the living room, "can I borrow your car?" he asks, walking right into the centre of the room so as to definitely get Burt's attention.

"Yeah, sure, where you going?" Burt asks, eyes roaming momentarily over his clothes.

"Columbus with some old friends, thanks," he says, leaning forward to kiss his dad on the head, repeating the action with Carole who's sat beside him.

"Hey, don't you go drinking and-"

"I know!" Kurt interrupts laughing, "we'll probably split a cab back to Coopers anyway," he assures his dad, momentarily resting a reassuring hand against his shoulder before leaving, grabbing the car keys from the hall.

"Hey Kurt?" his dad suddenly shouts.

"What?" he calls back, poking his head back into the room.

"How am I meant to get to work in the morning if you've got the car?" he asks.

"I'm sure you and Carole can share her car for one morning," Kurt laughs, rolling his eyes at Carole before disappearing. "See you tomorrow," he calls over his shoulder before disappearing out the door, down the drive and into his dad's car.

It's not long before he's speeding down the highway towards Coopers, little sparks of excitement firing in his stomach.

/

Kurt automatically straightens his collar as he climbs the few steps to the Anderson house, running a hand through his hair before knocking hard on the door, knowing they won't hear otherwise.

He takes a step back and waits, momentarily admiring the house with its large windows and light bricks. It's not by any means a big house, really just a little above average. The Andersons have money, that's undeniable, but they're not pretentious or snobby like a lot of people seem to assume on first impressions. Especially considering they'd moved to Westerville from Lima just so Blaine could go to a different school after the dance. A private school admittedly, but that's through necessity, not choice.

As long as Blaine's safe, is what Cooper had said while discussing the options with his parents in the hospital after the attack. Kurt had been asleep in the waiting room and overheard them talking by pure chance, working hard to keep his body still and not raise suspicion, hating the possibility of them thinking he was eavesdropping. So Blaine had transferred to Dalton. He'd slowly opened up to the other guys there, made new friends and joined clubs, before bit by bit he grew confident in his own skin again.

Just as the memory invades Kurt's mind the front door swings open to reveal the boy in question, dressed in mustard yellow jeans and a black polo. "Oh, hey Kurt," he beams, face illuminated by the warm orange light of the hall. He steps aside as Kurt slides in, toeing off his boots.

"Hey," Kurt greets, automatically looking towards the kitchen, "where're you parents?" Kurt asks the younger boy, turning to smile at him as he slides the lock over on the front door, noticing the absence of a crushing hug from Mr. Anderson and a decidedly more delicate hug and peck on the cheek from Mrs. Anderson.

"They went round a friends for dinner, should be back later," he says as he turns to face Kurt, "they'll be upset they missed you," he adds with a smile before turning and making his way up the stairs.

Kurt follows as he speaks, "no doubt I'll be here tomorrow morning, hung over and hating your brother more than ever."

"I hate him a little more every day anyway, so at least he's used to it," Blaine says jokingly as he makes his way down the long hall. Kurt listens to the lilt of his laughter and definitely does not look at the way his ass moves beneath the denim of his jeans. "I don't know how you put up with him everyday," Blaine says over his shoulder with an easy smile before turning into his room.

Kurt laughs, having asked himself the same question almost everyday of the past three years of living with Cooper. "Where is he anyway?" Kurt asks, shooting a look down the hall to what he knows to be Cooper's room before leaning against the doorframe of Blaine's.

"Oh he'll be a while yet, he's only just got in the shower," Blaine says absently with a shake of his head as he crawls onto his bed, shuffling into the middle and crossing his legs. He lifts the lid of his laptop, fingers loud against the keyboard before he looks up again, frowning very slightly. "You can come in you know, you don't have to stand out there," he says as a slow smile spreads over his face, causing Kurt's stomach to swoop strangely.

So Kurt shuffles in, stopping at the edge of Blaine's bed, leaning forward so that his knees depress the mattress a little, just resting there, watching the bones in Blaine's hands move beneath tanned skin as he types. "No plans for tonight?" he eventually asks, throat unusually dry as he forces himself to focus on Blaine's face.

Blaine shrugs a little, the tiniest smile curling his lips, "it's a Tuesday," is all he says as way of explanation, not glancing up from his screen.

"So? Stuff happens on Tuesdays," Kurt replies.

Blaine's hands still against the keyboard as he looks up at Kurt, face scrunching adorably as if to say 'what stuff?' But he doesn't ask, he just smiles another butterfly inducing smile before closing the lid of his laptop and pushing it to the side. "Sorry," he says, "I'm being rude."

"What?" Kurt immediately asks before his mind catches up, "oh no, don't let me interrupt you, I'll go and wait in Coop's room," Kurt says, signalling over his shoulder as he straightens up.

But as he does so a warm hand closes around his wrist, "you're not interrupting me," Blaine assures him, shaking his head and letting his wrist go now he's got his attention. He looks up at Kurt with them wide, honest, soul searching eyes before shuffling back a little, signalling for Kurt to sit down.

He does so; tentatively kneeling in front of the boy he's known for six years and wonders why all of a sudden something feels different. He tries not to dwell on the thought, instead focussing his attention on trying his hardest not to look at the 16 years olds muscular thighs beneath his jeans, the way his biceps fill his sleeves or those pink, tempting, probably untouched lips.

"So how's New York?" Blaine asks exuberantly, just at the exact moment Kurt's brain overrules his mouth and makes probably the biggest mistake of his life to date.