Kurt woke up at ten the next day. He had trouble sleeping the night before, he was never really the one to fall asleep fast anyway. His mind haunted him. Most of the time it was the random instances that he wouldnt bat an eye at, but midnight was a time that let simple things matter. There was nothing to drown the sound of his thoughts. Everything seemed important.

On bad nights like that one, he silently slipped down the stairs to the kitchen and made himself a nice cold glass of iced tea. If the front door wasnt too loud, he would open it and take a seat out on the stairs of the porch. The calmness of the night was usually enough to lull him to sleep.

After finishing his tea the night before, Kurt went back inside. On his way back to bed he passed the kitchen counter with the carnations sitting prettily in their crystalline vase. With that thought fresh in his mind, he spent his last moments of consciousness trying to forget the enchanting young gentleman from the flower shop.

It was odd how little sleep he could get and still feel the same in the morning.

He got dressed quickly, another pair of black pants, a black button up with a red vest and no tie. Quick, easy, casual.

After he did his hair, spiking it into a neat coif, he went downstairs. By the sink there was a note left by his step mom, Carol.

She told him breakfast was in the refrigerator, and instructions on how to heat it up. She signed the letter with a heart on the bottom of the page next to her name.

Carol was a nice presence. She would never compare to his real mother, but she was definitely the best step mom he could have ever asked for. They were a mixed family, and it caused a bit of a stir in the community when his father remarried, but they were content. Carol also had Finn, a son that was the same age as Kurt. They used to be close before graduation, but Finn moved to California and stopped calling home as much. Carol still sent him a letter almost every day.

She was a natural mother, it was wonderful to have her in the family. Kurt could tell she had one of the purest hearts, and his father loved her more than anything.

But he wasnt hungry for breakfast, so he threw out what Carol had made for him. He felt guilty about it, but it was only to trick her into thinking he was an actual functioning person who ate breakfast. If he ate than he wouldnt have enough room for lunch, which was only two hours away and a walk to the diner. He pondered on when to leave, thinking it would only take him eight minutes or so to walk to the restaurant. It was barely ten thirty, and he had until at least eleven fifty to get going.

Kurt opened up a newspaper that was left on the counter and started reading about various unimportant happenings. His eyes kept shifting away from the news to the pretty vase of flowers in front of him. It was amazing how distracting they were, like they had eyes staring right back at him.

He moved to the living room. It was darker, but he lit the area quickly with a shift of the curtains. The window creaked as he opened it, letting the calm breeze come through the house.

He read the newspaper in the black recliner next to his birth-mothers old record player. Kurt felt his mind clouding with boredom before he finished the first page. He put the newspaper down and started fiddling with the record player.

The needle touched the Frank Sinatra vinyl with a pop, but the sweet melody sang out above the static. He sat on the floor browsing through the albums until it was time to go.

**

The diner was a little further out than he thought. It took longer to walk there then expected, and he showed up about five minutes late.

Santana was already there in a booth sipping on a chocolate milkshake with whipped cream and a cherry. He could tell she just came from work, she still had her Lima Bean apron on and smelled faintly of Premium Roast. She saw him as soon as he sauntered in the door, and waved him over to her table with her dark lips still curled around a straw.

Kurt sat on the other side of the booth, waiting for her to finish slurping the milkshake before he said anything.

When she finally came up for air, she took a deep breath. "Hows life, Twinkle Toes?" She said in a sigh.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the nickname.

"You know, I would have been the happiest person in the world if you stopped calling me that after graduation." He spit fondly. He liked Santana, but she could be harsh. Even when she wasnt meaning to be.

"We cant have that, can we?" She laughed. It fizzled out when she saw seriousness in his features. "Okay, fine. Porcelain?"

Kurt nodded his head to say It isnt preferred, but its better. She dropped the up-beat act and leaned her elbows on the table. "This town sucking out my soul. How about you?"

"Thats ridiculous," Kurt said. Lima had failed to suck the life out of him, even at his weakest. Two months back wasnt going to kill him. "You cant possibly have a soul."

"Oh," Santana smirked. "Kitty has claws. What crawled up your butt and died?"

"Nothing," It was true, kind of. If he was honest with himself, he really just wanted to go back to his apartment in New York. He had had enough of Lima in the short time back, and he felt much better about life in the city. But he didnt want to look like a sob. "Just tired is all."

"Then ice it and stop being a party pooper." She retorted with no bite in her voice, which surprised him. He gave her an apologetic smile before the waitress stopped by on roller blades.

Kurt ordered a burger and fries, he was feeling hungry after skipping breakfast. Santana asked for another chocolate milkshake with whipped cream.

"Seriously? You arent even done with that one." Kurt pointed at the half full glass of milkshake, laughing. Santana only sipped at it, giving him a look.

"Its for you, scootch." She said with a glint in her eye. "Hows the Big Apple? Bringin in the bread? Is Fat City everything you dreamed it to be?"

"What, you writing a book or something?" Kurt flushed at being put on the spot so suddenly.

"Im thinking about it," She teased. "But your life cant be that interesting. . . can it?"

Kurt spilled the details about the University he went to and the diner he worked part time at. Sure, it was New York City, but his life was rather lackluster. The only reason why it was particularly interesting was the fact that he got to be an average person in New York rather than Lima. Of course he played it up for her though, he wanted people to think he was well off and knew what he was doing. He loved it there, even through the faults. It was, as simply put, his home.

"And what about you, Cat?" Kurt changed the subject after a while. Santana chuckled at the nickname. "Columbus, was it?"

"Columbus it was." She confirmed, lifting her chin in a dignified manner. "Im a business woman now."

She smiled the same smile that reminded Kurt of when she got her acceptance letter. It was probably the happiest he had ever saw her, because it meant a lot to her and her family. She would be the first woman in her family to go to college. Although she didnt get into a New York school like she wanted, she was still extremely grateful for her opportunities.

"I was going to bring my roommate Brittany with me, but she stayed to work on her studies," Santana sighed sadly, playing with her fingernails. "Shes earthbound, but she is a little light in the head." She looked away with longing, then set her hands on the table to lean forward intimidatingly. "I did bring one of my friends though. He reminds me of you, you would like him." Kurt felt flattered. "He said he grew up around here too, only an hour away from here."

"Whats his name?" Kurt asked, genuinely curious.

"Blaine,"

". . . Anderson?"

Santana lifted an eyebrow, mildly surprised. "You met?"

"Uh," Kurt blushed at her intent gaze. He had been trying to forget Blaines impeccable charm since he walked in that flower shop. "Yeah, I stopped by his familys store yesterday. . . Short poindexter with greaser hair, right?"

She threw her head back to laugh crudely before she replied. "Yup, thats definitely the one."

The waitress rolled by with a large plate on her shoulder and a milkshake in hand. She left with a smile. Kurt popped a french fry into his mouth as Santana pushed the fresh milkshake towards him. He stabbed a straw in it, she stealthily stole a few fries off his platter.

"Hes an oddball, but hes fun." She said with a full mouth.

"I could say the same about you," Kurt joked. Santana kicked him from under the table.

"I give you a milkshake, and this is how you repay me?" She scoffed fondly.

Kurt continued eating. They were silent for a while. It wasnt uncomfortable, but it felt odd. To anyone else, they could have been on a date. Kurt almost gagged at the idea. Santana was like a sister, nothing more.

She slurped down the rest of her shake, taking time to wipe her mouth and glance at the big clock behind her.

"I gotta get back to work, Daddy-O. How about we stay in touch? Ill talk to Anderson to see if we can do something together."

Kurt looked at her with wide eyes. "I- yeah. You have my telephone number, right?"

"Yes, I do own a phone book." She stood up, dress flaring out under her work apron. "Later, Porcelain."

She threw a few bills on the table and left with a wave.

**

It was about two in the afternoon when he got home. He had spent an extra ten minutes or so at the diner finishing his meal alone. He enjoyed the white noise around him, hearing the mumbled conversations of others, watching people mill around. It was calming, in a weird sense. It reminded him of home, of New York. . . but he felt everything reminded him of there.

After he finished, he paid the bill and left. When he got home he slipped into an old tank top (not bothering to check the color) and some old, stained pants he used to wear when he worked part-time at his fathers tire shop.

Kurt quickly gathered the reading material he had for next years semester. He had some catching up to do with his literature homework. His professor gave him four novels and a few short stories to read over the summer, but so far he had only read one and a half of the novels and one short story. If he wanted to do better in his classes, he would have to work harder. Kurt was completely willing to read a few classic books for that.

He picked up Ulysses, certain he would finish it within the next couple of hours. Kurt was perched upon the chair that was turned toward the big window in the living room. The window faced the street and let in the most sunlight. Kurt loved the feeling of sun on his skin. The day had been beautiful, not unbearably hot like the rest of that summer. Mixed between the perfect temperature of the room and the soothing light streaming through the window, he felt almost drunk with how comfortable it was. Slouching lazily on the plush chair, reading a book, he felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Kurt read for a good ten to twenty minutes before he was too dazed to, closing his eyes and dropping Ulysses uselessly on the ground next to his feet.

He must have stayed there for a while, sleeping peacefully under the warm summer sun. The clock ticed like a metronome to his slumber, the constant repetitive noise lulling him even better than iced tea and stargazing. He could have stayed like that forever, frozen in the sands of time peacefully sleeping in that old recliner, but every good thing must come to an end at some point.

He only woke up because of a loud yelp followed by a crude, violent crashing noise from outside of his front window.

Opening his eyes slowly, he yawned and stood up, legs still weak from sleep. About two and a half hours, that was the amount of time he had been out. It felt like a decade.

He hobbled to the window, wondering what in the world could have made that awful noise. The sight of an upside-down bicycle greeted him, next to it was a lump on the sidewalk. Kurt rubbed his eyes, trying to wake up his sleep addled brain. At first he found it to be rather humorous; some kid falling off their bike. The sidewalk outside of his house was poorly maintained and jagged. He himself had flipped a bike or two on it.

But the person didnt move, staying absolutely still as the back wheel of the bike clicked around its spinning spokes.

Before he could act on better judgment, he was already worried enough to go outside to check on the poor stranger. The person hadnt moved for a good minute or so, so Kurt assumed they might need assistance.

He ran down the stairs of his porch, to see the man, still and lifeless with his face in the concrete. Kurts heart beat wildly, wondering if the poor guy even had a pulse.

Kneeling down beside him, Kurt flipped the stranger over on his back. The right side of his face was wounded and scratched on the cheek, drops of blood sticking to the sidewalk where he fell. The blood had dripped from his cheek onto his light colored shirt, appearing jet black on the fabric as it soaked in. The man groaned, weakly twitching his fingers. Kurt then realized who he was. . . none other than Blaine Anderson.

He flinched away from Kurts touch, but was too weak to wiggle out of the mans grasp. Kurt took him by the shoulders and elevated Blaines head into his lap. He swatted off the gravel and dirt that stuck to the scratches on his face.

Blaine tried weakly to open his eyes, groaning out what he intended to be words, but only sounded like gibberish.

"Its okay," Kurt soothed, not sure if Blaine could actually hear him. "You are going to be fine."

The injured man made a noise. Kurt assumed he was heard. Blaine tried weakly to look for his bike, swiveling his head to the demolished figure, wheels still clicking uselessly around its spokes.

"Dad is going to kill me." He slurred, putting an arm over his eyes. Kurt snickered at him with amusement. He felt overwhelmingly happy that Blaine was somewhat alright. He wiped the smile off his face and cleared his throat.

"Lets get you cleaned up, champ." Kurt hoisted him up with Blaines arm around Kurts neck, Kurts arm around Blaines waist. He quickly shuffled them onto the front porch, Kurt taking his time to readjust his hand for better support on his tiny hips.

Blaine was put on the old, rickety chair next to the grand antique window. His eyes became clearer every minute, less fog clouded his mind as he squinted at Kurt. "Thanks," He said weakly, right hand holding his injured cheek.

"Dont sweat it. I can get some frozen peas for that shiner if you like," Kurt replied in the doorway to his house. For some reason he felt responsible of taking care of Blaine. It must have been those wide, innocent eyes. He looked so scared when he popped them open at first. That, and Kurts hidden maternal instincts.

"No, a wet rag should do just fine." He responded weakly, blush high on the apples of his round cheeks. Kurt walked inside and dampened a clean rag with cold water, ringing it out once before he went back outside.

"Hey," Blaine said with interest when returned to the porch. His left arm laid limply in his lap as his other idly griped the arm of the chair. "I met you yesterday. At the flower shop."

"Yeah," Kurt laughed. He handed over the rag, Blaine saying his thanks as he dabbed his cheek free of the dirt and grime. "Small world, huh?"

"Yeah. Uh. . . sorry about- I did not mean to. . ." He trailed off, looking toward his forgotten bike on the retched sidewalk. "To do that."

"Dont sweat it. That sidewalk is nothing less of a hazard."

Blaine winced, touching a tender spot where gravel had been ground in his cheek. He smiled through it, looking embarrassed still. "Mhmm." He hummed.

"If only you did this an hour later," Kurt joked. "My mother is a nurse, she gets home at six."

"Ill make sure to keep that in orbit, just in case." Blaine retorted, smiling with his light eyes. Blaine looked to his feet, then back up to him, amusement etched on his features. "Youre Kurt, right?" Timidly setting the washcloth aside, he swallowed hard before clarifying. "Im terribly sorry, Im bad at names." There was a searching look in his eyes. Kurt melted just hearing his name come from those sugar-sweet lips, that low, velvet, tenor voice making his cheeks hot.

"Correct. And youre Blaine?" He confirmed, knowing full well what the mans name was. He didnt want to be too forward about it. . . or creepy.

"Yeah, yes. Youre right." Blaine replied, shifting his left arm and groaning loudly. "Ow, ow ow."

"You alright? You fell really hard. . . and that doesnt look too good." Kurt eyed the discoloration in Blaines left elbow. It was swollen, bruised, maybe? He couldnt tell. It was one of the disadvantages of being color blind. All he knew for sure was that it was irritated something fierce.

"Ill be fine. Its probably just a bruise." He gritted out through his tense jaw. Blaine tried to stretch it, to prove he was fine. His plan failed as he gave up the effort half way through. Kurt could tell he was playing it tough.

"May I see it?" Kurt offered, coming over to kneel at his side for a better look.

Blushing, Blaine obliged. He got his other arm out of the way, putting it back on the arm of the wooden chair.

"Just tell me if it hurts." Kurts hands gently pressed on Blaines muscles. He prodded and poked, massaging the skin under his fingertips. He swallowed a lump in his throat, feeling over the mans hard biceps. It was soft yet firm in all the right places, with just enough hair to look perfectly masculine, but not overwhelming. He was sweaty, Blaines breath close and blowing over his work. Kurt felt himself linger longer than necessary, taking his time to feel and touch, marking it in his memory.

He knew it was absolutely disgusting, touching, wanting another man like that. He didnt think Blaine appreciated any of it.

He looked to Blaine, whose eyes were locked on Kurts hands. Kurt moved them lower, pressing at the darker part of his elbow. Blaine let out a sudden yelp, taking his arm out of his grasp.

"Ow! Golly, that stings. I hope its not broken." He worried with his lip between his teeth.

"No," Kurt said, taking control if his breathing. "If it was broken, you wouldnt be able to move it at all. Im sure its just a sprain."

Blaine looked at him weakly from behind his thick curtain of lashes. "Okay." He nodded uneasily. "If you say so."

"Put some ice on it when you get to your house." Kurt instructed, knowing Blaine probably didnt know what to do. He looked lost and scared, staring at his elbow like it was alien to him.

"Yeah, I figured." He responded. "Ill have to be careful on my way home. . . I dont even know what to do with my bike."

Kurt bit his lip, staring out into the yard to the bike. The sun would be setting soon, sky already shifting to a different shade of grey. A few clouds lingered, but rain was not in the forecast. It had gotten more humid, the kind of weather that made clothes stick closely to skin and pulses rise just by being in the heat. The breeze was no help, it came gently from the south with a hot bite in it. He felt sorry for Blaine for having to walk home, even without his ailments. He felt an unbearable need to help.

However, he was still cautious. His conscious told him to leave Blaine to himself, to let him go alone, to be careful. He knew how hard and fast he developed feelings for people.

But he was not a cruel person.

"I can get a sling for you if you think it will help." He offered, knowing kindness was the best route. "Itll keep it elevated and in a good position."

Blaine looked him in the eyes, hopeful and in awe of his graciousness. "Would that be alright? Because, I- I really would appreciate that."

"Of course. Just return it when you get better." Kurt turned into the doorway before pausing. "And your bike, I can take it with us when I walk you home."

"Oh, you dont have to. Youve done enough." Blaine stood from his seat like it was made of hot coals. There was a panic in his movements, one of nerves, not annoyance. It felt familiar, the way he moved. He was flustered. "Im sure Ill manage."

"Do you want me not to come with you?" He asked, curious, observing.

"Of course." Kurts face fell. Blaine realized what he had said. "I meant, of course you can come if you want. I just dont want to be too much of a hassle." His face was darker, blushing now. Kurt nodded, grin creeping up on him.

"Ill get you that sling." Kurt slinked away to his room, where he grabbed one of his larger bandanas. He figured it would do the job. It was blue, or at least the label said blue. Blaine shouldnt mind, grey was grey.

When he walked back to the porch, Kurt realized how late it was. The sky had been playing its last tune of twilight. The cicada screeched, crickets chirped, fireflies started to pop out of their holes in the ground. Blaine was sitting, looking far off into the distance. He looked deep in thought until he turned his head, smiling up at Kurt shyly with blood still on his cheek.

Kurt smiled back and threw the bandana on his lap. "So how far away do you live?"

"Three or four blocks that way." Blaine pointed to a side street. "Its not too awful far. I hope you dont have trouble finding your way home."

Kurt shook his head, laughing a little. "I know this town better than the back of my hand." Lima was etched in his mind like a cattle brand. He could leave the city bounds and still be attached. The town changed people, in its odd way. Like a black hole it was hard to escape, but somehow he found a way. Even with that, a piece of him will always remain, a whisper in the back of his mind telling him of what once was conquered. "I grew up here."

Blaine finished tying the bandana, giving it a few hard tugs before being satisfied with it. He looked to Kurt like he knew there was something more to his words.

"How was it? Growing up here?"

Kurt took a deep breath. Most of the time, he found it hard opening up to people. People judge, and people were harsh. But Blaine had failed to show either of those traits. Something about him was unabashedly honest. He had known Blaine for less than two days, but he already felt comfortable around him. "Horrible." He exhaled in one gust. "But I dont blame them. I dont belong here, and they helped me realize that." Blaine nodded, empathetic, knowingly. "Im different." He added at the end, punctuating it in a way to help Blaine realize what he was trying to convey without using words.

Blaine only gave him a look. It was a look that he had given him at the flower shop, a heavy one. It was deep, light hitting his eyes like the shine on a calm pond, dark grey iris piercing him like a needle prick. It was hard to point out what it was exactly, but Kurt understood.

"We should get going." Kurt interrupted. "Itll be dark soon."

Blaine agreed, standing up and laughing awkwardly. "Oh man. I dont know how to explain this to my dad."

They walked down the porch stairs, Kurt running to grab the bike from the side of the road. "How so?"

"Well, it isnt exactly a heros tale. He already thinks Im too. . . girly." He laughed it off, but it was bittersweet. Blaine shuffled next to Kurt on the other side of the bike. Kurt held the handlebars tightly.

"Hey, just tell him I hit you with my hotrod." Kurt smiled. Blaines fake laughter tapered off to something more real.

They talked like that, easily. The conversation was fluid, flowing from family to interests to studies. It wasnt all too personal, but it was opening them both up to each other. They walked slowly, taking their time to comment on passing scenery. They watched the fire flies dance in the air, sucking that sweet summer air into their lungs like it would help preserve the moment.

The sun was barely above the horizon when they got to the gate of Blaines home. Blaine had been talking about how much he loved music, and Kurt could tell he had more to say, but he stopped talking.

He turned to Kurt, fixing him with that look, that innocent, pleading look. And said "Thank you, for everything."

"Its nothing, really." He responded knowingly.

Blaine took his bike with one hand, leaning it on the inside of the fence. Kurt was going to say farewell, but Blaine interrupted.

"You know, you said you were different." He mumbled, barely audible against the sounds of the night. "Maybe. . . Maybe you and I are more alike than you think." He left with without a glance, but with a Goodnight resonating through dark.

Kurt stood there in stunned silence, trying to grasp the meaning of the words without jumping too far in conclusions.

The second he was left alone in his room, he couldnt stop his face from turning up into smug smiles.

Maybe you and I are more alike than you think. He repeated to himself over and over again. It was good to be hopeful, and that night he lost himself in it.