By Friday Kurt was pretty sure he made the right decisions. About everything. About the break up almost a month ago, about the list, about the new beginning. Actually, he was really surprised how great his week went so far.

They were in the middle of the spring term, his classes were interesting and pleasantly challenging, the teachers and his peers were creative and amazingly productive. And he enjoyed the hell out of it. He started out as a Fashion Design major, but soon realized that he had the chance to take up classes outside his major, which he enjoyed enormously. He took literature classes, cultural studies, music, theatre, bits and pieces of everything, while still staying focused on his biggest passion, fashion. He just loved this idea of being exposed to all kinds of stimuli.

But it was not all learning this week. Yes, he had fun with that, but he realized that if smartly organized, his schedule can contain so much more than school related stuff. He tried to settle into a comfortable pattern, going to bed before midnight, waking up no later than 8:30, and it was amazing how much could be stuffed into a day this way.

He went on adventures around the campus, but also discovered local bands, spent time with Kate, spent more time on the phone with his family back home… Some mornings he even went for a run, before classes, and in the afternoon went to see an exhibition. All in all, he was clearly reassured in his decision. Putting himself in the center, but in a way that left space for all kinds of impulses to reach him, well, this was exhilarating. And so so so much fun!

So it was Friday, early afternoon, with that precious feeling of relief that is the arrival of the weekend. Yeah, he adored studying, but he had his weekend fully planned out, so naturally he was excited to dive into the productive, yet exciting two and a half days.

First up on the agenda… the sweet little bookshop on campus.

Kurt knew about Prospero’s for a while now, he even went inside a couple of times, just to look around, but never even considered buying anything. Not that he didn’t love reading. He did. So much. It’s just… he didn’t have any time on his hand. He had loads of reading to do for his classes, and up until now he had no motivation whatsoever to catch up with all the books he once promised himself to read (back in high school) but never got around to actually do it.

He remembered, in high school he was into all kinds of literature. Fiction, non-fiction, high lit and page-turners, he read on recommendations or on impulse, short stories and novels, poetry, oh yes, lots of poetry, contemporary and everything else. But also, out of sheer curiosity he took up psychology books (dumbed down versions, of course), and book dealing with social sciences and anthropology. So, really, he had no filter. He wasn’t a book worm, but still, he spent at least one hour reading a day.

Since he was in college the hours he spend reading per day increased, but the books he read out of joy or curiosity dropped to almost zero. What he did was scribble down all the titles he was recommended, or that he came across wherever and seemed intriguing.

That’s what brought him to Prospero’s now. At the beginning of the week he decided to start catching up with all those promisedmyselfi’dreadthem books.

He was staring at the novel section, running his index finger on the bindings, searching unsuccessfully, for a good 10 minutes when he felt the presence of somebody to his left, a couple of meters away. He turned towards the person slowly, and soon realized it was the grumpy barista he ordered from at the beginning of the week.

Kurt was surprised, to say the least, and his brain was suddenly buzzing with questions like How many jobs does this guy have? Does he even work here? Why was he looking at me? Does he remember at all? And oh God, what was his name?

Without consciously realizing it, Kurt looked at the place on the boys chest where the name tag should have been had they been in Cocoa now. Kurt was lost as to the guy’s name. But also concerning the expression on his face. He hardly recognized the boy without the gloomy and distressed eyes, the frustrated frown. What Kurt saw now was much closer to what he imagined to be the boy’s natural state of being. Clever gaze, open, curious, and at ease with certainty. A small smile was on his face, interestingly enough hardly visible in the curve of his lips, rather present in the glint of the eyes. Full of life.

The stunned silence didn’t stretch longer than mere seconds.

The boy seemed stuck between two things. Openly gazing at Kurt, or continuing his own search on the shelves. He decided to go with the first one, probably feeling this would be less creepy than “spying” on the young man. So he searched for Kurt’s eyes, there was a hint of realization in his face, and with a small nod acknowledged his presence.

“Hi”

“Hey” Kurt was debating whether he should start a conversation or anything, but the other beat him to it.

“Kurt, right?” the Monday-barista asked, and Kurt couldn’t help a surprised smile.

“Yeah.” he said with eyes still wide.

“The Vonnegut thing helped…” the barista explained. And now that Kurt was reminded of the little comment, he suddenly remembered the others name. Apparently he needed one more stimulus for the name to come to him.

“Blaine.” He said with confidence, and raised his index finger to his temple, not even hiding the fact that he struggled, but came out triumphantly. Blaine’s smile grew a little wider and lighter.

“Yes. What a memory.”

“Just lucky, I guess. Usually I suck at this, but hey, miracles happen. Do you work here?”

“Oh, no. I just love coming here. Cocoa is enough for me, and even that can be a lot during the semester.”

You can say that again , though Kurt… That would explain the grumpiness. But he didn’t say that. He just nodded understandingly.

“What were you looking for?” Blaine asked, gesturing towards the shelves with the slightest movement of his curly head. His whole posture screamed helpfulness and openness. Kurt, for a moment, almost blurted Are you bipolar? But decided not to. What if he really is?

“Oh, well, I was just looking for this novel, by Marquez, One Hundred Years Of Solitude, dunno if you know it…” Kurt said quickly. He actually looked annoyed not finding the book already.

For the shortest moment Blaine’s smile turned into a grin, but quickly he toned it down. Kurt was convinced the boy was laughing at him. He wouldn’t blame him. What was so hard in finding a book among other authors’ work whose names start with an M?

“Well, actually, if it makes you feel better, it’s not your fault you can’t find it among novels. There are a few shelves in the shop dedicated to certain subgenres. If you ask me it’s absolutely arbitrary and subjective, but I’m fine with that. Once you get used to it, you’ll find everything easily. So here, I think you’re looking for this shelf here.” And with that he moved towards and past Kurt, leading him a few steps further, and pointed to the label on the top shelf. Magic Realism.

“I think the owner is in love with the genre, but hey, what can you do? So, anyway, here’s Marquez for you.” And with a secure hand he quickly found a copy of One Hundred Years of Solitude and held it out for Kurt to take.

Kurt was stunned. Grateful. A little. And yeah, amazed. A lot.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” said Blaine. And meant it, too. It really was the most natural thing for him. And just like that he left Kurt there, and went on his own quest for books. It wasn’t abrupt, how he left, not at all, he just left Kurt space to look through the book.

And somehow, it was there in the air that he wouldn’t leave the shop without saying good-bye. Kurt was surprised he knew this. The boy was definitely not the “barking” guy from the caf�.

So Kurt flipped through the pages, lifted the book to his nose, sniffed a little, started to get to know the structure, the chapters, table of contents. Nothing special. Just the usual before a book-purchase.

A few minutes later Blaine appeared again, this time without the hesitation. He stepped close to Kurt, and asked him something unexpected.

“How much money did you plan on spending that book?”

“I don’t know.” Kurt was stunned. Again. He turned the book around, looking for its price. It read 15 dollars. “Well, this says 15, and previously I though no more than 20, so I dunno. Why?”

Seriously, what kind of question was that?

“Okay. Then I have a proposition for you. What would you say if I said you could have two books for 5 dollars less.”

“I’d say you’re crazy, it’s impossible, and anyway, I really came here specifically for this one. so…”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. You’re definitely getting the Marquez novel. Look. Here’s the deal. It might sound too ridiculous, but I happen to have One Hundred Years in my bag.” Oh. So he wasn’t laughing at me before, thought Kurt. Or at least not out of rudeness. “It’s one of my favorites, and I tend to re-read it every now and again. I’m in the middle of it right now, but since all my friends know about my obsession I have it at home in more than one copy. So I’m more than willing to lend you this one.”

Kurt didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know the guy. What was the deal? But strangely, he felt more intrigues than worried. So he played with the idea.

“And how much would you ask for it?” Kurt asked while putting down the copy� in his hand.

“No, no, when I said lend, I meant lend. That’s not where your 10 dollars would go.”

“So where exactly would my money go then?”

“Well, this is the deal part. I figured out something you should read. Something I think you would enjoy tremendously. And that book costs 10 dollars. So if you accept my copy of the Marquez novel, I’m recommending you another piece. What do you think?”

Kurt hesitated. For long seconds. Which prompted Blaine to go on, or to add something.

“Kurt, the deal part, I was just kidding. There’s no ultimatum whatsoever. I’m offering you the book anyway, I’d like you to borrow it. It really is amazing. I just thought, now that you saved 15 dollars, you might wanna look into something else as well.”

“No, I mean, yeah, I get it. But are you sure?”

“Of course. I told you, I have a few copies at home.”

“How come?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How come you love it so much? What’s so special about it?” Kurt was genuinely curious now.

“God, where shall I start?” Blaine asked, but rather as a formality, he knew exactly the reason. The reasons, in fact. “Well, I have to admit, it’s Marquez’s style that’s so close to my heart. So I guess it’s risky to say you’ll love it. Some people I know hated the book for exactly that reason. The writing style. But for me… well, the name of genre covers it, really. You don’t feel like you’re far from reality, or the reflection on real life, and still, the characters, the setting, the narration, it’s beyond anything you can imagine. It’s like velvet. Smooth, but strong, adjusting to your form, but giving you a newly defined self, does that make sense?”

Kurt smiled. With closed lips, but so so wide. Yes, absolutely it made sense!

“Plus, the way he writes about sex and physicality is just breathtakingly beautiful, and, yeah, strong and subtle at the same time. I’d say it’s so expressive, aesthetically speaking that even if one doesn’t have those experiences, it sweeps everyone off their feet.”

Kurt struggled how to react to this added last sentence. His wide smiled shrank, but he didn’t want to seem a prude. He never knew how to react when people spoke so candidly about sex, and he kind of had an idea how he should react, what was expected of a young college boy, and intellect of some sorts, but he didn’t know what to say now. And he didn’t know, he couldn’t have known whether Blaine was hinting at Kurt’s inexperience or just stating an opinion.

He went for the easy way out.

“So what’s this other book you’d recommend?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, it’s not a novel, it’s a play. A classic.” Blaine paused. “Shakespeare.”

Kurt nodded. He needed to be convinced.

“How many Shakespeares have you read?” Blaine asked, from his voice Kurt felt he struggled to find a way to ask this without sounding rude or presumptuous.

“Just the obligatory ones, I guess. Hamlet, Romeo and Juliet, Richard III…”

“Okay. As you Like It?” Blaine asked more specifically.

“Nope, not yet.” On my list, Kurt added in his head.

“Well, I think you’d absolutely adore it.” Blaine said with finality, arriving at the drama section, and, again, reaching with great security for the right book. It was a single-play edition, paperback, cheap. Or, you know. 10 dollars, apparently.

“Here.” He gave the thin edition to Kurt. “You can always buy your Complete Shakespeare later. But this one here, this is special.”

“Because…” Kurt raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Well, I don’t want to spoil anything, but let’s just say, it’s surprisingly progressive, and deals in great details with cross-dressing…” Blaine said with an impish smile.

Well, Kurt didn’t see that one coming. Okay, no, yes, what? Kurt didn’t understand the smile. Was Blaine hinting at something? Was Kurt so obviously gay that Blaine found it funny to hint at his “feminine” attributes? Was this a joke? Was Blaine trying to imply anything?

Kurt knew his face would betray him, so he gathered his self-control and tried to change his panicky defense into a an open and curious expression. It seemed to work, because Blaine added only one thing, but with soothing softness, it has to be said.

“Anyway, read it. I might be wrong, but, hey, what can you lose, it’s only a 100 something pages long. And here, have this one as well, please.” And with that, he took out a thick-ish book from his bag and handed it to Kurt.

“Enjoy.” Blaine said, with a last smile, turned on his heels, and went towards the exit. Kurt made no effort to stop him.

On his way home Kurt spent a little time contemplating on what just happened in Prospero’s. He realized he didn’t have any way to reach Blaine about the book, but he felt kind of relieved at that. He thought of Cocoa, and decided that if the campus wasn’t small enough for them to meet randomly once he finished the book, he’ll go in the little caf� and give it back there. He felt grateful that Blaine didn’t ask for his number, the situation was somewhat uncomfortable already as it was, the exchange of numbers would’ve been really out of Kurt’s comfort zone.

Anyway, after a few minutes of such thought Kurt remembered that he needed to call his Dad that night, plus he promised Kate to clean their room, so all in all the bookshop incident was pushed to the back of his mind, life went on. Naturally.

Until later that night, that is.

Kurt was sitting on his bed, he had talked to his dad already, and was ready to jump into his readings. He fished out the two books from his bag, and decided he would start with Shakespeare. Only because it was shorter. He assumed he would finish it that night. But before diving into that, he wanted to take a look at Blaine’s book.

It was a different edition than the one he examined thoroughly in the bookshop. This one was hardcover as well, but with a different picture on the front, and the binding gave Blaine away. It wasn’t in miserable condition, but it was definitely used. Kurt opened the book, lifted it to his nose and sniffed. The smell was also different, but pleasant. The whole thing was just nice no hold and look at.

He flipped through the pages, and around the middle he found something. A piece of paper. It clearly served as a book mark, but wasn’t made for that. The paper was full of scribbles and words and lines and little drawings. Kurt assumed some of those to be lyrics, written with firm yet soft handwriting, and he knew these were personal, but couldn’t help himself and looked at them observantly.

And his mind started to wonder. He thought back to the short yet intense meeting in the bookshop, and to Monday’s little incident. The time that passed since then gave him the chance to think about everything more objectively. The end of the conversation in the bookshop left him in doubts as to Blaine’s genuineness. But maybe he was the one assuming things wrongly. Maybe Blaine didn’t mean anything by those comments. After all, he was asked some questions by Kurt, and probably did his best to answer them fully.

So why did Kurt felt the need to be immediately offended by such simple things. Perhaps Blaine was genuinely convinced that Marquez’s way of writing about sex was nice and enjoyable for everyone. And perhaps Blaine really just meant that Shakespeare using cross dressers in his play was very progressive, and extremely interesting.

Why would Kurt want to assume otherwise?

In fact, now that he had time to think this through and rationalized what happened in the shop, he felt relieved. He didn’t know why, but he was convinced this face, this attitude of Blaine’s was the real one, or the closest to how he generally is. He sort of had this gut feeling that if he had to choose what fitted Blaine best, the disruption he witnessed on Monday, or the harmony his face expressed today with those smiled and searching gazes, well he would go for the latter.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t tell his own reasons for believing so. And he decided not to spend another minute on the matter. He would read the books, and maybe run into him again. He’ll take it from there.

Right now he had enough on his mind.

And that’s when he saw it. The little piece of paper that he spent a few minutes observing was not empty on the other side. There weren’t so many things written there, as on the other side, there was only a little, primitive drawing, and a word written next to it.

It was a semicircle, with two little tail-like things at each end. Like a smile. And the word. The word that brought back Monday morning vividly to Kurt’s mind.

Curve .