1 NEW MESSAGE FROM: BLAINE ANDERSON.

Chloe clicked open the message, and it read, Hey. You should come over Friday. Kurt and Winter are gonna be here. We're watching zombie movies. (Wintie insisted.)

Chloe chuckled under her breath. She was tempted to uninvite Winter and herself, because that would mean Kurt and Blaine would be sitting too-close on a couch, screeching into each other's shoulders as gore spread across the television screen. Maybe, their hands would brush in the popcorn bowl and they'd stare at each other breathlessly before pulling away. That was what usually happened on Friday nights. She thumbed her response: What's the occasion?

Graduation, baby! Blaine responded, almost too quickly. Oh, that was right. Next week was the last one until seventh grade graduation. She hummed tunelessly to herself as she pulled a Diet Coke out of her fridge before replying: Okay, we'll be there. But don't worry, we won't bother you guys. ;D

Blaine blushed. Chloe was always joking about his and Kurt's close (too close?) friendship. He knew the red-head meant well, but still, it just made him even more confused about his...feelings. He refused to call it his sexuality. It wasn't his sexuality. Blaine liked girls. Maybe even loved girls. Loved the smell of their hair and the sparkle of their eyes and the way their hips swung when they walked. He loved having girlfriends, too. Right now his girlfriend was none other than Quinn Fabray, the captain of the Junior Varsity Cheerios!, the middle school cheerleading squad, which was coached by a terrifying woman who was rumored to be still kinder than the high school coach, Sue Sylvester. Quinn was pretty and sweet and had hair like golden silk, and the longest, most beautiful eyelashes Blaine had ever seen. It was just that Kurt was an overwhelming presence. Every girl Blaine knew had a crush on him, especially his own red-headed, mild-mannered bestie, and maybe her constant gushing had brainwashed Blaine. ("Blaine-washed," he chuckled.)

But Kurt wasn't a romantic candidate, right? Because Kurt liked girls and Blaine liked girls and their hair and their eyes and their hips and their waists and their teeth and their lashes and their lips and their butts and their breasts and Kurt. Blaine inexplicably, unbelievably, undeniably liked Kurt, no matter how much he convinced himself he didn't.

But he couldn't! His brother liked girls, his father liked girls, Kurt liked girls and GOSH, why did everything have to be so confusing in seventh grade?

Blaine switched off his lamp, rolled over on his side and clutched his pillow, pretending it had a set of crystal blue eyes and soft chestnut hair and smelled like vanilla and summertime.

Kurt couldn't sleep. It wasn't that he didn't want to, because right now he would give anything to be in sleep's conforting hold, safe under blankets of sky and stars that looked like a thousand pairs of eyes, watching him dream tranquilly. But there was a problem on his hands, and that problem was Blaine Anderson.

Not that Blaine could ever be a problem. Kurt was the problem. Kurt was the one who had Blaine's number filed as "Anderson<3" on his cell phone with Teenage Dream as the ringtone. Kurt was the one who got butterflies whenever Blaine threw a friendly arm around his shoulders and buried his face in the top of Kurt's head, because Blaine had grown about five inches over the summer and was now the tallest one in their group of friends. And it was Kurt who thought of creative ways to banish Quinn Fabray to another city, or at least lesbianism.

And mostly, it was Kurt who wished Chloe and Winter, two of his best friends in the entire world, would skip movie night on Friday. And that was the worst part.

He grabbed his iPhone off of his bedside table and looked at the time (1:06 am) breifly before composing a text to Aerosmith;D.

To: Aerosmith;D
Are you awake? I need to talk to somebody, and Shirley Temple got her phone taken away.

The response came within a few minutes.

From: Aerosmith;D
I WAS TRYING TO SLEEP, HUMMEL. Why don't you talk to Blaine?

Kurt frowned.

To: Aerosmith;D
What if it's about Blaine?

Winter sat bolt upright in bed, re-reading the five simple words that had made her day, her week, her life. She dialed Kurt's number.

He picked up on the first ring, probably so he didn't wake his father. "So?" Winter asked gleefully, not even bothering to let Kurt yell at her for calling at 1.oo in the morning.

"So what?" he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his half-lidded crystal eyes.

"So am I speaking to the future Mr. Kurt Anderson or what?"

Kurt sighed. "I wish."

This elicited a squeal of delight from Winter's Steven Tyler lips. "Tell me more tell me more tell me more!" she chanted.

"If I weren't so devestated I'd start singing Summer Nights," Kurt mumbled. "Winter," he started, but his throat seemed to close around the words he was trying to let out.

"Come on," she said soothingly. "You can tell me. You can tell me anything."

Kurt sighed again, which was really all he felt capable of right now. "I think I like Blaine."

"Oh, honey," Winter sighed as she heard Kurt sob into the phone. "It's okay, it's okay, you're okay." And she kept convincing him he was okay until he fell asleep, and she thought it was okay to hang up the phone.

Before going back to sleep herself, she thumbed a message to Chloe.

To: Shirley Temple
HE. ADMITTED. IT. <3

The next morning, Chloe forgot discretion and ran through the hallway until she found Winter.

"HE SAID IT???" she shreiked.

"YES!!!" Winter exclaimed, and they jumped up and down like seven year olds. It wasn't long until Quinn Fabray and Santana Lopez, both adorned in JVCheerios! jackets and Hot Topic too-skinny jeans, aproached them, giving them their best what-the-hell-are-you-nerds-doing faces. Chloe and Winter stopped jumping abruptly and looked up at the two girls. Well, Chloe looked up, Winter looked at eye-level because she wasn't a hobbit.

"H-hi?" Chloe asked, flashing them her best billion-watt smile, despite her nerves.

"Hi," Quinn offered, sounding only a little pissed.

"What's up?" Winter asked, an edge in her voice evident.

"Have you seen my boyfriend?" Quinn asked innocently.

"I mean, we know you're his groupies, so we figured we should go to you," the Latina added, flipping her long, dark ponytail.

"No, we haven't," Chloe admitted, seeming worried.

"We should ask Faggoty Anne, then," Santana sighed, seeming unamused. Quinn nodded and they proceeded towards Kurt's homeroom.

Chloe sighed. "I wish things weren't so hard for them. Because we both know Blaine feels the same way..."

Winter nodded. "Too bad the people in this town are so damn ignorant."

Without another word, the girls padded off in the directions of their homerooms, eyes on the ground as they wondered about their best friends' fates in this god-forsaken town.