When Kurt finally made his way downstairs on Saturday morning, it was to find the rest of his family huddled in the living room, glaring at the TV.

"I cannot believe this." Burt was saying, "I cannot believe he's getting away with this; how could they even listen to him? He's spreading lies! How can they not see that?"

"Shh, calm down Burt. It'll be okay." Carole murmured.

"What's going on?" Kurt asked, running his hand through his mop of bed-head and sitting down next to Finn. It had been a rough night last night, Kurt having only fallen asleep sometime after three am. Needless to say, his coffee date with Blaine at two would be most welcome, and not just for seeing the boy.

"Look for yourself," Finn muttered, clearly displeased as he gestured towards the television. It was then that Kurt actually took the time to watch what was going on. It seemed to be some sort of press conference: a middle-aged man with dark hair and a suit was standing behind the podium, and in front of an American flag, looking down at the press with serious eyes. Kurt scanned the ticker tape at the bottom of the screen and felt his blood freeze:

Political candidate Brom Anderson: "My heart goes out to all those needlessly killed in last night's mutant attack."

"Mister Anderson," a reporter was speaking, "Ann Beckett for the 'Lima Daily': In light of the attack last night, you say you place responsibility directly upon current congressman Hummel. What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Well, Ann," Mr. Anderson said seriously, "it's really quite simple. It is the responsibility of our leaders and politicians to do what's right by their people. They have the power to develop legislation for the benefit of our nation's safety. And right now, our leadership just isn't doing enough. The attack last night is irrefutable proof of the fact that congressman Hummel has been neglecting our protection against mutant attacks. It's not enough that we should be asked to rely on the discretion of the parents to turn over these monsters to the authorities. We cannot rely on tip-offs against them. It should not be so easy for so many of these mutants to just slip through the system until it's too late. And yet where are the added precautions? Why has nothing been done to stop this? Why has nothing been done to protect our people from the threat that faces us?

"Too many times these monsters are left to their own devices, or abandoned by parents instead of exterminated by the authorities. These monsters are allowed to live and grow amongst us until they're strong enough to rampage and attack innocent Americans. We need a system that can track them down and kill them before they endanger our lives – not after. And that's where our leaders have failed us. They have failed in their responsibilities to protect us, to guard us, and to rid us of these violent monsters once and for all."

Kurt was vaguely aware of the reporters next question – something about Anderson's plans for mutant control should he be voted for congress – but he couldn't for the life of him hear the answer. He was too busy staring blankly at the man onscreen, his name in unforgiving bold print at the bottom of the screen, and trying to keep his head from spinning so fast at the revelation. Kurt had the sudden distinct sensation of one who's had the floor suddenly disappear from beneath him. He was dimly aware that Burt was talking again, gesturing madly at the screen, but he couldn't quite focus. Instead, two very different emotions were swirling through his mind as though on a rollercoaster: he could feel the fear bubbling up in his chest as he replayed Mr. Anderson's words in his head: We need a system that can track them down and kill them ... to rid us of these violent monsters once and for all ... Death. The world wanted him dead. They wanted to find him and kill him and leave him out to rot, and Kurt would never be safe from them and there would be nowhere to hide.

And yet, the second emotion whirling in his mind - twirling and twining with the horror of this all - was calm. Which was crazy and nonsensical but Kurt couldn't help but feel it; because all he could think of was Blaine. Because how many other politicians were there in Ohio with the last name Anderson? And what were the chances that it was them at the gala last night? And what were the chances that it was they with a son called Blaine, and not this Brom Anderson?

The hate, the threats, the fear of who he was shone on the TV screen. That was supposed to be his inescapable reality - he was surprised at how easily he'd allowed himself to forget. A few hours with Blaine, and he'd forgotten it all. He hadn't been a monster or a murderer or a threat. He had been Kurt. And he knew he should feel even more horrified than he was about Brom Anderson being Blaine's father but he wasn't. He felt calm. Because Blaine had messaged him last night and wanted to see him. Because it meant that to Blaine it didn't matter who his father was, and what he was doing.

It meant that this – that politics - wouldn't interfere with how Blaine felt for him. Because really, nothing had changed. Did Blaine want him dead? The answer didn't matter. Kurt had prepared himself for it already, and he knew he couldn't chance finding out. He'd steeled himself with the knowledge that this wouldn't last forever. So Blaine's father meant nothing to them.

"This could ruin us all!" Kurt snapped to attention as his father stood up and began pacing round the room, "This is bad. He can't win, Carole, we cannot let him win!" Burt's voice was thick with emotion: anger or fear, Kurt couldn't tell.

"I know, sweetie," Carole said as she stood and joined him. The worry in her wide eyes was clear, "I'll go call Will. You two will need to start planning a counter-attack. You can figure this out; it'll be okay..."

Burt and Carole hurried out of the room and into the kitchen, leaving Kurt and Finn alone on the couch, the TV still playing before them. It had moved on from the press conference and was now showing the devastation at Lima Mall.

"It was Jacob Ben Israel." Finn said after a while. Kurt looked at him. "He destroyed the mall. He was already a loner and an outcast, right? Must've just finally snapped."

Kurt watched as Finn sighed and ran his hands through his hair, linking them round the back of his neck. "I can't believe none of us noticed."

"He wouldn't exactly have made it obvious," Kurt said dryly, but he knew exactly what Finn meant. Jacob Ben Israel – everyone at school knew Jacob Ben Israel. He had been right there; he had been right under their noses all along and they hadn't helped him. They could have found him. They could have stopped him ... but they hadn't even known. And now he was dead, and he'd taken others down with him.

The world could be a very cruel place.

Blaine was waiting on the street just outside the Lima Bean when Kurt pulled up at 1:55. The nervous way he'd shoved his hands in his pockets and the way his eyes searched the lot hopefully made Kurt's heart flutter uncontrollably. He could feel his cheeks flushing, despite the cool breeze that seemed intent on attacking him through his layers.

"Hey," Blaine said quickly as Kurt approached. His eyes lit up and his face broke into a smile, one that Kurt could not help but return.

"Hello to you too," he replied, and they stood for a moment before each other in silence, before breaking out into nervous laughter.

"We should – we should probably go inside," Blaine blushed, stepping forward to open the door. Kurt nodded and flashed him an amused smile, stepping though the entrance and entering the cosy warmth of the coffee shop. The babble of conversation and the soft clinking of the baristas filled the room, sounding somewhat muffled in the small busy space. Tables and chairs were cluttered around the shop, yet it seemed more homely than unpleasant, and Kurt decided that he liked it. He could feel Blaine's hand on his arm as he was led to the counter, gripping slightly at the material of his coat and not letting go, even as they ordered. The girl behind the counter noted their positions and smiled knowingly at them, making them both blush even more than before (if that were possible).

Yet despite all that, it wasn't until Blaine offered to pay for Kurt's drink that it really settled in on him what this was:

"You really don't have to," Kurt was saying, pulling out his wallet.

Blaine stilled Kurt's hand with his own though, smiling in amusement at him. "Kurt, please. After all, I'm the one who asked you here. Therefore the rules state that I get to pay."

Kurt didn't have to ask what these rules were. It was painfully obvious date etiquette.

Because this was a date.

Kurt was on a date.

With a boy.

The butterflies in his stomach were now crashlanding joyfully into his organs because he was on a date!

His mind was still all a-flutter as Blaine led him to a table in the far corner of the room, and it was only once they'd settled into their seats and set down their cups that Blaine began to speak:

"So," he smiled, somewhat ruefully, "Kurt Hummel, huh?"

Kurt's heart dropped into his stomach. "Yeah." He replied, because what else was there to say? Clearly, Blaine couldn't think of anything either because he simply nodded, and looked down at his coffee. They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them moving. Kurt wondered dimly at how comfortable it was, even with nothing to say. He supposed they should feel awkward, but when he looked over at Blaine, the other boy seemed to be deep in thought, not scouting for exits. Finally Kurt spoke up: "It doesn't have to matter, right?"

Blaine looked at him quickly, and Kurt could see the relief evident in his eyes. "You don't care?" he said, so hopeful it made Kurt's heart melt.

He looked down at the table thoughtfully before replying: "Well," he began, "I can't say your father's campaign doesn't bother me..." – he wants me dead for pete's sake –"but it doesn't have to have anything to do with us if we don't want it to."

Blaine nodded and shifted in his seat, sitting a little taller. "Alright: I won't expect you to support my dad politically if you don't expect me to support yours." He said decisively, "For the purposes of this relationship, they shall be not politicians, but fathers, and the fighting can stay in between them."

Kurt actually laughed as Blaine held out his hand stiffly to shake. It got even better when Kurt made no move to pull his hand away and Blaine made no move to let go.

"So," Blaine said, smiling cheekily and leaning forward, "Moving on then. Let's talk about something not political."

"Is fashion political?" Kurt asked sweetly, the ice now officially broken.

"Hmm," Blaine looked down thoughtfully, his thumb trailing over Kurt's knuckles, "I suppose we could manage that."

They talked for what seemed like hours, oblivious to the rapidly emptying coffee shop around them as the afternoon wore on. Kurt couldn't remember talking so much, and about so many different things in his life – not even with Rachel or Mercedes. Some moments they were calm and thoughtful, talking about things like school and homophobia. Other times Kurt was giggling uncontrollably as Blaine waxed poetic about top fourty songs and a capella, or Kurt was giving his own sarcastic summary of the latest Twilight movie, much to Blaine's amusement. By the time four-thirty rolled around they were sitting closing and sharing a chocolate chip cookie – or rather, Blaine was attempting to force-feed Kurt half of his.

"Blaine! I don't want it!" Kurt said, trying to keep his mouth closed as he pulled away.

But Blaine was adamant, holding tightly to Kurt's arm to keep him from escaping: "It's delicious Kurt! You haven't lived until you've-"

They were interrupted by Kurt's phone, the message tone buzzing loudly from the table.

"Don't try anything." Kurt warned Blaine sharply, reaching for his phone. Blaine held up both hands innocently.

Kurt unlocked his phone and scanned the message quickly before sighing. "It's my dad," he said ruefully, pocketing the device. "He needs me to come home,"

Blaine nodded and stood up, "I'll walk you to your car."

The air was far cooler as evening began creeping in, and Blaine seemed to enjoy the excuse of keeping close to Kurt's side.

Reaching his car, Kurt turned to stand between Blaine and the driver door, ready but unwilling to say good-bye.

Hidden between Kurt's navigator and the car beside it, they were practically invisible unless someone walked passed. This Kurt noted around the same time he realised how close Blaine was standing. The gap between the two cars was small, and he could feel Blaine's breath on his cheek they were so close. He could smell Blaine's cologne from this distance. All he could see were Blaine's eyes. Time seemed to stop then, as he watched Blaine watch him, knowing he felt it too. Blaine's eyes were wide with what seemed to be wonder, a feeling that matched Kurt's own. He could feel his back pressed up against the door of his car, which was a good thing; he wasn't certain he could stand on his own right now. Those eyes were so golden...

He saw Blaine moving as if from within a dream; the way he moved slowly forward, wide eyes glancing from Kurt's eyes to his mouth as he leaned in carefully, nervously. Kurt felt his eyes flutter shut, and a heady sort of anticipation until finally their lips touched. He could feel Blaine's mouth against his own, the soft pressure of his first kiss ... his stomach fluttered and his mind shut down. His chest filled with the joy one has before they laugh, yet laughing was the last thing he wanted to do. He could feel Blaine's hands on his waist, holding him. He wanted time to stop, he wanted to pull Blaine closer and never let go...

When they broke apart, Kurt couldn't be sure how long they'd been kissing. Can't have been too long, his brain supplied with ill-timed logic, you weren't breathing that whole time. His arms were wrapped around Blaine's neck and he couldn't remember how they got there. Blaine looked just as dazed, staring at Kurt like he couldn't believe what had just happened. Kurt supposed he should move, but his arms didn't seem to want to move from Blaine's shoulders, and it was then that Blaine let out a breathless giggle. Suddenly everything fell into place again and Blaine was resting his forehead against Kurt's and they were giggling like schoolchildren, arms wrapped around one another in the irrational hope that they would never need to let go.

"I guess I should go," Kurt said after a while, turning to rest his head on Blaine's shoulder.

"Do you have to?" Blaine whined.

Kurt laughed again and let himself pull back, till only his hands were rested on Blaine's shoulders. "I think my dad will worry if I never come home again."

Blaine nodded, and looked down, but didn't move his hands from Kurt's waist.

"There's... there's a football game on Friday at my Dalton," he said finally, "and me and some of the warblers are going together to the lake afterwards."

A pause. "Sounds like fun," Kurt said, tilting his head to look Blaine in the eyes.

"Will you come with me?"

Kurt smiled and leaned in to kiss Blaine on the cheek, "I'd be delighted."

After a few more kisses and some hurried goodbyes, Kurt finally made it into his car and Blaine to his own. He sat silently for a moment, staring through the windscreen blankly and just basking in the afterglow of Blaine, before sighing and pulling out his phone.

Opening the last text message, he read it over once more:

Blocked number:

ND emergency meeting. Six o'clock. Don't be late.