They spent the day walking side by side through the streets of Verona, letting their arms brush occasionally, and pointing out objects to each other that caught their interest. Kurt was thrilled that this was one of his rare days off, as the Arena was being reset for a performance of Aida.

When they joined the crowd of tourists huddled under Juliet's balcony, Kurt goaded Blaine into repeating the entire balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet. It turned out that Blaine had played Romeo in a high school production of the Shakespeare play, having to “borrow” a Juliet from a neighboring girls' school, since Blaine went to an all-boys academy. He still remembered most of the lines, and Kurt teased him when he flubbed one or left one out.

After Blaine finished a completely cheesy rendition of the famous scene under the balcony with scenery chewing enthusiasm, complete with getting onto one knee, they walked along the wall reading declarations of love left on scraps of paper by thousands of tourists on the rock wall, each secured with chewing gum. It was both sweet and a little bit disgusting. Blaine turned to a couple and said something to them in rapid Italian that Kurt couldn't hear over the crowd noise. Kurt has figured out a couple of hours ago that Blaine was nearly as good with Italian as Kurt was, Kurt, because he needed it for work, Blaine, just because he loved languages. Blaine turned back to Kurt flourishing a borrowed pen and a small piece of notebook paper.

“Turn around,” Blaine motioned with his hand.

Kurt turned his back to Blaine, and he felt Blaine place the piece of paper on his shoulder blade and begin writing. When he removed the paper, Kurt turned back to face Blaine who held his hand out, palm open, near Kurt's chin. “Give me your gum.”

“No, Blaine. Gross. I'm not going to spit my gum into your hand.”

“Then you put it up.” Blaine handed the piece of paper to Kurt.

Drawn on the page in red ink was a big heart and an arrow with the words Blaine + Kurt scrawled on the inside.

“You're not serious.”

“It's Juliet's balcony, Kurt. You've got to get into the spirit.”

“It's not really Juliet's balcony, you know. Shakespeare never traveled to Verona.”

“That's not very romantic.”

“OK, fine.” Kurt pulled his gum from his mouth, stuck it on the wall, and pressed the paper into it. “I've put my disgusting, diseased gum on the wall. Is that romantic enough for you? Are you happy now?”

“Incredibly,” smiled Blaine, leaning in and kissing Kurt on the cheek. Kurt's face turned pink and he stared down at his shoes. Blaine linked his arm through Kurt's.

“Come on. I saw a great café where we can get some wine.” Then he pulled Kurt out of the courtyard and into the street.

Twenty minutes later they were sitting in a sidewalk café enjoying a carafe of house wine. Kurt was nibbling delicately on a carrot stick seasoned with olive oil and sea salt. The sun was warm on their faces and the air smelled of rosemary and ancient mysteries.

“What's the best part of Italy?” asked Blaine.

“Well,” Kurt considered for a minute,” As a gay man, I would have to say…the shoes.”

Their eyes both went to the feet of the next man who passed on the sidewalk.

“Prada,” they both sighed in unison. Kurt giggled.

“The shoes are the best thing?” Blaine asked, “Not all the beautiful men?”

“The beautiful men are a bonus,” admitted Kurt. “And the fact that they're all so well dressed. Look at them,” he gestured all around the piazza. “Every one of them is stylish. They would probably hyperventilate if you put them in a Walmart. But what's with the women? They look kind of…trashy.”

As if to emphasize the point, a slender woman walked by, tottering on five inch stilettos. Her turquoise pants were so tight that you could see the outline of her thong through the fabric.

“Ewww,” both men said together.

“They're not all trashy,” Blaine reasoned. “Some of them look very nice.”

“True,” Kurt admitted. “But the men look great.” He scanned the piazza.

“What else do you, as a gay man, love about Italy?” Blaine asked.  Kurt got a devilish twinkle in his eye as he considered this question.

“Well, as a gay man, you have to love all the bidets.”

“The bidets?”

“You know, Blaine, the thing in your bathroom that looks like a teeny, tiny urinal.”

“I know what a bidet is, Kurt. I'm just not sure how that's the best part of gay Italy.”

“Oh, come on. You know how important it is to be…fresh.” Kurt continued to tease. “Or maybe you don't worry about it so much, since you always bottom.” It was an outlandish supposition, even in jest, and Kurt couldn't believe he was being so bold, but it was in fun, and it felt right to joke with Blaine in this way. Blaine, however, blushed a deep red and turned away, hand coming up to cover his face.

In a quiet voice he said, “I don't, actually.”

Kurt was confused, “Don't what?”

“I don't bottom.”

“Oh.” Kurt was a little embarrassed but also intrigued. “You top exclusively? You don't seem that…dominant.”  He gulped.  "No offense."

Blaine looked away and cleared his throat. “I dont top, either.”

Kurt's eyes went wide. “You don't…You never…Seriously?”

Blaine's reply sounded a little defensive, “Not all gay men are into anal sex, Kurt.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kurt replied placatingly, “But you…you kind of have a reputation.” He paused. “God, I'm sorry. This is none of my business, and I've embarrassed you. Shall we change the subject?”

Blaine seemed to come back to himself. He took Kurt's hand across the table. “No, I want to explain. Yes, I've dated a lot of men. I guess I have ‘spread myself around' as you so delicately put it on the plane, but some things are…intimate. Some things require a real closeness, and I've just never felt that close to anyone. Maybe that line is arbitrary. Maybe once you get naked with someone, it doesn't really matter what you do, but it doesn't feel that way to me.”

“Oh.” Kurt didn't know what to say. He just looked at Blaine for a long time. Finally, he spoke. “I'm sorry again for what I said on the plane. I was upset, and I got bitchy. I have no right to judge you."

"You weren't completely wrong, Kurt. I have probably been with too many men, many for all the wrong reasons. Some of it was just…well, you were twenty once.”

“When I was twenty, Id been in a committed relationship for two years.”

“Oh, right. OK, well, you skipped twenty and went straight to thirty. But for me, the band was taking off, and people were throwing themselves at me, both men and women, and it was flattering and intoxicating, and I was too immature to handle it in the right way. All these people wanted me, they made themselves available to me, and I was too stupid to say ‘no.  I didnt get that meaningless sex kind of chips away at your soul. After a while, dating beautiful men, going down on them, pushing the limits…it just became a way of life. Something to do. A way to pass the time when I was on the road. Flirting and kissing and even sucking cock became like a hobby, like playing tennis or jogging. It wasn't until I hit thirty that I really asked myself, ‘What am I doing?' All the men didn't make me feel fulfilled, or special, or happy. Just the opposite, they made me feel really lonely.”

“So, what, you're looking to settle down now? Get married? Have kids?” The questions sounded more challenging to Kurts ear than he intended them.  After working so hard to get the littlest piece of personal information from Blaine, Kurt wasn't sure how he was supposed to respond to this revealing confession.

“I dunno, Kurt. I don't know what I want. I just know that I don't want more of what I've had.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Kurts tone was now softer, and he squeezed Blaine's hand. “Thank you for telling me that. I know you're a very private person. I feel flattered that you trust me enough to share that with me.”

Blaine looked into Kurt's eyes. “Maybe I'm finally growing up.”

“Maybe you are.” The silence between them felt heavy for a moment.

Then Kurt teased, “So, tell me some more about how sucking cock is like tennis.”

The rest of the afternoon was passed in pleasant banter. They window shopped and people watched and took in the scenery in Verona. Blaine revealed that he'd been to Verona a few times before, having played some intimate concerts at the Teatro Romano. They pointed out places that they knew, memories that they had of previous visits to the romantic city. By dinner time, they found themselves tucked into the corner of a medieval church converted to a pizzeria, sharing a meal over flickering candlelight. The food was delicious, the conversation was easy, and Kurt found that he didn't want the evening to end.

“Where are you staying?” Kurt asked.

“Venice. I have some promos to do tomorrow morning for the concert. There's a train leaving tonight at 11; it will get me to my hotel around midnight."  Blaine paused, "Any chance I can persuade you to come with me?”

“I can't. I have rehearsal in the morning.”

“When's your next day off?”

“I have another performance in four days. Then I have a day off the next day.”

Blaine leaned forward and took Kurt's hand. He rubbed his thumb across the back of Kurt's hand, then he pulled Kurt's hand to his mouth and kissed a knuckle, then another one with a mouth that was hot and firm and promised an endless array of delights.

“I'll come back for your performance. Will you meet me after and come to Venice with me? Spend your day off with me in Venice?”

“Where will I stay?”

Blaine paused, opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, “I'll get you a room in my hotel. There's no pressure, Kurt. I just want to spend more time with you.”

Kurt considered it for a moment. Then he nodded his head slowly. “OK. I'll go. Thank you.” He smiled. “I look forward to it.”

“Me, too.”

Neither man wanted the evening to end, but Kurt needed to get up early for rehearsals, and Blaine had a train to catch, so after they paid the bill, Blaine walked Kurt back to his apartment building. They held hands and didn't say much; they were just contented to be with each other.

When they reached the dark street in front of the Residence all'Adige, they turned to face each other. Blaine put his hands on Kurt's shoulders and looked at Kurt in the moonlight, his eyes fixed on Kurt's mouth. Kurt licked his lips nervously, and Blaine slowly lowered his mouth to Kurt's.

Just as their lips touched, Kurt stepped back.

“Kurt? What's wrong?”

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, but, instead, a sob escaped his lips. Try as he might, he couldn't speak, and to his horror, tears were coursing down his face.

“Oh, Kurt, no.” Blaine stepped closer and pulled Kurt into an embrace, rubbing his back with one hand and putting the other to the back of Kurt's neck. He held Kurt until he felt his crying subside.

“Listen,” Blaine said, “It's OK. We can talk after I see your big triumph in a few days. Or we don't have to. I'm serious about not pressuring you. We can take this as slow as you need to. Or we can just be friends. I just want to spend time with you, OK?”

He stepped back and took Kurt's face in both of his hands. “OK?”

Kurt nodded.

Blaine leaned in and kissed Kurt's tear stained cheek. “I'll see you in a few days.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the night.