“So how’s work, Sam?” Kurt asked as they lounged inside of the house, seated on couches.

The sun was beginning to set and Carole had popped in ten minutes ago to announce dinner would be ready in an hour and a half. Kurt very carefully kept his expression controlled when Carole had also mentioned Blaine would be joining them.

“Good, so far,” Sam answered with an easy smile. “There’s been some problems due to the . . . tension in Europe, but everything is running smoothly.”

Kurt’s brow furrowed. “Tension?” he asked cautiously.

Sam waved a hand. “Nothing to be truly concerned about,” he said. “It’s just the bitter murmurings of the losers from the Great War, that’s all. With time, it will be forgotten.”

Kurt bit his lip. “You don’t think there’ll be another war, do you?” he asked. He didn’t remember the Great War, but his father had fought in it and had told Kurt stories about it when he was growing up.�

“No,” Karofsky spoke up. Kurt glanced at him, his brow wrinkling a bit at the way Karofsky was staring intently at him. “As Sam said, it’s just left-over tension. It will sort itself out in the end.”

Kurt relaxed a bit. Sam and Karofsky had both spent more time in Europe than he had - surely if they thought there would be no war, there wouldn’t be. Kurt could only hope.

“How are things for you, little brother?” Sam asked, grinning. “Found a girl that will have you yet?”

Kurt noticed Karofsky tense out of the corner of his eye and frowned. “I’m more concerned with my studies, Sam, you know that,” he said. “And now that school is over, I need to focus on getting work.”

“Is your plan still to move to New York in the fall?” Sam asked, grin falling away.�

Kurt nodded. “Father is still having trouble dealing with it, but that would be the plan.”

“I’ll talk to him for you,” Sam said. Kurt blinked in surprise and Sam laughed. “Oh, come now, Kurt. I’m your big brother, you think I never realized just how much you like performing? And you’re damn good at it too. It’d be a shame for you to give that up because Father doesn’t want to let you go.”

Kurt flushed and smiled at Sam warmly. “Thank you,” he murmured. “That means a lot to me.”

With Carole and Sam on his side, Kurt felt much more secure about convincing his father to let him go to New York.

“Performing?” Karofsky asked and Kurt started - he’d forgotten Karofsky was in the room.

“Kurt here is a regular showman,” Sam said proudly. “Songbird and everything too. Hey, Kurt, are you and Rachel singing for us tonight?”

Kurt laughed. “You know us too well,” he said. “Rachel insisted on it.”

“What song?” Karofsky asked, leaning forward in his seat. Kurt met his eyes. They were blue, he realized, and very focused on him.�

“Happy Days Are Here Again,” Kurt answered, still uneasy, “and we’re, um, mixing it together with another song. Get Happy, from the Nine-Fifteen Revue?”

“That’s a very interesting idea,” Karofsky said, scooting even closer. Was Kurt imagining the way his eyes dipped down, as if to watch Kurt’s mouth? “Mixing two songs together, that is.”

“It was my idea,” Kurt said, smiling a bit, trying to shake of his odd tension.�

Karofsky was just asking questions, actually acting interested about his friend’s strange brother, which was a change from Sam’s childhood friends. They’d always viewed Kurt as something of an oddity. Kurt had to stop making something out of nothing. Karofsky was just being polite. “They actually work quite well together.”

“I insist you give us a solo while I’m here,” Karofsky murmured. “Then I’ll get the chance to say I heard you perform before you make it big, yeah?”

Kurt swallowed. Karofsky was being polite, he was, but there was something--off about him. Like underneath his polite, charming words, there was some sort of slick greasiness clinging that couldn’t quite be hidden. Kurt couldn’t quite bring himself to like Karofsky.

The door opened and Kurt turned away from Karofsky with relief to see Santana coming in, dressed in a pale blue dress, her hair braided away from her face. She stopped upon seeing them there, her eyes widening, then narrowing with interest.

“Santana, you remember Sam,” Kurt said, standing to take her elbow. “And this is Sam’s friend from work, David Karofsky. Karofsky, this is our cousin, Santana Puckerman.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Karofsky said, standing to bow to her. Santana curtsied in response, surprisingly graceful.

“We were just discussing the entertainment tonight,” Kurt said, attempting to draw Santana in to the conversation.�

Santana smiled. “Did Rachel tell you that we’re singing a duet?” she asked.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. “Are you now? How on Earth did you manage that? Rachel barely lets me sing a duet with her, and I’m her own brother.”

“She doesn’t even let me sing with her,” Sam cut in, laughing. “She says our voices don’t suit each other.”

Santana’s smile deepened. “I think she just wants to make me feel at home here,” she said. “You see, both my brother and I just moved here, due to our father being a drunken, abandoning bastard.”

Silence. Kurt sighed heavily. “Santana,” he said tiredly, “language, please. We have a guest.”

“Oh, I’ve heard worse,” Karofsky said, smiling at Santana. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said to her, more gently. “I’ve met men who are like him and I’ve never much cared for them.”

Santana’s eyes brightened and she moved closer, coming to sit by Karofsky on the couch. “Why are you visiting with us, Mr. Karofsky?” she asked.

Karofsky turned a little to face her. “My family’s dead, Miss Puckerman,” he explained. “Sam asked me to come with him out of pity, I guess, but I was glad to come all the same.”

Sam laughed. “Not pity, Karofsky! It’s nice to have a friend with me while I brave the familial waters once more.”

Kurt reached across and slapped his shoulder. “We’re not that scary!” he teased. “Or has Europe softened your bravery, dear brother?”

“Ah, your words wound me!” Sam proclaimed, dramatically placing a hand over his heart. “I see you’ve yet to lose the sharp edge of your tongue, Kurt.”

“I believe Yale only sharpened it further,” Kurt agreed.�

They shared smiles. Kurt looked back at Karofsky, who was back to talking to Santana in a lowered voice. They were both smiling. Kurt bit his lip, uneasy for reasons he couldn’t name.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen Santana,” Sam murmured, taking Kurt’s elbow and leading him to the window, away from the other two. “She’s grown into a lady when I wasn’t looking.”

“Maybe too much of one,” Kurt muttered, glancing back. Santana laughed, her head tilting back, exposing her throat.

Sam chuckled. “Let her play her wiles, little brother. Karofsky knows better than to take her up on it.”

Kurt frowned. It was true that Karofsky wasn’t looking at Santana with desire at all, but there was something in his face, some emotion that Kurt couldn’t put a name to, and he didn’t trust it. And Santana, she was flirting, but there was something--calculating behind it, something cold and ruthless that wasn’t there when other women Kurt knew flirted with men they liked.�

He found himself hoping that Karofksy would leave soon, even if Sam found his company soothing. There was something dangerous brewing in Karofsky, even if Kurt didn’t know what, and he wanted it far away from him and his family.

-

Rachel pouted as she stomped across the yard, arms crossed over her chest. Santana was so mean and she kept telling Rachel to sing more softly and to stop making ridiculous faces. Rachel wanted to punch her in the nose but her father had told that she should stop doing that and she had a feeling he would dislike it more when it was her cousin and not some third-rate bully at her school who pulled her hair. And it wasn’t her fault Santana had chosen a song that Rachel naturally empathized with and thus had to act out as she sang it.�

“Stupid Santana,” she muttered.�

“The new house guests giving you trouble, jitterbug?”�

Rachel jumped and spun on her heel. “Blaine!” she cried, launching herself at him. Blaine laughed and picked her up, spinning her around. When he set her down, Rachel immediately started talking: “Santana wants to sing with me too but she’s so mean Blaine and Kurt never tells me to sing more softly or to stop making strange faces--”

Blaine smiled at her. Rachel felt her face start to flush. “You sing wonderfully, Rachel,” he promised her, and Rachel’s flush deepened. “I’m sure Santana is just . . . trying to get situated. Don’t be too hard on her, okay? She’s been through a lot from what your parents told me.”

Rachel pouted. “That doesn’t mean she’s allowed to be mean,” she muttered.

Blaine laughed. “I’m sure you gave as good as you got, doll.” Rachel blushed again, remembering the remarks she’d made about Santana’s hair. Blaine considered her for a moment, then said, “Hey, Rachel, would you mind doing a favor for me?” Rachel perked up as Blaine handed her an envelope. “Can you give this to Kurt before dinner starts?”

Rachel stared at the envelope, confused. Blaine wanted her to give it to Kurt? But why? What was in it? Did it have something to do with the strange scene at the fountain? Burning with curiosity, she carefully took the envelope from Blaine’s hand, folding it in her fingers.

“Of course!” she said, her voice too high and breathy. She immediately adjusted her tone as she added, “It’s nothing at all!”�

Blaine grinned at her. “Thanks, doll! Let them know I’ll be there in a few, alright?”

As Rachel turned to run back to the house, she almost felt guilty that she planned to read the letter before it ever reached Kurt’s eyes. But still, she reasoned, it wasn’t like Blaine didn’t realize that could happen.

-

Blaine watched as Rachel ran away, a fond smile on his face. Rachel had had a crush on him ever since she was old enough to have crushes, but Blaine found it endearing. Rachel as a whole was endearing - loud and personable, with a voice that would make her famous someday. Blaine loved her a lot--as a little sister. Even if he had been attracted to women, Rachel was not only too young for him but also someone he considered family. He could never feel towards her what he felt towards--

Well, Kurt.

Blaine continued down the path, whistling lightly. He wondered how Kurt would take his message, if he would even respond to--

Blaine paused, mid-step, a stray memory playing out in his head. After he’d been fitted for his suit, he’d gone back to his room to grab his letter and stick it in an envelope. At the time, he’d been in a hurry and he’d just grabbed the first folded piece of paper by his typewriter. Suddenly, with vicious, sickening clarity, he remembered the other letter he’d written, the one he’d also, for reasons only God knew, folded as well. The one that--that--

Blaine closed his eyes. He’d set the filthy letter on the--had it been the right or the left side of the typewriter? He strained his brain to remember and then, with a sinking heart, realized it had been the left. The same side he’d grabbed the letter he’d just sent off with Rachel from.�

“Rachel!” Blaine half-screamed. He could still see her head, but she was too far away to hear him and by the time he reached her, even running at his fastest, she would’ve already reached the house.

Blaine felt a spike of panic. He’d considered the possibility that Rachel would read the letter, but the one he’d thought he was sending had been innocent enough that Blaine hadn’t worried about it. Now though, now Rachel had--had--

“Fuck,” Blaine breathed.

-

Rachel tore the letter open as soon as she was out of Blaine’s sight. Eagerly, she unfolded the page and scanned the words. Her brow furrowed.

Kurt,

Sometimes, in my dreams, I suck your cock.

It wasn’t signed.

Rachel knew--sort of knew--vaguely knew what that word meant. A blush crept up her neck. What did it mean, though, that Blaine had sent it to Kurt? She didn’t know that women and men could even do--do that, let alone a man and another man! Wasn’t it forbidden? What kind of--pervert was Blaine, that he wanted to do such unnatural and strange things with her brother? That he dreamed about it?

Rachel slowly folded the paper back up, her heart hammering in her throat. Should she give it to Kurt? Part of her wanted to, just to see what his face would look like, how he’d react. Another part, a larger part, shied away from the thought of that. She remembered the fountain and wondered for a moment, chest tightening, if Kurt would react with disgust or--or--

“Rachel?”

Rachel jumped and spun around on her heel, wide-eyed. Kurt stood behind her, dressed in sharp black suit, a grey-blue bowtie around his neck, bringing out the color in his eyes. The suit made Kurt look elegant and older, more mature.

“Rachel, what is it?” Kurt asked with concern, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Rachel flinched and Kurt drew back, brow furrowing. “What’s happened?”

“It’s nothing!” Rachel said quickly, her voice too high and breathy, the way it always got when she lied. She prayed that Kurt wouldn’t notice. Before she could argue herself out of it, she thrust the piece of paper at Kurt. “Blaine said to give this to you.”

Kurt’s mouth softened with surprise. “Oh,” he murmured, taking the note from Rachel’s hand gingerly, as if he expected it to bite him.�

Rachel watched as he stared down at it for a long moment before flipping it open. She almost wanted to look away as he scanned the words, as a blush rose up his neck, curling around his ears, as his eyes darkened, not with disgust or anger but--

“I have to get ready,” Rachel said hurriedly.

“Rachel!” Kurt cried as she turned on her heel and started to run. “Rachel, wait! Did you read this! Rachel!”

Yes, Rachel thought as she continued to run through the house, up the stairs, yes I read it, Kurt, and I could accept him wanting you, but how can you want him back? How could you do that to Father, to Mother, to--

“To me,” Rachel whispered as she slowed to a halt.�

She had been in love with Blaine since she was a child. The thought of him not just rejecting her for another, older girl, but for her very male brother pinched her heart until it hurt. And Kurt knew how she felt about Blaine, because he was the one she’d always confided in, and yet he still--he still--

Wants Blaine, Rachel thought, shivering a little. Kurt still desires him. She didn’t fully understand the look in Kurt’s eyes as he read that note, but she’d enough films to realize that it wasn’t simple friendship on Kurt’s mind.�

“How can they desire each other?” Rachel whispered as she pushed open the door to her bedroom. “They’re both men.”

She knew that men and women could desire each other, that it could only happen after they were legally wed. But she had never heard anyone speak of men loving other men, or women other women. Was it normal? Did it happen to people besides Kurt and Blaine, or were they just . . . strange? What will my father say? she wondered. What about mother?

“Rachel?” A knock on her door. Rachel didn’t think she’d ever be so grateful to hear Santana’s voice instead of Kurt’s. “We need to talk!”

“What is it, Santana?” Rachel asked, moving forward to open her door.

Santana stood in her doorway, still not dressed for dinner, eyebrow raised. “You stormed out before we could make our final song selection,” she said.

Rachel sighed heavily. Music seemed like the least important thing going on right now. “You can just sing what you like,” she muttered. “Do a solo.”

Santana’s stared at her before her lips spread in a wide smile. “Really?” she asked, happier than Rachel had ever seen her. Rachel nodded. “Well then! What brought about this change of heart, doll?”

Rachel bit her lip. She didn’t have many friends, and none of them were female. The only person she’d ever trusted with her confident thoughts was Kurt, and she couldn’t talk to him about the thoughts whizzing about in her head. But . . . she didn’t really trust Santana that much. Santana was all smirks and sensuality, too cruel and confidently rude to be a bosom friend.�

Santana did, however, seem to know more about the desires of adults than Rachel did.

“Can you keep a secret?” Rachel asked.

-

“It said cock on it?” Santana asked, her voice interested and without scorn.�

Rachel nodded, blushing furiously. “It said Blaine wanted to--” she bit her lip.

“Suck Cousin Kurt’s cock,” Santana said, sounding more thoughtful than disgusted.

“Can men even do--do that with each other?” Rachel blurted out. “I thought only men and women--”

Santana waved a hand. “I’ve heard stories,” she murmured. “Of men who lie with other men, and the same for women. It doesn’t happen often, and it’s--it’s very looked down upon, considering how freaky it is, but it does happen.”

“Oh,” Rachel whispered. Then, voicing her hidden fear, “Do you think Kurt--”

“I don’t know,” Santana murmured. “Has he ever been into any girls?”

Rachel wanted to say yes, to list of Kurt’s girlfriends but--

Kurt had never had a girlfriend. Had never even wanted one, for as long as Rachel could remember.

“No,” she said quietly, “he hasn’t.”

Santana hummed. “Then he might be freaky like Blaine. Are they--together in that way? Have you noticed them acting more friendly together lately?”

“No,” Rachel said immediately, then added, hesitantly, “Well--”

“Yes?” Santana asked, eyes gleaming with interest.

“It’s just--Kurt and Blaine were by the fountain yesterday and they acted weird, that’s all. And I feel like they’ve been fighting, but I don’t know why.”

“Fighting, huh?” Santana murmured. “Maybe Kurt isn’t a queer then. Maybe he doesn’t want Blaine’s attentions.”

Rachel filled up with hope. “You really think so?”

Santana shrugged. “If he was, why wouldn’t he just be with Blaine? From what I’ve heard, queers rut like animals in heat. They can’t help themselves.”

Rachel’s entire face was burning. No one had ever used language like that in front of her. “Oh,” she muttered. “Then we need to stop Blaine!” she proclaimed. “Maybe I could show the letter to Father--”

“Kurt has it,” Santana reminded her.

“I could steal it from his room,” Rachel said, chewing her lip. “Father wouldn’t like a--a queer going after Kurt, he could kick Blaine off the grounds!”

Santana raised an eyebrow, her lip curling in amusement. “How vicious,” she murmured. “Haven’t you known this chump since you were in diapers, doll?”

Rachel felt guilt threaten to sweep over her, but she pushed it down. “Kurt’s my brother,” she insisted. “If he doesn’t want Blaine’s attentions, then Blaine needs to either go or stop pushing!”

Santana shrugged. “If you say so. When are you going to take the letter back?”

Rachel frowned, thinking it over. “During dinner,” she decided. “I’ll go to the bathroom or something. And then afterwards, I’ll bring it to Father.” She looked over at Santana, who was smiling and nodding. “You won’t say anything about this to anyone, will you?” she asked nervously. “Not until I talk to Father?”

Santana pressed a finger to her lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”