Kurt dressed up for dinner. The last thing he wanted to do was show up in his orientation mandated apparel and besides, he was sick and tired of wearing something so plain. That wasn’t the type of person he was. He’d helped clean up from their afternoon activities as quickly as he could so he could go back to his dorm and change into something much more dinner worthy. It was a layered look, a point that made him think of Blaine and all the layers he wore daily. It was simple – a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, suspenders and a vest over top, and dark skinny jeans stretched down over his legs, disappearing down into the boots he’d picked out.

Blaine might not have been able to see him, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t look his best.

He made his way off campus and up Home Street, pausing as he came upon 23B before heading up the short sidewalk to the front porch. There was no doorbell so he knocked, shifting back onto his heels as he waited for the door to be opened. He was nervous; there was no doubt about that. Blaine had been nervous when he’d asked him over, that had been pretty obvious. Kurt was beyond nervous about having dinner with him, though. Blaine had given him free reign to ask him whatever he wanted, and honestly he did have some questions that had been pushed to the back of his mind out of concern and the urge to be polite. A few more had been raised that morning, even.

All thoughts about nerves and questions were pushed out of his head as the door swung open in front of him, and he looked up to see a girl standing there. She looked annoyed – beautiful, but definitely annoyed. Her dark eyes swept over him in a clearly evaluating gaze, what might have bordered on leering had she looked at all interested. He opened his mouth to break the silence, ask if Blaine was there, but she beat him to it.

“Blaine!” she yelled over her shoulder. “You can’t see shit!”

“Um, yes?” Blaine called back meekly from wherever he was in the house. Kurt’s eyes just widened a bit, and he just stared at the girl in the doorway, who was bracing herself against the doorjamb and essentially blocking him from coming inside.

“Is your blind guy cane like a divining rod or something? Because you managed to find the biggest twink ever with your eyes literally closed.” Kurt’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline and he could feel the color draining from his face. Whoever she was, she was one of the rudest people he’d managed to interact with that side of Lima. If he could even consider it interacting, him just standing there while she shouted back into the rooms of the house. There was a sound of something breaking coming from what Kurt assumed was the kitchen, and the girl rolled her eyes, muttering something that sounded like “butterfingers” before pushing up out of the doorway and motioning Kurt inside as she disappeared back into a different room.

Kurt hesitantly walked into the house, closing the door behind him. It was sparsely decorated, which he hadn’t really known what to expect because how much interior decorating was really to be expected when one couldn’t see? There were movie posters littering the walls of the living room as he walked through, and he was a bit relieved to see that they were mostly from classic movies. He paused, crouching down to pet Roscoe where he was laying at the far end of the coffee table, and then followed the voices speaking in hushed tones into the kitchen.

* * *

Blaine had dropped a plate. He’d wanted to get to the front door before Santana when Kurt had gotten there, but he hadn’t heard the knock and then all his fears came true at once. He was used to Santana, or at least mostly used to her, but he’d been hoping to avoid the scenario of her being the person letting Kurt into their house. It went just as badly as he thought it would, and he’d even managed to break something in the process. So he crouched down to pick up the pieces.

“If you even dropped my favorite mug, I am going to destroy you,” Santana said as she came into the kitchen, crouching down beside him and swatting his hands away from the floor. “Stop it, you’re going to slice your hand open and then there will be debris and blood all over the place.”

“Was that really necessary?” Blaine asked in a low whisper, his face flushed. “Blind guy cane divining rod?”

“Count your blessings, hobbit,” Santana replied. “I almost asked if the divining rod was your dick.”

A throat clearing from the doorway made Blaine duck his head down and swallow hard, trying to regain some control and maybe be able to make his face less red. Santana’s last comment had just succeeded in making him want to sink into the floor and hide, and that had been before the very real possibility that Kurt had heard it.

“Can I help?” Kurt asked, and Blaine shook his head as he stood up.

“No, it’s almost done,” he said, taking a step back as Santana pressed against his leg. “Um, sorry about this,” he added, gesturing toward the floor. Well, the floor and Santana if he was being honest, because she merited much more of an apology than a broken plate.

“It’s fine,” Kurt said, and Blaine assumed he was just talking about the plate. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just… clumsy.” Santana snorted lightly from where she was on the floor, and Blaine really wanted to kick her. Not hard or anything, but just a nudge to shut her up.

“You should be fine,” she said as she got up, dumping the shards into the trash can. “Just don’t go through here in bare feet or anything. I’ll run the vacuum later.”

“Thanks, Santana,” he murmured, and she ruffled his hair a little before heading out. His hand automatically moved up to smooth down whatever she’d just messed up, but he was breathing a little easier with the familiarity of the gesture. It was something normal to hang onto while the rest of him was still freaking out about dinner and how embarrassing Santana was sometimes and especially just then in front of Kurt. “So, um, welcome.”

“This is a nice house,” Kurt said, stepping further into the kitchen now that Santana wasn’t on the floor. “From what I’ve seen of it, anyway. Also, almost anything would look great compared to my stuffy little dorm room.”

“Thanks,” Blaine said with a soft smile, turning a little to get into a cupboard and pulling down another plate to replace the one he’d dropped. “I like it pretty well. I’d imagine dorm rooms can get cramped really easily, especially with two people living in one. You have a roommate, right?”

“Indeed I do,” Kurt sighed. “Not the brightest guy and he takes up a lot of space. He’s just… big. Tall, football player, unaware of his body and is constantly knocking things over, big.”

“I guess I’m lucky that Santana doesn’t knock stuff over, at least,” Blaine said, not adding that he was much more likely to be the one of them to do that.

“Wait,” Kurt said, and Blaine tilted his head toward him. “That loud, devil woman is your roommate?” Blaine laughed, and then shushed him through his giggles.

“Don’t say that too loudly,” he said, fully grinning by that point. “I doubt she’d care for the title too much. Yes, she’s my roommate. She’s not that bad, I promise. She’s loud, yes, and highly inappropriate with absolutely no filter, but entirely lovable. Don’t ever let her know I said that, or I’ll never live it down. She’ll probably try to prove the lovable part wrong and then it really would be hell around here.”

“My lips are sealed,” Kurt said. “Are you sure I can’t help?”

“Well if you wanted to get drinks? The glasses are up here,” Blaine said, reaching over and touching a cupboard door. “I just want water, but you’re welcome to anything that’s in the fridge.” Kurt got out the glasses and moved over to the refrigerator, and Blaine got the food out of the oven.

It wasn’t anything special, just what he and Santana had been planning on having. He’d bribed her with the promise of a better dinner the next night, and she’d given in easily. Lemon and rosemary chicken seared and baked, with a side of potatoes that had been sliced into wedges and tossed in olive oil and herbs, roasted in the oven until they were well browned on the outside and creamy in the middle. The timer had gone off right before Santana had started yelling at him from the front door, but the few extra minutes it had all been in wasn’t going to hurt anything. Presentation wasn’t Blaine’s strong suit, but he figured that wouldn’t matter as much as the food tasting good. He dished it out as evenly as he could, and then Kurt’s hands brushed against his as he took the plates from him.

“I’ll go put these on the table if you want to get the oven turned off,” Kurt offered, and Blaine nodded, dropping the spatula he’d been using into the sink and reaching for the buttons on the stove. He didn’t mind Kurt helping, because it didn’t feel like he was doing it because he didn’t think Blaine could manage on his own. It felt a lot like when Santana was in the kitchen with him, and she’d just step in and do things just because she wanted to. He moved into the small dining room, sliding one of the chairs out and sitting down, feeling his nerves coming back again.

“This looks and smells amazing,” Kurt said. Blaine smiled at that, and traced his fingers lightly along the edge of the table.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “It’s nothing fancy, but it usually tastes pretty good. I don’t think I messed anything up, so it should be yummy.”

“I’m sure it will be.” Blaine cut into his chicken, but Kurt definitely beat him to taking a bite. “Oh wow, you can be a jerk to me every single day if it means you cooking me dinner like this in retribution. This is amazing, Blaine.” He paused, taking another bite. “Though I’m still a little fuzzy on how you were a jerk to me in the first place.”

“Oh, um, well…” Blaine stalled by taking a bite of his chicken, chewing very slowly before swallowing. “Yesterday, back in the auditorium, I was rude. I’d been having a bad day and it was stupid and I snapped at you for no reason. Sorry about that.”

“I didn’t take it as you being rude,” Kurt replied, his tone quiet. “I interrupted you, so out of the two of us, I’d probably be the rude one. I’m sorry you were having a bad day. Did it get better, at least?”

“It did,” Blaine said, adding in his head, thanks to you. “And you weren’t rude.”

“Alright, but I kind of was,” Kurt said, spearing one of the potato wedges on his fork. “That’s neither here nor there, though, because it’s done and past and now we’re here eating this delicious food and there’s no reason to go on about it.” It was a gentle dismissal of the matter at hand, and Blaine was glad for it. Honestly, he thought it easily could have gone back and forth with them arguing who had been the rude one the entire time they were eating, so the topic being closed was good. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Earlier, you said I could ask you stuff,” Kurt began slowly, and Blaine could hear it in his voice again, how he was carefully choosing his words. “What exactly did you mean by… stuff?” Blaine worried his lip between his teeth.

“Well, anything, I guess,” he said, absently twisting his fork between his fingers. “I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask me things because you think it’s a sensitive topic or you feel like you can’t bring it up. Sometimes when people ask about me being blind and all the stuff that comes with it, it makes me feel bad. It’s just in the way they ask, though. I don’t think you’d make me feel bad, and I don’t want you to feel like you can’t ask. I can hear you kind of… working around stuff, sometimes, and you shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Blaine, I...”

“It’s not like not talking about it makes it go away,” Blaine said, as if the words were practiced. They kind of were. It was what he was, and he’d come to terms with that as best he could. Sometimes it helped to actually talk about it, to have people who didn’t try and pretend like he was just like them. Those people were rare to find, though, because not everyone had the tact. Surprisingly, Santana and all her seemingly harsh words was one of Blaine’s favorites, because of how she didn’t act like he was some delicate invalid. Even his mother didn’t remember that on some days.

“I just don’t want to ask something that you don’t want to answer.”

“If I don’t want to answer something, I won’t answer it,” Blaine said simply. “It’s okay, Kurt. You’re, well, I’d like to say you’re my friend.” He started to blush a little, and he hated that because he’d been doing so well until that point, he thought. “I know we just met, but I feel really comfortable around you and I’d like us to be friends. If, I mean, if that’s okay. With you.”

“Of course we’re friends,” Kurt said, reaching his hand over and resting it on top of Blaine’s. His hand was soft and slightly cold, and his long fingers trailed over the back of Blaine’s hand as Kurt pulled his hand back. He paused, thinking, before speaking again. “So you haven’t always been blind. What you said earlier, about your phone…”

“Right.” Blaine nodded. “It’s a, shall we say, recent development in my life.”

“Can I ask what caused it? Was it a genetic thing, or medical?”

“Neither,” Blaine said, taking a bite of his chicken so he could have a minute to choose his words. “There was an, um, incident. I don’t really… want to talk about it, not right now. Some other time, maybe. Is that okay?”

“No, of course that’s okay,” Kurt said quickly. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.” He hesitated. “Had your family moved here before the incident?”

“No, we moved after,” Blaine said, shaking his head. “My dad’s job brought us here. Well, my dad’s job and my school. I did my senior year downtown at the Ohio School for the Blind.”

“Did you like it there?”

“I did.” Blaine bit his lip, shrugging. “It was a lot to adjust to, but I don’t think I would have done nearly as well picking up on stuff if I hadn’t gone there. I mean, I’m not saying I’m a master at reading braille but I’ve gotten a lot better at it. Plus they did a lot of work with me on day to day stuff, how to do it on my own. It’s a good school.” It was true, he’d learned a lot there. When they’d first realized his sight wasn’t going to come back, he’d felt completely lost and helpless. If he hadn’t gone there, hadn’t been in programs specific for people who had lost their vision, he doubted he’d be as independent as he was. “My turn. What year are you? I mean, I know you’re at least not a freshman.”

“I’m a sophomore,” Kurt said. “Not an illustrious upper classman, I’m afraid. Just a sophomore.”

“Okay, and when am I going to get to hear you sing?”

“What?” Kurt sounded a little startled, and Blaine couldn’t help but grin.

“That’s what you do, right? You’re a vocalist. I mean, you already got to hear me play and I’m not even a real pianist. It’s only fair.”

“I believe there could be great debate on whether or not you’re a real pianist, Blaine Anderson,” Kurt said, laughing lightly. “We’ll see, though. Some other time, maybe.” Blaine nodded, hearing his own words echoed back at him. It felt nice to know that the promise of some other time was there, that there was the reassurance of friendship that wasn’t just going to disappear once the night was done.

They sat talking about the upcoming semester until the food was gone. Kurt had taken a few of the general classes that Blaine was about to, so he was able to give some insight about them. Blaine knew what to expect from most of his classes, there wasn’t much cryptic to him about English classes, but a class titled Relationships and Dialogues? That was a bit more confusing. It had sounded intriguing, though, and he’d needed to choose a general class for his schedule, so he’d gone for it.

The table was cleared, more thanks to Kurt than Blaine. He’d tried, but Kurt had said something about how Blaine had cooked and that meant the dishes were his job. Blaine wiped off the table, needing to do something while Kurt loaded the dishwasher. He offered tea, but Kurt said he was fine, and that was how they ended up sitting on the couch in the living room. It was one of those times that Blaine really missed being able to see facial expressions, read social cues, but he just sat cross-legged and folded his hands in his lap.

“Relationships and Dialogues is a good class, I think you’ll like it,” Kurt said, picking up right where they’d left off. “It can get a little deep, but that depends on your teacher. When I took it last year, things were very involved. People got emotional, it was crazy. Not exactly what I’d expected from a college class.”

“Emotional?” Blaine asked, his brow furrowing. “Good or bad emotional?”

“I think it depends on what you have to bring to the table,” Kurt said carefully. “It’s a lot of opening yourself up and putting your personal experiences out there. I mean, as little or as much as you want, it’s not like they force you to share stories from your own life or anything. This might be a stupid question, but... do you write?”

“That’s not a stupid question.” Blaine was still a little stuck on the class, how he’d be expected to put his personal experiences out there. If it was about relationships, which he was assuming based on the class name it was, he didn’t have a whole lot to contribute. He’d have to go over the syllabus carefully to make sure it was something he could actually do. “I do write, sometimes. Why would that be a stupid question?”

“You’re an English major,” Kurt said, shifting a little next to him. “I mean, I would assume that you’d write at least a little, considering.” He paused again, waiting before continuing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Blaine said, and he couldn’t help but notice how his breath caught a little every time Kurt asked permission to ask him a question. He really needed to stop noticing things like that.

“You said going into music was something you would have loved to do,” Kurt said. “So why aren’t you?”

“It just wasn’t something I could do,” Blaine answered, folding his arms across his stomach. “I’d looked at the requirements before, you know, and I’d been thinking about it, but when it came time it was... off the table.” He chewed on his lip, then added, “plus my dad said I couldn’t, so that kind of made it a done deal.” That was the main reason, after all. He couldn’t exactly argue when his dad had uprooted their entire family and moved them across the state just for Blaine. There was the partial lie about how he’d gotten a better job, but he wouldn’t have been looking for one if it hadn’t been for Blaine. If it hadn’t been for the incident.

“Your dad said you couldn’t? Has he heard you play?” Kurt scoffed, and Blaine felt himself bristle a little.

“He didn’t say it to be mean,” he said defensively. “He was being realistic. Not that majoring in music is unrealistic,” he hastened to add. “He doesn’t think that. Just... me doing it, it didn’t make much sense. It’s a hobby that I love, and I’ll always have it. I don’t have to major in it for it to be something I can do for the rest of my life.” They were practiced words again, though that didn’t make them any less true.

“I guess that’s true,” Kurt said, but he didn’t sound completely sold. Blaine wasn’t either, truth be told. He’d wanted to go to school for music, for performing, but that had all gotten thrown to the side. It wasn’t just because of his dad, it was because of him. How he couldn’t see the music, so how was he supposed to learn? Those were the thoughts he just pushed away and tried not to think about. They bordered too much on self-pity, and he didn’t want that.

Anything that could have been considered a touchy subject was avoided for the rest of the night. They talked about orientation, how ridiculous it all was, and Kurt was able to give Blaine a lot of insight to the rest of the Orientation Leaders. There were so many conflicting personalities and that made it hilarious when they were all put together for meetings or planning or presentations, which made it surprising that only one person almost got their nose broken during Sex at Seven.

Time flew with the ease of conversation, and Blaine was grateful for the fact that Santana had avoided the first floor of the house while they sat there. Talking with Kurt was easy, comfortable, and it felt like something that was right. More than that, it felt like something they’d done so many times before. It was a little crazy how it felt like he’d known Kurt for years as opposed to a day. He’d never had a friend where it’d felt like that, not before at his old high school, not at the School for the Blind, not as far as he could remember.

By the time Kurt said he should probably leave, since he had to get up early the next morning and had a few things to take care of, it was nearing ten o’clock. Blaine could have sat there until some absurd hour of the morning just talking, but he knew that was ridiculous. He got up to walk with Kurt to the front door, fiddling with the lock and then holding it open for him so he could get through to the porch.

“Thank you for dinner,” Kurt said, reaching over and giving his hand a squeeze. Blaine bit his lip and grinned.

“You’re welcome. Thank you for coming, I enjoyed… all of this.” He waved his hand around, then shrugged with a light laugh. “Sorry, I’m kind of awkward with goodbyes.” As well as so many other things, his brain supplied.

“Me too,” Kurt offered. “So, no goodbyes then. I’m sure I’ll see you around tomorrow, or we’ll figure something out. Have a good rest of your night, Blaine.”

“You too,” Blaine said, and he felt the light touch of Kurt’s hand against his arm before he walked off the porch. He’d barely shut the door and latched it behind him when he heard the familiar creaking of the stairs, always evidence that Santana was trying to sneak her way down. Normally she just thundered her way down and that was the only sound, but when she was attempting to be sneaky, it was all in the creaks of the wood and not in the pounding of her feet against the steps. “San?”

“He’s gone?” she asked, giving up on being quiet since he’d noticed her, and jumping over the last few steps. “I can’t believe you blew off dinner with me for him, you jerk.” He knew she was just teasing, but still.

“I told you we’d have even better dinner tomorrow,” he said, getting back over to the couch and sitting down. She sunk down beside him and grabbed the remotes, turning on the television and scrolling through channels. He chewed on his lip, debating on whether or not to ask her a question. There were pros and cons, but mostly cons because it was Santana. “Can I ask you something without you making fun of me for it?”

“Probably not,” she replied, shifting back against the couch and settling on some Real Housewives show on Bravo before dropping the remote. Blaine just stayed silent, fidgeting with his hands. She sighed and muted the show. “Fine, I’ll do my best. What is it?”

“What does Kurt look like?” Blaine asked quietly, blush creeping up his neck.

“You mean other than a sprite?” Santana sounded like she was smirking, and she probably very well was.

“Just forget it,” Blaine mumbled. He should have known better than to ask her, especially considering how the beginning of the evening had gone when Kurt had first gotten there.

“Well I didn’t exactly check him out,” Santana continued a moment later. “He’s not my type.” Blaine wasn’t sure if she was going to say anything else, and that was perfectly fine if she didn’t, but then she nudged his shoulder. “He’s taller than you.” He’d known that, from when Kurt had led him over to their table at the café the day prior, how his arm had been higher than Blaine’s. It was a little thing, but the only thing he had to go on. “He’s… pretty, I guess? I don’t know. Delicate looking, pale, like a porcelain doll or something. There was enough product in his hair to be dangerous near any kind of open flame, I can tell you that much.”

That was all she said before unmuting the show and going back to watching, and that was fine for Blaine. He didn’t exactly want to draw more attention to the fact that he really wished he could see Kurt, at least just once so he could have a picture in his head. It was a bizarre thing, getting to know someone, talking to them, spending time with them, and never knowing what they looked like. Maybe it wouldn’t have seemed weird if he’d always been that way but because he hadn’t, he had this need to know.

When he went to bed that night, he laid there and fell asleep still trying to piece together a picture of Kurt.