Oh, Jesus, it's been a while since I last updated. This has been a really hard slog to type up. On the plus side, though, I've got chapter nine and about half of ten written. On the down side, nine is another 5k+ chapter, and ten will be too. So it'll be a while between updates again :(

Anyway, on with the chapter! Please leave a review to let me know what you thought :)

On Saturday morning, Mercedes is the one to wake Kurt up, not the other way around. This is probably the first time Kurt has slept in since...oh, since high school, perhaps before. He can never seem to manage to stay in bed beyond eight o'clock, even on weekends; usually, he has to be up and doing something - time spent lying in bed is time wasted. But this morning Kurt's dream, of a small, dark room and the sweet brush of lips against his own, is far too good to rush away from as soon as he ordinarily would.

"Kurt," Mercedes says, rustling his duvet and shaking his shoulders. "Come on, get up. You need to come with me to the airport, remember?" Kurt groans, his voice raspy with sleep, and Mercedes clucks her tongue. "Oh, baby, did you have a bit too much to drink?"

"I'm not hung over."


"I'm not!" Kurt protests. "I had two drinks; I was too busy talking to Blaine to even finish the second one."

"Okay, then, you're not hung over," Mercedes says. "What's up, then?"

"Good dream."

"About...?" Mercedes draws the sound out, waiting for an answer.

"None of your business," Kurt says. Mercedes groans and scowls.

"Mean. Now, come on! Get up and get dressed; my flight leaves at one."

She leaves, and Kurt lies in bed a minute longer, trying to recapture his dream. Everything has evaporated with Mercedes' intrusion, leaving Kurt with only a fading sensation of searing warmth and want. He sighs, giving the dream up as lost, and climbs out of bed, scrabbling around in his drawers for some clothes. Once dressed, he wanders out into the kitchen for some breakfast in the hope that food will make him feel more awake than he currently does. Chewing on a morsel of toast, he joins Mercedes in the living room.

"What time is it?" he asks, sitting down in the arm chair near the door.

"Half ten," Mercedes replies. "We probably ought to leave at about eleven - who knows how bad the traffic'll be, after all, and I can't miss this flight."

"Okay," Kurt says, swallowing the last of his jam-slathered bread. "How about we go now and get some coffee before we set off? There's this place down the road that's brilliant."

"Sounds like a plan."

Twenty nine minutes later, Kurt and Mercedes are sat in the back of a cab, coffee cups in hand and Mercedes' luggage piled into the boot as the make their way, every-so-slowly, towards JFK airport.

The traffic, as Mercedes predicted, is not brilliant. Kurt has seen it worse, much worse, and it isn't likely to make Mercedes miss her flight; but it is certainly enough to slow their progress significantly. This means Kurt is bored. Very bored. And because he's bored, he decides to ask Mercedes about her having gone home with Wes las night, which she doesn't seem inclined to mention. She blushes, but says she doesn't know what he's talking about.

"Don't lie, 'Cedes; Santana told me she saw you leave with him."

Mercedes snorts and says 'Santana!" derisively.

"Yes, Santana," Kurt counters. "She's bitchy, but not a liar. Besides, you two looked pretty cosy from what I saw."

"Yeah, when you weren't busy staring at Blaine."

"Excuse me, I think we were talking about you," Kurt says with a sniff. "Now spill. I won't judge."

Mercedes looks at him sharply for several seconds before softening her gaze. "Yes, I did. But nothing really happened: we had coffee and talked." She finishes speaking and folds her lips together tightly, as if determined to say no more. Something in her eyes, however, and in her lightly-flushed cheeks, tells Kurt that she's leaving out something important.

"Did you kiss him?" he asks astutely. Mercedes flushes a little darker but shakes her head firmly.

"Then he kissed you. Come on, Mercedes, I said I wouldn't judge. Wasn't I the one who set you two up?"

Mercedes pauses, nose wrinkled, before admitting that, yes, Wes kissed her. Kurt claps his hands together, smiling.

"Oh, that's great," he coos. "I thought you two would hit it off."

More confident thanks to Kurt's enthusiastic reaction, Mercedes smiles too. "He's amazing," she says. "He just seems to get me, y'know? And he's a perfect gentleman."

"So he didn't try to make you do anything?" Kurt asks.

"No! What part of 'he's a perfect gentleman' don't you get?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Kurt says placatingly. "I just had to check, okay? You insist on threatening everyone I'm involved with, after all. Dean nearly had an aneurysm when he met you."

"...I suppose. But you introduced me to Wes in the first place."

"I asked Blaine to make sure he came so there was a straight guy you had't met before that I knew wasn't a psycho-murderer. And, yeah, I thought you would get on. But that's not to say that he isn't a psycho in some other, hidden respect."

"Don't say things like that," Mercedes says with a shudder. "I was just thinking that I could really like him, and then you go and tell me he might be some kind of weirdo."

"Oh, no, I'm fairly certain he isn't..."

Mercedes aims a slap at his arm which Kurt just dodges.

"In all seriousness, though, do you really like him that much?"

"Yes, Kurt." Mercedes' voice is soft, but she sounds certain.

"And does he know you're going back to Chicago today?"

"Yes, actually," Mercedes says. "I did bring it up, when he asked me to go back to his place."

"And?" Kurt prompts.

"And we decided that we really want to see each other again. He's coming down to Chicago next week and we're going to see how things go from there."

Kurt offers a little round of applause. "Very well thought out," he says. "I'm glad you're not rushing into things, and I hope it works out for you. You should be happy, after Sam."

"Thank you," Mercedes says, squeezing Kurt's hand. "Now, what happened with Blaine? I didn't get a chance to talk to you."

Kurt can't quite stop himself grinning. He settles further back into his seat, still holding Mercedes' hand, and prepares to tell the whole story, sparing no details. (It's not often he gets to gush, okay?)

Sunday, for Kurt, seems to last forever now that Mercedes is gone. He can't even go into work - Tina is still refusing to let him come in on Sundays; he receives a frustrated text from her after he phones, asking how things are going, that threatens not only to ban him from the building on Saturdays, too, but to have the phone number changed so he can't irritate her anymore. He stops calling after that.

Left alone, with nothing at all to do, Kurt only has one option: he calls Rachel.

"Hi Rachel," he says when she picks up.

"Oh, Kurt! Hi, it's so nice to hear from you. How are you?"

"I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"

Rachel takes this simple inquiry into her well-being as a cue to launch into an extremely long, rambling speech about her work ("Elphaba, Kurt! I mean, of course I got the part, but it's still an honour. I've always felt I connected, really connected, with that role."); her family ("My dads are in the city so they can come to the opening night. You should come over and see them before they leave, Kurt - they always liked you so much."); and, after a slight pause, Finn ("I love him, Kurt, you know that; but I can't stay with him if he isn't going to support me and my choices. He was completely unreasonable, asking me to drop everything and go to LA with him when he doesn't even know what he'd do out there."). As she talks, on and on and on, Kurt remembers why he loves Rachel but also (and crucially) why he doesn't call her as often as he probably should: it is very difficult - close to impossible - to get her to shut up.

Eventually, however, she runs out of steam, as is inevitable, and starts a new conversational thread.

"When Mercedes was round on Friday, she said you have a new boyfriend." Rachel sounds slightly hurt, and Kurt hears some faint crackling sounds as she shifts the phone into a more comfortable position. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Kurt sighs. "Because," he says, "he's not my boyfriend. We've been out twice."

"So you're dating."

"Not exactly."

"Well, what it is, then, Kurt?" Rachel whines. "Help me out here!"

"We've been out twice, but they weren't really dates. We went for coffee at the café where he works, and he asked me to come and watch him play at this little bar on Christopher Street."

"I think I know the one," Rachel says. Kurt can almost hear her nod on the other end of the line. "But why weren't they dates?"

"I...I don't know!" Kurt splutters. "They...just weren't, y'know?"

"Did either of you refer to one of them as a date?"

"...Yes," Kurt admits. "When we went for coffee, I asked if it was a date and he said it was if I wanted it to be."

"And did you?" Rachel asks. "Want it to be, I mean."


"Well, then," she says. "You're dating." There is a definite note of finality in her voice. Kurt wishes everything could be as simple as it is in Rachel's head.

"It's not that easy, Rach!"

"Why not? You like him, he seems to like you; and from what Mercedes said on Friday and on the phone last night, he sounds amazing - perfect, really."

"That's the problem, though - every guys I've dated since college seemed perfect at first, but then he turned out to be a bigger jerk than the last one!"

This is the first time that Kurt has acknowledged the fears that have curled themselves into the base of his brain and taken root in the twenty-four hours he has been alone, either aloud or to himself. At first, he was caught up in Blaine's charming smile and easy conversation, and how he is perfect - not literally so, as Dean seemed to be at first, but perfect for Kurt, which is so much better. But Rachel's confident assessment of their relationship status has dredged up memories: of Alex, who threw three glasses at the wall when Kurt was ten minutes late for their date after getting held up at the office; of James, who, it turned out, was only dating him for a bet; and of Dean, who Kurt had come home to find tangled up, naked, on the couch with some silly, flirty grad student. Even Blaine, sweet, honest, caring Blaine, can't defend himself from such a backlog of disastrous, humiliating experiences.

Rachel is silent for a long, drawn-out moment, as if she knows all the thoughts that are racing through his mind. This is why Kurt has only been able to talk to her about his fears. He loves all the other girls, but not even Mercedes understands him as well as Rachel does. Once, he was insulted to be told he was like her; today, he is glad of their similarities - they leave little room for misunderstandings.

"I understand where you're coming from, Kurt," she says slowly. "But...is there any reason for you to think that Blaine would do anything to hurt you?"

"No," says Kurt, "but he might. What if he does? I didn't think any of the others would hurt me like they did. I never thought Dean would cheat on me." He sighs. "My judgement isn't the best."

"But Mercedes seems to really like him," Rachel protests. "When she called me once she was back in Chicago, she said that she'd met him and that he seemed lovely. She didn't didn't feel the need to threaten him; she didn't even object to him disappearing into the corner with you all evening."


"Yes," Rachel answers firmly. "And doesn't that tell you something, that no one has any objections when they were so violently opposed to all the previous guys?"

"So you think I should trust him?"

"I think you should trust him," she repeats. "Just...relax, and let it all go. You should be happy."

Kurt listens to her advice carefully. Her voice is pitched low and she sounds certain and confident, if a little sad. Kurt wonders if this is the approach she took when deciding to end things with Finn; he wonders if it's working, and if she might be happy in the future.

"Thank you," he says. "Honestly. You've helped so much."

"You're welcome, Kurt," Rachel says, a smile evident in her voice. "I want to meet him, though. He sounds interesting."

"Hey, back off, Berry," Kurt says, laughing a little and making Rachel laugh too. "Not your team, remember?"

"Okay, okay, understood. Bye, Kurt."

"Bye, Rachel. Thank you."

Kurt hangs up, laying the phone down on the table. He feels far more at ease now; he knows exactly what to do.

Kurt walks into the office on Monday morning feeling as if he is perched on the edge of a high, high cliff and just waiting for that final wave, the one that washes away the last of the stone beneath his feet and sends him tumbling down into the water below. That's how it feels, with Blaine: not as if falling for him is a choice, or a possibility - more an inevitability. Kurt can run as far and as fast as he likes; he'll always end up back at that cliff edge.

So he's decided to take control - decide his own fate, as far as he can (because if he's learnt one thing in these past few days with Blaine, it's that no one can control everything). He just needs to be absolutely certain first.

The office is eerily quiet, empty apart from Santana and Quinn. Kurt walks over to Santana first, intending to greet her; his mouth is half-open when he notices that she's on the phone.

"Jesus, short-stuff, I won't tell him. I want this to be as much of a surprise as you do," she says. "One word from me will guarantee you your big break." She waves at Kurt as he walks past, gesturing for him to stop, which he does. "I'll talk to you later." Santana puts the phone down, examining one nail to make sure the polish hasn't chipped. "How are you, Hummel? Not still hungover?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I didn't even have two drinks," he says haughtily. "Hell of a lot less than you did."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, moral high ground..."

"Yep." Kurt grins. "Who was that?" he asks, gesturing to the phone where it sits in its cradle.

"No one," Santana says, just a little bit too quickly.

"Quite a talkative 'no one'."

Santana pokes her tongue out at him. "I'm just getting some information for my article. Y'know...working."

"You? No..."

"Ha ha ha." Santana narrows her eyes. "But anyway, how are things goin' with Curly-Top?"

"I haven't seen him since Friday night," Kurt says. "But...'Tana...do you like him?"

Santana raises her eyebrows. "What is this, Kurt? Are you having second thoughts about that boy?"

"No! I just...you know what my dating history is like."

"You date jerks."

"Yes, thank you for that. Anyway, I was talking to Rachel yesterday -"

"Ugh. Berry," Santana interjects, her voice full of affectionate disdain. Kurt shushes her.

"Do you want me to answer your question or not? Yesterday, I was talking to Rachel about this, and she said that none of you ever liked any of my ex-boyfriends."

"We didn't," Santana says simply. "They were all dicks; we couldn't understand why you didn't see it too."

"That's the problem." Kurt sighs. "I can't seem to tell who's a jerk and who isn't; what if Blaine's just the same?"

Santana looks at him, concern and affection mingling in her dark eyes, and grips Kurt's hand.

"Now, you see," she says softly, "I happen to know Blaine isn't like that. He's the real deal."

"How can you tell?" Kurt asks. Something tells him this moment is important: he'll learn something here.

"His smile," Santana replies. "Have you seen it? It goes all the way up to his eyes, lights them up and crinkles the skin around them. You can see everything in that boy's grin. Dean, James...none of the idiots you used to date smiled like that. Their eyes were always cold -"

"But Blaine's are warm," Kurt says quietly.


"Thank you, Santana. That...that really helped."

"You're welcome. Go talk to Quinn if you need another opinion - just don't get all sentimental on me; you know I can't handle that kind of crap."

"You started it, waxing lyrical about his eyes. And here we all were, thinking you're a lesbian."

"Oh, shut it, Hummel," Santana says, pushing him away. "Go talk to Fabray."

"Okay, okay. Bye, Santana."

Santana gives him another gentle shove and he stumbles towards Quinn, laughing. Quinn glances up, hearing the noise, and looks at him, smiling.

"Hi, Kurt," she says. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. Where is everyone? It's so quiet in here."

"They're all out. Most of them are working on this month's issue, and Tina and Mike are out tasting cakes."

"Oh, of course, I remember. The wedding's in September, right?"

"Yep." Quinn nods. "The twenty-second."

"Wow..." Kurt shakes his head slightly, wondering where the time has gone. "Anyway, how was your weekend?"

"It was fine, thanks for asking." Something in her voice tells Kurt that she's not telling the whole story.

"So..." he says. "How was Friday night?"

Quinn's cheeks are slightly pink as she answers. "Fine, thank you."

"Don't lie to me, Fabray, it was more than just fine. I saw you and David, and I know you went home with him."


"And I want details!" Kurt says. "What happened?"

Quinn bites her lip as she thinks back. "We just got on so well. He was so easy to talk to, and perfectly polite."

"Him too? It's like all those Dalton boys are trained to sweep us off our feet," Kurt says.

"David certainly did that."

"Really now?" Kurt says, one eyebrow raised. "How so?"

"I didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're thinking."

"Not that I would judge you if you had," Kurt assures her. "You did more than just kiss him though, didn't you?"

"I did."

"And you like him? He likes you?"

"Yes and yes," Quinn says reassuringly.

"Then I'm happy for you," Kurt says, leaning forward and hugging her. "You deserve it."

"Thank you, Kurt. So do you. You should be happy too."

Kurt pulls back. "I wanted to talk to you about that, actually."

"Okay," Quinn says, sitting down and focusing on Kurt, her expression serious. "What is it?"

"I...don't really trust my judgement anymore, not when it comes to guys," Kurt explains. "But you lot...you knew Dean was bad news before I did, and all the others."

Quinn nods solemnly. "He was...odd. Kind of slimy, you know? He just wasn't genuine. But I'm guessing this conversation is about Blaine...what does Dean have to do with him?"

"I'm not sure whether or not I can trust Blaine. I want to, and I think I do, deep down, but...He seems perfect, but so did all the others. Mercedes and Santana like him, but I want to be certain."

"So you want my opinion too." Kurt nods. "Well, I didn't really speak to him much - you monopolized him a little - but he seemed wonderful. Nothing like Dean. And David has nothing but good to say about him. He thinks the world of him, and David seems very trustworthy."

Kurt breathes deeply, feeling considerably more peaceful. "Thank you, Quinn."

"You're welcome, Kurt. I hope you know what to do now." Kurt nods, smiling, and hugs Quinn again.

"Good," she laughs. "Now, I have to nip out for a bit - you going to be all right?"

"Yes, Quinn, I'll be fine. Go if you need to." Kurt shoos her away and steps into his own office, sitting down behind his desk. He tries to concentrate on some of the papers piled up in his in-tray, but it is a struggle, so he's quite grateful when his phone buzzes with a text message.

From: Blaine

Can you call me right now?

Kurt's forehead wrinkles in confusion, but he dials Blaine's number immediately.


"Blaine? You asked me to call you?"

"Oh, hi, Kurt!" Blaine sounds just as happy as he usually does. "Yeah: I jut got rather an interesting package delivered to the café."

"Oh really?" Kurt asks, grinning broadly.



"And why didn't you tell me you were going to be giving me an annual subscription to your magazine for free?"

"Because that wouldn't be anywhere near as much fun as this," Kurt replies, giggling. "It's kind of hilarious."

"Seriously, Kurt, thank you so much. I can't believe you would do that for me - and the others, too."


"Well, yeah. We've not known each other that long; why should I expect anything from you?"

"I just...all my previous boyfriends expected something, whether it was help with rent or just for me to pay for dates all the time. This is nice."

"That's horrible, Kurt," Blaine says. "You deserve them to pitch a little woo as well."

"I already told, I habitually end up dating jerks. I have a feeling you're different, though."

"So...Are we dating, then?" Blaine asks. He sounds as nervous as Kurt felt yesterday.

"I'm not sure, honestly. Is two dates enough to say we're dating?"

"I hope so," Blaine says softly. "Actually, I...I was hoping we're a little more than that."

"Blaine...are you asking me to be your boyfriend?"

"Um...yes, I suppose so."

Kurt pauses for a moment. This is where he makes his decision: does he keep running, or does he turn and jump? He listens to the silence, which somehow manages to sound hopeful, and makes up his mind, diving head-first into the sea. He barely notices the fall, leaping into it with his heart wide open.

"Yes. Yes, I would like to be your boyfriend."

"Oh. Okay. Awesome."

"Blaine Anderson: Master of Understatement," Kurt chuckles.

"Shh, I'm trying to come to terms with this amazing turn of events." Kurt smiles giddily and flushes rosy-pink. "Are you...are you free at all this week?"

Kurt sighs, his smile disappearing. "No, I don't think so. These next couple of weeks are usually the busiest. I'm so sorry."

"No, no, don't worry. Can't be helped."

"I do want to see you."

"I know," Blaine says, his voice soft. "Call me when you get a chance, yeah? I like talking to you."

"Of course I will."

"Good. I have to go, though; Wes is yelling at me. Bye, Kurt."

"Bye Blaine." Kurt ends the call and slips his phone back into this pocket, leaning back in his chair. He smiles as he thinks of Blaine - his boyfriend. He's floating in the middle of the ocean, miles from the shore, but he doesn't feel even slightly out of his depth.

Ordinarily, though he works quickly, Kurt can string out his work, inventing enough menial tasks to keep him going until the next big job comes along. This week, though, he just can't seem to do it, which is why, come Friday lunchtime, he is sat behind his desk, twiddling his thumbs. Tina and Quinn glare at him every time they walk past his open door, clearly trying to get him out of the office if he has nothing to do; after fifteen minutes of this, he caves under the pressure and announces that he's going to go for a walk.

Out in the city, Kurt wanders randomly, wherever his feel want to take him. Within twenty minutes, he is slowing as he nears the cream-painted front of Warbling Away. He sighs - it is quite sad, really, how often his thoughts have turned to Blaine over the past few days. Every few minutes, he has to stop himself texting Blaine, just to say hello or share some snarky comment. He is determined to keep the texts to appropriate lulls in the day, and certainly not more than once every three hours. He doesn't want to seem clingy.

Despite the greater than usual temptation (without any work to distract him, his fingers have been itching, reaching towards his phone even more often than usual), Kurt has resisted texting Blaine so far today. Now, instead of an electronic facsimile of Kurt, he's going to get the real thing.

Blaine told Kurt yesterday that he is going to be working today, so Kurt knows he won't look ridiculous, expecting Blaine to be there when he won't. What he doesn't expect is for the shop to be completely empty aside from Blaine, leaning his forearms on the counter and reading a newspaper. He looks up as the bell on the door tinkles, a pencil dangling from his fingers; Kurt figures he's doing the crossword.

Blaine looks at Kurt as he walks in, eyes wide. He raises his hand in greeting, but doesn't actually get around to waving it. Kurt rolls his eyes as he reaches the counter.

"Hello to you too."

"No, uh, hi, hello." Blaine swallows and smiles up at Kurt. "I just didn't expect to see you."

"I finished up a bit early and Tina and Quinn practically pushed me out the door. I went for a wander and ended up here." Kurt shrugs. "I guess you've been on my mind." Blaine's grin is almost blinding.

"Well, you won't find me objecting," he says. "Can I get you a coffee?"

"Please. A grande-"

"Non-fat mocha," Blaine finishes.

"You know my coffee order?"

"Of course I do." Blaine's tone and raised eyebrows indicate that it shouldn't even be a question.

"Well, thank you," Kurt says. He looks around the room again, peering over the counter to see if anyone is hiding in the back of the shop. "It's quiet today. Is no one else in?"

"Nope," Blaine says, looking back at Kurt over his shoulder. "It's just me. Friday afternoons are pretty quiet until about four anyway, so it's normally only me and Wes until Nick comes in then. But this week Wes is in Chicago."

"With Mercedes, yeah, she said," Kurt says. "I'm glad they got on so well. Have you heard from him?"

"Not a word."

"Me neither. That could be a good thing, or it could be a bad thing."

"Bad because it's gone horribly and they don't want to talk about it."

"Or good because they don't have time to talk to us." Kurt and Blaine look at each other as Blaine slides Kurt's coffee across the counter and just laugh, laugh until their sides hurt and it's hard to breathe.

"Oh, God."

"Ew. Why would you say that?"

"At least Wes is a guy. My friend in this equation is a girl."

"Ick," Blaine says, giggling.

"Exactly: you have no right to complain," Kurt says. He sips from his coffee and smiles. "I've missed this."


"This." Kurt gestures between them. "You. How easy it is to talk to you."

"Well, I don't plan on going anywhere, so you have plenty of time to laugh hysterically with me at the thought of our friends having sex."

Kurt fans himself. "Such wit! Such charm! Such a way with words! Blaine Anderson, tell me, how did I resist you for so long?"

"You call two weeks, from the first time you saw me, resisting me?" Blaine asks incredulously.

"Oh, hush, you. Like you did any better."

"That's not my fault," Blaine insists. "You're just irresistible."

"And that is such a line."

"It's really not," Blaine says. His voice is soft, low, and his eyes, gazing up at Kurt through his lashes, are bright and intense. "I got so lucky when you stopped to hear me play."

Kurt blushes. "I feel the same way. But I won't say it - if I do, I know this is just going to descend into some silly, childish, 'I'm luckiest' 'No, I'm luckiest' argument."

"I'm not ashamed to say that that is exactly what will happen," Blaine admits, "but maybe we should change the subject - that would be immature."

"Okay then," Kurt says, casting his mind around for another topic of conversation. Bingo. "You know you told me you're from Ohio?"


"Well, why didn't you tell me that you're from Westerville?"

"Is that of particular importance?" Blaine asked.

"I'm from Lima."

"So we've lived two hours away from each other our entire lives?" Blaine seems appropriately shocked. "Damn..."

"Why 'damn'?"

"Because I could have met you years ago."

"Well, actually...yeah, you could have," Kurt says. "You went to Dalton Academy, right?"

"How do you know these things?" Blaine's eyes are wide.

"I know your friends," Kurt reminds him. "They mentioned it to me. And...I nearly transferred to Dalton my junior year. Couldn't afford it in the end, but my dad and I talked about it."

"Why?" Blaine asks, his forehead crumpled in concern and confusion.

"The other kids at McKinley weren't too fond of the only out gay student."

"Yeah, I can't understand that," Blaine says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'll tell you the whole story. Another time, maybe."

"Yeah, another time."

They mutually change subject yet again, sticking to light, neutral subjects. They've gone deep enough for one impromptu visit on a Friday afternoon. And as they talk, sharing sarcastic commentary on the latest of some dreadful, inane comedy neither of them really knows why they watch, Kurt realises that, no matter what Blaine says, he's the lucky one. He's managed to find someone that understands him well enough after thirteen days to know exactly when to stop talking about something. For Kurt, this is completely new territory. Until now, everything has been dead-set against him; what's changed? Kurt hasn't quite worked it out yet, but he does know one thing: he isn't going to give this man up without a fight.