Kurt.

It's the Fourth of July and it is hot. Burning, sticky, achingly hot. I want to be at home, devoid of clothes, lying in my dark, air-conditioned room, underneath my fan. However, every Fourth of July since I can remember, we have come here, to the lake, along with most of the other inhabitants of Lima, to cook food, drink beer, and wait for the evening fireworks.

My dad won't let the hundred and two degree temperature stop him.

To be fair, I like it just as much as he does. Various families stop by, old or current customers of his, some of my old friends from High School, a few ex-neighbors who can still remember mom. They all make comments, mainly about how much I've grown and, despite me being out of the closet for over ten years now, several still ask if I've met a nice girl yet.

I just smile politely. This is Lima, after all. If it were New York I'd probably make some acerbic remark, but I know it gets my dad's back up whenever I unleash my sarcasm upon some poor Ohioan who doesn't quite grasp that my being gay means that women are off the radar for me.

As the afternoon wears on, a light breeze picks up, mercifully, and dad and I recline on a blanket under a parasol, chatting about nothing in particular and just enjoying the day together. Tomorrow will see me returning to New York and him to work at his garage, a prospect that neither of us want to think about.

It's not that I dislike New York- far from it. I love it there, it's my home and I love the life I've created for myself; my career, my friends, and my apartment which I share with two totally crazy but lovable girls...But New York doesn't have my dad.

There isn't anyone like him. My best friend for as long as I can remember, my dad is blunt, to the point, rude, obstinate, and completely wonderful. He's also my biggest champion, my fiercest protector and damn, I might be twenty seven years old but I miss living at home with him, which is exactly why I fly back as often as I can.

I look over at him now, propped up against the cooler, his baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. As if sensing my gaze, he lifts his hat and hands me his wallet.

"Lemonade."

"What? You want some?"

"Yeah. There's a stand over there, isn't there?"

"Over there? If by over there you mean a good two miles away then yes, there's a stand over there."

He laughs and pulls his hat down again. "Two miles. You're so dramatic. Go get us some lemonade, boy."

I get to my feet with a groan, the weather making my joints ache as if I were a hundred years old. I jog a little, just to ease it up, but I slow to a walk quickly enough, the sweat already beginning to roll down my temples. By the time I get to the lemonade stand I feel like I'm melting, and the line is long. Luckily it snakes around into the shade and I follow it, finally reaching the end under a large tree, where a young man stands, looking out over the lake.

Let me make this clear; I am not one to strike up conversation with random strangers, which might well account for my lack of a dating life, I guess. I prefer to be introduced to someone through work, or a mutual friend, and then, gradually, I will build conversation in my own sweet time. I've been hit on a few times, but I clam up immediately, and soon enough they trail away, making some lame excuse about needing to be somewhere.

However, there's something about this guy that makes me want to say...something. I'm not even sure what. He's shorter than me, with dark hair that is gelled down, but curling at the edges. Those little curls are the only sign that he is feeling the heat. Unlike everyone else, sweating profusely and fanning themselves, he stands, staring off into the distance, wearing dark sunglasses, a neatly pressed light blue shirt, with a red bowtie and beige shorts and he looks immaculate. Completely unruffled.

"Are you in the line?"

He jumps a little and turns, smiling politely. "Line for what?"

"The lemonade stand."

"Oh." He looks left and right, then shrugs. "No. I'm not in line. I'm waiting for someone. Am I in your way?"

"Not at all." I smile, and try to take my blatant stare away from his face before he says something. "I'll just..."

"Okay."

I side step him, and he turns back to the lake once more. I wait in line for a few minutes but every time I look back he's there, still watching the few sailboats out on the water, and the little kids splashing at the edge.

Three people join the line behind me, but I've already decided I'm going to go back over and talk with him some more. Only the trouble is, as I turn to walk over, I see him heading off into the distance, his arm linked through another guy's.

The other man is taller, and obviously saying something that makes them both laugh. Then, as I continue to stare, I see lemonade guy lean his head onto his shoulder, while his companion kisses into his hair.

Deflated, I get the lemonade and return to dad, who is now snoring lightly. From our position I can't see where the guy has got to, but then again I'm not sure I'd want to, anyway.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Jesus! You were asleep a minute ago." I stare accusingly at my dad. "What's wrong is that you made me go get lemonade."

"It's more than that."

I sigh. I might as well say it, since I know dad will not ever shut up until he's satisfied. "I was talking with a hot guy, and then he went off arm in arm with his boyfriend."

"Oh."

"That's all you've got to say?"

"Not a lot else to say, is there? I'm astounded you found one other gay man here, let alone two."

"I didn't want to find two! I wasn't expecting to find one... I didn't know he was gay, I just liked him. He seemed...sweet."

"Makes no difference if he's gay or straight though, sunshine, he ain't interested in you."

"Thank you for that. Go back to saying nothing, please."

The rest of the afternoon passes with us bickering back and forth in that way that makes other people raise their eyebrows at us, but which makes us both laugh. I forget all about the lemonade guy, and I'm distracted still further when my grandparents, aunt and uncle arrive. They're all from my mom's side, but when she died, my grandma pretty much refused to let my dad alone, and now he counts them as his own parents, I think, since his own are long since passed on.

My aunt Ruth and my uncle Pete are good people, working tirelessly for their church when they're not busy with their day to day jobs, so we don't see them much. Dad says they threw themselves into church life when Ruth suffered her sixth miscarriage and doctors told her not to try again. Still, whatever they get out of religion must help, since they're the most cheerful and tolerant people I know, and Ruth is forever trawling the internet trying to set me up with gay christian men.

I haven't the heart to tell her I'm agnostic.

The evening draws in and, with just a half hour to go until the fireworks start, darkness is beginning to fall. I'm dispatched once again, this time to the beer tent because we've run dry. I'm on my way back, our little party within sight, when I see the lemonade guy sitting on the grass, alone.

In fact, I don't see him, I trip over his foot, causing us both alarm, and when I turn ready to huff at them for making me stumble, I realize it's him. "I am so sorry!"

"No, no, it's me who should be sorry," he says, his face burning with embarrassment. He gets to his feet, and I get the feeling he's completely panicked, though it's hard to tell with those sunglasses still in place. "I stuck my foot out at the wrong time, obviously. I should... Wait a minute, are you the guy from earlier? At the lemonade stand?"

I am more than slightly annoyed that my face has left such little impression that he needs to ask, but I smile tightly. "The very same. Only now with beer dripping down my leg."

"Oh gosh. I... I'm sorry. Here, I'll give you the money for another..."

"No, really, no matter, it only spilled a drop, " I say. I put my hand out to stop him from reaching for his wallet, but he flinches when I touch his wrist. "Sorry. Anyway, one of these is for my dad, and he'll be waiting, so I'll go. I hope you and your boyfriend have a good night."

"Huh?" He frowns, and damn if it isn't entirely adorable. "Boyfriend?"

"The uh...the guy? From earlier?"

He laughs, and damn if that isn't entirely adorable too; more so, in fact. "That's my brother. Decidedly not gay."

I don't give myself time to dwell on my embarrassing faux pas, or the fact that for two grown brothers, they seem almost incestuously close, but I seize instead on his last sentence. "Not gay? You? Him? Both?"

"Him," he clarifies. "In fact, he's off with some girl right now, which is why I'm alone. But I'm um... I'm gay. Yes. Sorry if that offends."

"Hardly. Have you seen me? I'm gayer than a boy scout camp."

"Are scout camps gay?" He ponders this. "I went on several when I was younger. I don't recall any of that going on."

"Yeah, okay." I laugh. "So are you going to stay for the fireworks?"

"I don't really have much choice. Cooper, my brother, he's my ride."

"Oh." I wait, but he's either not getting the hint, or he's monumentally shy. I think the latter, because he doesn't really look at me as we speak; more like he just looks over my shoulder, or down at the ground. "I could sit with you, if you wanted?" I ask, taking the plunge. "Keep you company?"

"That would be... Yeah." He grins then, brightly, and I'm flooded with relief to see he's as happy about the suggestion as I am. "Yeah, sure."

"Okay. Let me just take this beer to my dad. He's right there."

I dash over, thrusting a beer at dad, mumbling something about lemonade boy needing company, and run back to him as quick as I can, acutely aware of my entire family staring at my retreating back.

"I'm back."

There's a moment of awkwardness but then he seems to come to life, sitting back down and gesturing for me to sit next to him, which I do. "Oh, did you want beer?" I ask. "I can run back and get you one, or we can share this?"

"I'm good, thanks," he says quietly. He alternates between staring out toward the lake, which is reflecting the most striking pink and purple hues, or giving me shy little glances, which make my stomach flutter.

"The colors are amazing, huh?"

"The sunset? Yeah," he sighs wistfully. "Yeah."

"I'm Kurt, by the way."

"Oh. Blaine. Blaine Anderson." He offers his hand and I shake it, happy to note that he doesn't flinch this time.

"Sorry about earlier...the confusion with your brother. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions like that. It's just you two looked very close."

"We are."

"Right. Yeah. Well...Sorry."

"No problem. So uh...Do you live in Lima? You might be the only other gay person I've ever met in the whole of Ohio."

"I don't live here. Well, not all the time. I live in New York, but I get back whenever I can."

"Oh. Are you in college?"

"A bit past that." He thinks I look younger than I am. I am liking him more and more. "I'm a fashion writer. For Eloquence magazine."

"Never heard of it."

"I don't think it's sold in Lima. It's a bit...high end, I guess. Couture."

"You like it?"

"I do, actually. Most of the fashions are crazy and totally out there. You wouldn't wear them walking down the street, anyhow. I get to go to a lot of runway shows."

"Nice."

"What do you do?"

He stiffens, and shifts himself a little awkwardly. Though it is now dark, I know he's blushing. "I'm just about to go into my senior year."

Well, fuck, I think to myself. "I don't think you mean college, do you?"

"No."

"Right. Ten years, then."

"Huh?"

"Between us. Ten years."

"Oh."

He waits, but I have no clue what I'm supposed to say or do, except for stop lusting after this...this...insanely attractive man-boy.

"You can uh... You don't have to stick around, it's okay," he says quietly.

At that moment, the first of the fireworks light up the sky; a cascade of blues and reds, accompanied by a loud bang. Blaine jumps, and immediately brings his knees to his chest, ducking his head down.

It's such a weird reaction that I quickly place a hand on his shoulder, which startles him again. "It's okay."

"Sorry. Sorry. Fireworks terrify me."

"You don't need to apologize. And I'm not going anywhere," I add.

At this, he relaxes, straightening his legs out and resting his hands behind him. He gazes up at the night sky through his sunglasses. "Thank you. I didn't want to stay, but Cooper said he'd sit with me and..."

Another bang, and Blaine flinches hard. Not quite as bad as the first time, but it's still very obvious that he's not comfortable. The noise continues then, the pip-pipping of the crackling comets raining down, the whine of rockets climbing and the louder boom of the kamuros, leaving a glittery trail across the sky. I watch him carefully, unsure of whether I should touch him again to try and offer some comfort.

"Oh God. Is it finished?" he asks sadly.

"I doubt it, not yet. Just a small break."

"I hate them," he moans. "I really do."

"They're pretty, though," I try. "You know, if you take your glasses off you'll be able to see them better."

He turns to face me, his expression entirely unreadable. "Excuse me?"

"If you take your sunglasses off, I mean. Because they're making everything that much more dull, right? It's night, anyway. So take them off and you'll be able to see the fireworks better."

"Uh..." He starts to run a hand through his hair, remembers it's gelled in place, and stops himself.

Another series of bangs.

"I can't see them, Kurt," he says when there's quiet and he's stopped shaking. "That's why they scare me. I'm blind."