Two weeks into the spring semester, Kurt officially drops his French minor in favor of the creative writing concentration within the English department. It is easy, really. A piece of paper filled out in triplicate and slipped into a box in the registrar's office on a snowy February Wednesday.

Even so, Toby takes him out for pizza to celebrate.

Kurt laughs at the absurdity of it all, at the stunning realization that he isn't so far outside of things anymore. He has Sara, and the new not-quite-boyfriends-but-slightly-more-than-friends thing with Toby (who is being extraordinarily patient while Kurt gets his shit together), and a fairly small but consistent audience at what Sara has started calling his Thursday Night Piano Bar. He has Friday dinners with the other English kids, and plenty of schoolwork to keep him busy, plus Sunday afternoon phone calls home and weekly conferences on Skype with Mercedes and Tina and Britt.

His days have a rhythm to them, and it feels really good.

As the spring rolls on, Kurt starts making plans for the summer. Toby already has a job lined up at home in Atlanta, and Sara is going back to Pittsburgh, so unless Kurt can find something on campus that will include housing, he supposes he'll be headed back to Lima and Hummel Tires and Lube. That wouldn't be so bad; all of the Glee kids except Rachel will be there, but Kurt wants more than another summer of oil changes and brake jobs and alignments. The week before spring break, he's trolling the job board in the English Department lounge when Brenna comes in to check her box.

"Hey, K."

"Bren."

"Looking for a job?"

"Yeah. Something that will keep me here, if possible. Or, really, anything to keep me out of Ohio for the summer."

"Oh! Really?" Her eyes light up and Kurt is a little scared. Brenna is usually pretty reserved. He actually doesn't think he's ever seen her so excited.

"Yeah." He lets some wariness creep into his voice. "Why?"

"You should come and work with me."

"Doing what?"

"I'm a camp counselor."

"Yeah, no. I think I'll pass." He gestures to himself, sticks his hip out and cocks his head in exaggerated gesture. "I'm not really the camp type." He thinks back to the one time his dad signed him up for a week at the Y camp down near Dayton. Kurt spent the whole week crying in his bunk because the only real organized activities were sports.

"Silly, silly boy. Do I look like the camp type?"

Kurt takes Brenna in, from her reddish curls to her baggy sweater and Indian-print skirt, her Birks with thick wool socks and chunky macramé and bead choker.

"I guess not."

"And really, it's not like you'd think. Do you have some time? If you want, come back to my room and I'll tell you all about it."

Toby's got layout for the lit magazine, and last month he hadn't been done until after midnight, and Sara's having dinner with her French study group, so he's free for the night and tells Brenna so.

"Great. C'mon."

Kurt follows her across campus to Saybrook, and up to her fourth floor room. He's never been here before, so he's almost shocked at the riot of color when she opens the door. Purples and greens and oranges and reds, in wall hangings and gauzy scarves and a wildly batiked quilt. A large corkboard above the desk is absolutely covered in pictures. Brenna gestures for Kurt to put his backpack down, and then she ushers him over to the corkboard.

"This is my home, my family."

The pictures tell quite a story. A boy with a guitar, head bent over a songbook; two girls in bathing suits, dripping and smiling with arms around each other's shoulders; wind-swept teenagers on a mountaintop against a blue sky. A group of kids on a stage, singing. Brenna, sitting shoulder to shoulder with two guys and a girl on a stretch of fence. Kurt is about to turn away when one picture tucked into a bottom corner catches his eye. Three very young boys huddled together in the orange light of a campfire that's shooting sparks into the purple light of dusk. They're holding sticks, and pieces of paper, and they're all crying. He lets his finger linger at the edge of the picture and sighs before turning to Brenna.

"Tell me about this place."

What he learns over the next hour intrigues him. A place where kids can be creative without competition, where difference is cherished, and where most of the counselors had been campers there themselves. But he has some concerns, the biggest of which is that he's never worked with kids before and that he really isn't qualified to teach anything.

Brenna waves him off.

"You play piano and sing. I know for a fact that the guy they hired to run drama this year doesn't play. Or sing. Let me at least talk to Abby. She's the program director, and she was my cabin counselor for two years when I was a camper. Actually." She holds up her finger and pulls out her cell. "Let me call her right now."

She dials, and starts talking mere seconds after putting the phone to her ear. "Abs! Yeah. Hey, have you found anyone yet to back Nate up in Drama?" Pause. "Maybe. This kid I know at school. He's good. Really good. Has this little underground following on campus, and he's a total sweetheart." Pause. "Hold on." She covers the phone with her hand and looks at Kurt.

"Could you get up to Providence this weekend to meet with her?"

Wow. Deep breath. "I guess. Sure. Yes."

Brenna nods, and starts talking again. "Yeah, no problem. Thanks, Abs. See you then."

When she hangs up the phone, she nods at Kurt. "Saturday at 2. I can drive, if you want."

Kurt still isn't 100% sure what just happened, but he nods his assent anyway.


Abby is about Brenna's height, a couple of inches shorter than Kurt. She's bubbly and warm, and doesn't seem all that concerned that Kurt has never worked with kids before. "Oh, most of our new counselors are first-timers," she assures him. "The majority of our staff has some kind of a connection to camp before they arrive, but you'll fit right in."

"Uh. If you say so." Kurt's been in enough new situations to know that's rarely the case, but he doesn't say so. Abby laughs at his unease, but not in a mean way. She has a nice laugh. It's like her voice, rich and full, and Kurt wonders absently if she sings.

"So you play piano."

"13 years of lessons." Talking about music makes Kurt feel more comfortable, so he relaxes a bit into the sofa where he's sitting with Brenna. "I also sing. I was in show choir in high school, and we won Nationals last year."

"Impressive."

"Thanks."

"So would you be able to give piano lessons, and play for the camp musicals, and maybe give the occasional voice lesson?"

Kurt says yes, because piano is as easy as breathing for him, and he figures he can't be any worse a vocal coach than Mr. Schue was. "As long as you understand that I'm really just a recreational singer."

"We're not one of those intense performing arts places, Kurt. We're low-key. The most important thing is that you're supportive and patient."

"Okay. I could do that, then. But you need to know something. I'm gay."

"No shit."

Kurt can't help himself. He laughs, hard and loud, mostly because he's used to people tiptoeing around his sexuality like it's going to bite them. He shakes his head at Abby. "I'm sorry. It's just, people are really funny about it, so I figured I'd put it all out on the table."

Abby smiles sideways at him, and nods at Brenna. "Tell him about Seth."

Brenna looks Kurt square in the eye. "Seth is a CIT now. Or, he will be this year. When he was 8, he dressed in drag for the end of summer banquet and dance. He came out last summer. Nobody cares, Kurt. That's the beauty of camp."

"But the parents-"

Abby jumps in. "Our kids are the kids who don't really fit in the world. But they come to camp and they have a place. And they're happy, and write glowing letters home, and cry on the last day. And spend all winter talking about how they can't wait to come back. We keep the kids safe, give them a place to shine. The parents love us. And they honestly don't care if you're gay."

Kurt sits with that while Abby goes to the kitchen to refill his water glass. When she comes back, she's humming under her breath. Kurt catches the tune as she hands over his glass, an old James Taylor song his mom used to sing when she washed dishes or folded laundry, and before he realizes it he's singing along.

Goodnight, you moonlight ladies

Rockabye sweet baby James

Deep greens and blues are the colors I choose

Won't you let me go down in my dreams . . .

Softly, but clearly loud enough for Abby to hear. She wraps her hand around his wrist, and looks at him, and he wishes that he were able to think about his mother without crying, even all these years later.

"Oh, baby, you have to come to camp. You need it. It'll start to heal your soul."

Kurt hides his broken spirit well. His dad sees it, and Dave used to. To have this woman see it, after a mere half hour of talking and a few song lyrics? That's something different, and maybe special, and Kurt feels like he has no choice any more. He says yes.


That night, skin-to-skin with Toby in his too-small bed, he's safe and warm with his back against Toby's chest, Toby's arms tight around him.

"I got the job," he whispers into the dark.

"At Brenna's camp?"

"Yeah. You know about it?"

"She talks about it all the time, like its paradise or something. Are you sure it's for you?"

Kurt's silent, taking in the hint of doubt in Toby's voice and what is being left unsaid, that Kurt is maybe too many things to be able to fit in at a summer camp. But he thinks about how it felt when Abby looked at him, and at the slight flutter in his heart when she made it clear that the job was his for the taking, and he knows that he's never been more sure of anything.

"Oddly, yes. I think it's probably the best thing for me right now." He hadn't been, until he said so, but it makes a funny kind of sense.

"Okay." He can feel Toby nodding, can hear the gentle confidence in his voice. "If you're sure, then it's the right decision." He laughs softly into Kurt's hair. "I'll have great fun sending you care packages."

"I'd like that."

Toby presses a gentle kiss at the nape of Kurt's neck, and Kurt shivers into Toby's whisper. "Let's not talk about the summer right now."

Kurt rolls over and kisses Toby, full and hot. By the time Toby is pressing into him, hard and heavy, Kurt isn't thinking about anything at all.


Dave feels like a complete poser.

He's at an impossibly crowded round table in a corner of the cavernous dining commons, and every time someone else shows up, everyone scoots over an inch or two and the new arrival pulls up a chair. They've all dispensed with their trays, so the table is a jumble of plates and plastic cups of soda and crumpled napkins. And Dave just sits back and listens, and tries to ignore the effect Travis' hand on his thigh is having.

Being Travis' boyfriend has suddenly landed Dave in the middle of the campus power chasm. Travis is not just the chair of the GLBTA, he's also on his class council and student government, and he's friends with student leaders from scores of groups, which is why they regularly eat meals with 15 or 20 other people. It's exhausting, and fascinating, and it makes Dave feel both included and oddly left out. None of it makes Dave popular, but it does make him less invisible.

He's zoned out, mind on his Econ test tomorrow and damn Travis and his freaking hand, because it's warm even through the thick fabric of Dave's jeans, when he's snapped back to earth at someone across the table muttering what sounds to Dave like "bullying."

"What about bullying?" He's upright, arms crossed in front of him on the table, Travis' hand a forgotten afterthought. Stacey, who does something with student government, sweeps her bangs out of her eyes and looks at him with exasperation.

"We're working with the school district, getting students to go into schools and talk about bullying."

"Oh." Dave's kept a lot of his past a secret, even from Travis. Parts of it are embarrassing. He doesn't want people here to think of him the way he still thinks of himself sometimes. But he's intrigued by what Stacey is saying, how they want to have kids who were bullied and kids who did the bullying. Dave lets out a snort, thinking that if he were to go and give a talk they wouldn't need a second person. He could cover both sides with stories to spare. He's still trying to formulate what he wants to say when the conversation turns again, like it does with these kids because they are so smart and so fast, and even though Dave is pretty smart he sometimes just can't keep up. So he sits back again in his chair and waits. After, when the table is cleared and Travis has headed off to his afternoon seminar, Dave catches up with Stacey on the steps of the commons.

"Tell me more about the bullying program."

"Why?"

Stacey is always blunt with him, like she sees something in him that she doesn't like, or like she knows he really doesn't belong with their group.

"Because I've been there."

"Of course you were." Of course she would think that, because Dave's big and looks like a bully.

"I was a bully, yes. But I was also bullied."

"Why?"

"Why?"

"Yeah. Why were you bullied?"

"Are you serious?"

She just looks at him like she's waiting for something. He takes a deep breath around his annoyance, and levels his voice low so he doesn't put on a show for half the campus. "I was bullied for being a queer in a small town, okay?"

"Okay. And you were a bully why?"

"I was a bully because I was a closeted queer in a small town."

"Ah." She holds his gaze then, and her face is softer than it's ever been with him, almost like she maybe respects him a little bit. Or approves of him. "We're having a training with some people from the district tomorrow afternoon in the SGA office. Can you be there at 4?"

"Yeah."

"OK. See you there." She's turned away and headed down the stairs when Dave reaches out and grabs the sleeve of her sweater.

"Stacey!"

"What?"

"Travis."

"What about him?"

"He doesn't know. Not yet." He lets his guard down, pleads at her with his eyes. She catches his stare and holds it for a moment before nodding and turning away again.

His thank you is lost in the wind.


Dave is sunk into Travis' beanbag chair with his Econ book, trying to study for his test, but he's distracted by the way Travis is chewing on the end of his highlighter as he works his way through his Politics reading on the bed.

The silence is companionable. Dave likes these hours, the ones just between them, when they can take study breaks that leave them both breathless, and when they don't have to be on display for anyone else. Dave sets his book aside and crosses the room to the bed, where he perches on the edge and snakes a hand under the hem of Travis' t-shirt.

"Trav?"

"Mmm-hmm?"

"I think I'm going to do Stacey's anti-bullying thing. With the schools?"

"Yeah?" Travis' voice is vague, the way it gets when he's trying to listen to Dave and stay engaged in his work at the same time.

"Yeah. Hey. Can you stop reading for a second, please. This is kind of important."

Travis tucks his highlighter between the pages and closes the book before sitting up to look at Dave.

"What's up?"

"If I'm going to do the program, I need to tell you some things first."

"O-okay."

"Things you might not like to hear. But I need you to understand all of it."

"What is it?"

"I used to be a bully. Before Kurt, before I was out, before I was bullied myself."

"Why?"

"Why did I do it? Lots of reasons, but mostly to belong. And then I started thinking I might be gay, and I was scared, so I kept doing it. And then I got really scared, and I targeted Kurt."

"So what happened?"

"Do you want the long version or the short one?"

"Short. Please." Travis takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes, like Dave's confession is giving him a headache.

"So he changed schools, and I started letting my guard down, and a girl who thought she could rule the world figured me out and blackmailed me. Kurt came back to school, and then he and I were voted Prom Queen and King."

"What the hell kind of school did you go to? That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."

"Yeah. Well. The short of it is that he was there for me when nobody else was. When I didn't deserve his kindness."

"He's a bigger person than I would be."

Dave can't argue that Travis is probably right about that; he knows he got so incredibly lucky when Kurt became his friend. He can't tell Travis that Kurt is special, will always be special, so he doesn't say anything. He lets Travis pick the conversation back up.

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Because it's not something I'm proud of, and I didn't want you to look at me the way you're looking at me now, like I'm some kind of monster or something."

Travis is quick to talk. "No. That's not what I'm thinking at all. I just . . ."

"What?"

"I guess I just can't see that in you at all. You come across so put-together and comfortable with yourself."

"I am. Now. But I was a scared 16 year old once."

Travis pulls him down onto the bed, holds him and smoothes at his hair. "Thank you for telling me. For trusting me."

"I'm not that kid anymore."

"I know. It's okay."

Dave can tell from the way Travis is touching him that what seem like motions to soothe him are really motions to soothe Travis. It's far from okay. But he doesn't say anything about that, either.


They pointedly don't talk about lots of things after that. Dave's ongoing training with the school district, or Travis' study abroad next semester, or plans for the summer. Especially not plans for the summer. Dave knows that Travis has obligations back home, some kind of a job his uncle or somebody set up for him, and Dave isn't going to fight about it. But he wants more, because if he goes home his entire summer will be distilled down to avoiding Kurt, hiding from his distant father in his own house, and running a check stand at the Safeway.

Again.

He hates the fucking Safeway.

As March turns to April, Dave is going twice a week to the high school mere blocks from campus, where he and another Berkeley student run anti-bullying workshops. He is surprised to discover that he loves it. He's close enough in age to the kids to have a measure of credibility. He sees the way they listen when he talks, and it's not because he's a hotshot college kid. It's because he was where they are now; he's been scared and silent and angry, but he's also been beaten down and terrified.

He doesn't just love the program, it turns out that he's really good at it, and that makes him pretty happy.

He's riding the high off a particularly good workshop on a Wednesday afternoon, humming some Aerosmith under his breath as he crosses the parking lot on his way back to campus when he hears someone calling his name. He turns to see Alicia, the school counselor, doggedly trying to catch up with him. He stops and walks back towards her, because she's wearing heels and he thinks that making her run any farther and faster than necessary would just be cruel.

"Oh, Dave. Thank you. What are your plans for the summer?"

"Oh. Um." Admitting that he doesn't have any is kind of lame, so he mumbles about Lima and the Safeway, and then adds that nothing is really set in stone yet, because he was hoping to stay in the city. "But I haven't found anything yet. Why?"

"You seem to be enjoying your work with the program."

"I am. It's, um, important to me?" A way to atone, to give back, to save a kid.

"I can tell. Listen. We've had a lot of success with the pilot program here, and I'm working with some of the other counselors to implement it in more schools in the fall. I'm looking for a student intern, and I think you'd be perfect."

"No offense, but why me? I mean, Stacey has been the force behind things on campus, and the other kids . . ."

"Dave." Alicia is looking at him with intensity, and it makes him nervous so he turns away a fraction of an inch. Just enough to keep her gaze out of his eyes. "You have a real rapport with the kids, and your experiences are invaluable. Because you can speak to what a school should do to reach the bullies, and also what a school needs to do to help the victims."

"Maybe we're all victims, in the end." He's not sure where that comes from, so he doesn't elaborate. Even so, he can tell he's piqued Alicia's interest.

"You might be right. Anyway. You don't have to answer me right now. Think on it. The district will pay a small stipend, and it is a job that would continue into next school year. Whatever you decide, let me know next week. But Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I really think you should do it."

"I'll let you know on Monday."

"Great."

He knows before he's even reached the sidewalk that he's probably going to say yes.


That night, Dave waits until he and Travis are sated and slightly sleepy and tucked into Travis' bed before telling him about the job offer. He can feel Travis stiffen against him, but Dave isn't sure why; it's not like they had plans for the summer or anything, and the program is Dave's thing anyway, so he finally says something.

"Why does my taking the job bother you so much?"

"It's not the job." Dave is kind of surprised by the coolness of Travis' voice.

"Is it that I didn't tell you about my past before?"

"No."

"What, then?"

"Because it all comes back to Kurt. You told me it was over between the two of you."

"It is. Jeez." Dave rolls onto his side, sits up, and plants his feet on the floor. This is going badly on so many levels. "None of this is about him."

"Come off it, Dave. It's all about him. Because he was your target, and then your friend. And I still can't understand how he could date you after all of that. And now you go and do these workshops, where you talk about him all the time. He's always going to have this weird kind of pull on you. It's never going to be over."

"Kurt is an important part of my past. But he's in my past, Trav."

"I just . . . I feel like I can't live up to what you had with him."

"Oh, Christ."

"You think I'm being irrational."

"You are being irrational. I'm with you now."

"Do you love me?"

They haven't talked about love at all. Ever. Dave isn't sure what to say, so he just sits there on the edge of the bed in silence. Because even if he were pressed to do it, he can't lie and say he loves Travis. So he says nothing.

"I guess that's that, then." Travis' voice is hard. "I can't compete with him. Not the actuality of him, and certainly not the memory of him."

Dave knows where this is going now, so he's halfway across the room and pulling on his clothes when Travis chokes out what Dave has expected since the night he talked about the bullying.

"I can't do this. It's not going to work."

Dave's not particularly sad, or mad. He's a little stunned as he fumbles with his sneakers, and makes sure that all of the little things he's accumulated in Travis' room are tucked into his backpack before he escapes into the hall. As he walks back to his dorm, he feels startlingly free, like he'd been trapped in Travis' world and hadn't even realized it.

He's definitely taking the job now.


Abby assigns Kurt the youngest boys, the 8 and 9 year old first time campers. He'll have six of them in the tiny cabin. It feels like a fishbowl, and he can't imagine what it's going to be like when it's filled with clothes and bedding and little-boy energy. But he has a whole week to get used to it, and the other staff, as they work to get the cabins and other buildings ready for the summer.

It's different from other work he's done, more physical even than working for his dad; there are mattresses to air, and buoys to set down at the waterfront, and on the third day a truck backs its way down the field, and suddenly there's fresh sawdust to spread on the paths that run from the main barn down through the boys and girls sections to the waterfront. Kurt is surprised to discover that he really likes being there. Abby was right, everyone is incredibly inclusive, and there are three other first-time counselors who are in his same boat. They start off as their own little group, but it takes less than a day for everyone else to make them feel welcome. By the night before the campers arrive, Kurt knows all the words to all the most popular camp songs, and Brenna has helped him fashion a job wheel out of a thumbtack and two paper plates. He's sung his heart out at the staff campfire, and said a mildly flirty goodnight to Rob, the definitely gay co-director of the CIT program. Kurt doesn't think Rob is seriously interested, and Kurt doesn't see how flirting will hurt anything. Everyone is really handsy with each other, anyway, with no regard to sexual orientation. And it's not like he and Toby swore each other to exclusivity or anything. They're casual at best, more of a friends with benefits situation than any kind of true love, really.

He falls asleep almost instantly once he slides into the cocoon of his flannel sheets, wool blanket, and down sleeping bag.

He's woken by the bell the next morning, and when he's awake enough to open his eyes, he can see his breath. Damn. He dresses quickly, eats a hurried breakfast, and all but races to the camp office to try and snag five minutes to check his email. There's no cell reception to speak of, and while Kurt's a big fan of letters, there are some things that are better left to email. He logs in to his Yale account first, and skims messages from Mercedes and Rachel and Artie on the Glee email list that Rachel set up after Christmas. He types a swift reply, warning about limited email access and giving everyone his actual mailing address at the camp. Then he logs into his personal account and shoots off a breezy message to Carole. And then he takes a deep breath, opens a new message, and starts typing.

Dave-

I don't know what your summer plans are, or where you are, which is why I'm sending this to both your school and personal email accounts.

If you're going home to Lima, you don't have to worry about seeing me there. I'm working with a friend from school at a camp in New Hampshire. I won't really have access to my email, but if you want to have contact, you can send letters to the address below.

I think of you often. You were a big part of my life, and an important one. I hope this finds you well and happy, wherever you are.

Much love,

Kurt

He clicks send before he can second guess himself, logs off, and goes back to the cabin to get ready to meet his campers.


It makes his commute longer, but Dave takes a summer sublet in a Castro two-bedroom with a San Francisco State student whose roommate is going abroad for the summer. He takes the BART into Berkeley every morning, plugged into his iPod or with his nose in a book like all the other commuters. Some of the work is dull; there's a lot of paperwork, what Dave thinks of as busy work and Alicia refers to as "administrative bullshit". Sometimes he tags along to meetings, where he talks about his high school experiences to counselors and principals. He'd rather work with the students, but that will come when school is back in session. For now, he really can't complain because he only works four days a week and unless he's going to a meeting he gets to wear shorts and t-shirts. He spends his weekends discovering his new neighborhood. By the middle of June, he has a coffee shop and a Chinese restaurant, and is a weekly regular at the gay and lesbian bookstore down the street from the apartment. He's excited for his first Pride weekend. He'd never expected it, but he's actually happy.

The morning of the Pride parade, Dave's up early because he wants to grab a latté before he heads down to find a prime watching spot. As is his habit, he logs into his email while he's dressing, and he just about falls over when his inbox flashes up with a new message.

From Kurt.

He lets his mouse hover over the check box as he debates simply deleting it, but he can't. Instead, he opens it and skims it, and doesn't really register anything until his eye catches an address at the bottom of the page. It doesn't make sense, so he scrolls back up to the top and actually reads the whole thing.

Kurt at a summer camp? No shit. Dave would pay good money to see that.

He prints the message for the address, and starts composing a letter in his head while he slips into shorts and a tank top. He thinks maybe he'll need to stop for some note paper or something on his way home from the parade.


June 28th

Dear Kurt-

Thanks for your email. I think about you often, as well.

I'm living in the Castro this summer, which is kind of wild. And you're never going to believe it, but I'm an intern for a new anti-bullying program with the Berkeley Unified School District. It's a good job, but it's a little dry right now, lots of meetings and paperwork and shit like that. I really like working with the kids during the school year. I feel like I have something to offer them, you know?

I was surprised to read that you're working at a camp. I'd love to hear more about it. It's funny, though, because even though I can't picture you actually at a camp, I think you'd be a good counselor. If that makes sense.

Anyway. It was great to hear from you. Write back if you have time.

Love

Dave


July 1st

Dear Dave-

I am, frankly, surprised that you wrote back. I'm also happy. Thank you.

The camp is small, arts based. I have six boys in my cabin, all first time campers. They're 8 and 9 years old, still babies in so many respects. But they're good kids, most of the time.

I'm teaching piano and voice lessons, and play for the camp musical. This session it's Oklahoma!, and the kids are amazing.

It's funny. I never would have picked this for myself, but I'm having a really good time. Like I said, the kids are incredible. They're so much like we were, all just looking for something, a place to fit. Even Ian, this shy little mouse of a boy in my cabin, isn't so shy and mousy any more and it's only been a week. This place is good for them. And for me, too, I think.

I'm glad you like your job. It's not something I would have seen you doing, but the more I think about it the more I realize that you must excellent, especially with the kids. I guess we're kind of even, now. Go us, for stepping out of our boxes.

It's kind of like when we used to challenge each other.

Anyway, I'm rambling, and rest hour is almost over. I'll have you know I sacrificed my afternoon nap to write to you. No matter. It's time well spent.

Write soon.

Love,

Kurt


July 6th

Dear Kurt-

Stepping out of boxes is a good thing. I think we should be proud of ourselves.

Do you hear from any of the old gang? I feel a little cut off, because I didn't go home for the summer, but Lauren of all people emails me quite a bit. It sounds like everything is the same old, same old in Lima. I don't miss it.

I picked up a new book today, one of those damn romances you got me addicted to. I kind of hate you for that, you know. Anyway, it made me think of you. If you want, I can send it when I'm done with it, so you can have something to read.

I'm not sure what to write about, because work is nothing exciting. I'm sitting at my favorite coffee shop right now, being flirted with by the barista and watching tourists wandering around. Sometimes it feels like we're on display or something, "the gays in their native environment" or whatever. But I love the Castro. It has a different energy than Berkeley, and if the commute weren't such a bitch I'd probably stay here for the rest of my time in school. You'll have to come out here someday. I'd love to play tour guide.

Well. I've rambled enough. Did your camp do anything special for Fourth of July? I went to a cookout with my roommate.

Write soon.

Love,

Dave


July 11th

Dear Dave-

Thanks for the generous offer of the book. I don't have a lot of time to read, but a romance would be a real treat.

Rachel set up an email list. Are you not on it? Anyway, everyone is back in Lima except for you and me and Rachel. She's staying in the city to take some classes and audition for stuff. She doesn't miss it. I do, a little bit, but mostly because I miss my family. Carole sends me a care package every week, and she always puts little toys and treats in for me to share with my boys. She's such a mom. I'm lucky to have her, and Finn. Dad and I both are.

We're halfway through the session, so things are really getting busy. I have a handful of piano students, though lessons here are pretty informal, and we usually spend most of the time talking. That's what slays me. These kids are all bright and talented, but so closed off from people. I remember being like that. I still am like that, more than I'd like to admit. But you know, kids are really good at cutting through the crap. So my kids come for their lessons, and we play a little bit and talk a lot, and nobody cares. Sometimes, in the afternoons, Brenna and I will co-teach a writing class. That's always a lot of fun, because it turns out that Bren is a huge goof-ball, and she always picks the best writing prompts for the kids. They come up with some really funny stuff.

Flirting with the barista? Somehow I think that Travis would not approve. How is he, by the way?

I'd love to see San Francisco someday. With you.

Fourth of July was a regular day at camp, but we did have a cookout and ice cream, and some very illegal sparklers. Hope your cookout was fun.

Write soon.

Love

Kurt


July 15th

Dear Kurt-

Here is the book I promised. I hope you don't mind, I tucked a few more goodies into the box.

Travis and I broke up in the spring. It wasn't working, for lots of reasons that are too much to go into in a letter. When you get out to San Fran, I'll buy you a mocha and tell you all about it. It's okay, though. It was never going to go anywhere serious. How is Toby?

I'm glad that you're a safe person for the kids to talk to. That's important. I wonder, sometimes, thinking about your magical sounding camp, what we would have been like if we'd had a place like that as kids.

The cookout was okay. Hot boys and lots of booze. A little much for me. But the fireworks that night were spectacular. I'm sorry all you got were sparklers.

Enjoy the book, and the goodies.

Love

Dave


July 21st

Dear Dave-

Thank you for the books, and for the cookies and the Mad Libs. The boys have been having endless hours of fun with them. I've been reading them a chapter of James and the Giant Peach every night before lights out; I do voices for the different characters. They boys love it, and have been telling their friends in other cabins about it. Apparently, everyone else is a little jealous because none of the other counselors read to their kids. So thank you.

I'm sorry to hear that things didn't work out with Travis. He seemed like a good guy. Toby and I are sort of friends with benefits. No strings. He's a good friend, and fun, but we both know it's never going to be a forever thing. I never thought I'd want casual, but it's for the best for both of us right now. And if one of us meets someone, we'll be fine as friends.

You'd be surprised how much fun sparklers can be, especially at a place like this.

The musical goes up on Thursday night. We'll do two performances, and then we have the changeover weekend between sessions. The show is really coming together, but things are getting busy so if you don't get a letter back quickly, don't worry. I'm fine, we're fine, I'll just be sucked into a vortex.

I think if we'd had a place like this, we'd be completely different people. This would have been great, but I kind of like who I am, and can't imagine being any different. That said, this place changes you. I needed it. I didn't realize it, but I did.

Thanks again for everything. The boys wanted me to send you one of their favorite Mad Lib efforts as a thank you.

Take care.

Love,

Kurt


July 26th

Dear Kurt-

Ha ha ha. You have some funny, funny boys in your cabin. I'm glad to see they're putting the Mad Libs to good (if somewhat inappropriate) use, and that you all are enjoying James. It was one of my favorites when I was a kid. If you finish it and want something else, let me know.

I never would have picked you for casual anything, but I suppose that just goes to show how we've changed. Even so, Toby sounds like a good egg, and I'm glad you have him for a friend, no matter what happens with the other stuff. Is there more family at your camp?

Are all of your boys going home? I'm guessing that means you get a whole group of newbies, huh?

I won't keep you, I know you're busy. Write when you can, and good luck with everything.

Love,

Dave


July 30th

Dear Dave-

The play went well. The parents loved it, and the kids who weren't in the show were so incredibly supportive of the ones who were.

Changeover weekend was hard. Two of my boys stayed on, so now I have four new kiddos. They're adjusting well, and are nice kids. The dynamic in the cabin is different, a little mellower than last session. But saying goodbye to the ones who left, and two my piano girls who also went home, that was brutal. You've never seen anything like it, kids hugging and crying and not caring that anyone is watching them. It made me cry, of course. Now I understand what Brenna meant when she called this place her home, and these people her family; I never would have believed it. Leaving is going to be hard.

The new musical is West Side Story. Our Tony is quite good. Our Maria needs a little work.

There is some family here; the co-director of the CIT program, and one of the CITs for sure, but there are a few others I suspect. I had a CIT come out to me yesterday, which took all of her piano lesson time and the better part of my free period, and my favorite sweatshirt as a comfort object.

Seriously, girls are weird. And it's been raining, and now I'm without my sweatshirt.

But I digress. Other than you, I've never had anyone come out to me before. Not their first time. So I'm kind of honored, and now I feel like I need to be her fairy godfather or something, which is a little mind-blowing and a crazy kind of responsibility, because I'm only four years older than she is. Thoughts?

Write soon. I look forward to your letters.

Love,

Kurt


August 4th

Dear Kurt-

Wow. I've never had anybody come out to me, so I can't really speak to that at all. Just be there for her, I guess. Like you were there for me.

Girls are weird. You do realize you're never getting that sweatshirt back, right?

I figured you had to be done with James by now, so I've included a variation on a theme. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is great. And before you go telling me how you've seen the movie a million times, both of them, the book is 200 times better. Trust me.

There's also something in here to keep you warm and dry. Keep it as long as you need; there's only one caveat: you have to return it in person.

Love

Dave


August 9th

Dear Dave-

Thanks. For the book, and for your sweatshirt. It's perfect.

And I know I'll sound like a stupid lovesick teenager when I say that part of what is perfect about it is that it smells like your aftershave.

I'm really glad you can't see me blushing.

I'll be back in Lima at the end of the month, for just a couple of days between camp and going back to school. Is there any chance I'll get to see you?

Love,

Kurt


August 13th

Dear Kurt

I won't be back in Lima probably until Christmas. Things are still challenging with my dad, and I don't really feel connected to anything there. Not anymore.

You must be coming to the end of the session soon. What, next week?

Keep me updated on how everything turns out.

Love

Dave


August 18th

Dear Dave-

The session ends on Saturday, and then we have to stick around until Tuesday to close up for the winter. So, don't send any more mail here, because it may not arrive until after I'm gone. If you want to send anything, you can send it to my dad's house. I won't be back at Yale until Labor Day.

How about you? When does your sublet end?

I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable with my last letter. You know how my filter gets sometimes, and I think its worse in writing. This just feels more intimate, you know?

Anyway, by this time next week I'll be back in civilization. Maybe we could actually talk, if you want.

Oh! By the way, you were right about Charlie. None of the boys have ever read the book, and I'm a little ashamed to admit that I hadn't, either. We're collectively savoring every word, though I'm going to have to read extra each night to finish it before camp ends.

Love,

Kurt


Dave leaves Kurt's last letter open on his dresser for two days before he decides what to do. Writing letters all summer felt safe, like a good way to rebuild their friendship. But then there were the packages, and the damn sweatshirt. And what made him say that Kurt had to return it in person? That was probably the dumbest-ass thing Dave had ever done, and he'd done a lot of stupid shit.

So the letter just sits there, and Dave waits.

Then, on Saturday, he's just poking in and out of the shops in the neighborhood, looking for nothing and hoping to find everything, when a postcard catches his eye. It's one he's never seen before. It's a nighttime photo, and Dave can barely make out the cable car wires and the hint of buildings against a crowd of people with candles. For miles, it looks like. When he flips the card over, the information reads "Candlelight vigil for slain Supervisor Harvey Milk and Mayor George Moscone, November 27, 1978."

Dave buys two.

When he gets home, he tucks the first into the book he's reading, to serve as a bookmark. He writes a brief message on the back of the second, and then sits down and writes Kurt an equally brief note on a piece of printer paper. He folds the paper around the postcard and slides both paper and card into an envelope that he addresses to Kurt, in care of his dad's address in Lima. If Dave is lucky, all of it will arrive before Kurt does.


Kurt stands in the parking lot with his bags in a pile at his feet. Abby and Brenna and Rob are huddled with him, all of them sniffly and red-eyed from crying, and from the lack of sleep caused by the free-for-all of barbeque and campfire and wine and singing that went on well into the morning hours. But Kurt can't linger any longer; if he wants to make Lima by dinner tomorrow, he has to get going. He's said the rest of his goodbyes; the hardest ones were his kids, anyway. But he turns to Rob just the same, and gets a bear hug and a peck on the cheek and a whisper in his ear: "You know where to find me if you ever get over that boy of yours". Kurt just smacks Rob lightly on the shoulder and smiles before Brenna and Abby grab him between them and hold him close.

"You'll always have a place here, kiddo." Abby's arms are strong, but her voice is shaking.

"Thank you. I didn't know I needed this."

"I did. Come back to us next year."

Kurt can't think of any way he'd rather spend next summer, so he nods into Abby's hair.

Brenna isn't really crying, and Kurt doesn't really say goodbye to her, because he'll see her on campus in a couple of weeks. But they cling to each other just the same for a few minutes before Kurt tosses his bags into the back of the car. He climbs up into the driver's seat and settles in. Docks his iPod and scrolls through to the playlist Brenna made for him yesterday after they had finished bringing all the canoes in. "Camp, 2013", with enough music to keep him occupied for a few hours at least. He pulls out of the parking lot and waves to the three of them. He knows they'll stand there and watch until they can't see his car any more.


Wednesday night, he rolls into Lima just on the edge of dinner time. The air is hot and heavy and not at all what he wants, but he's missed his family so fucking much that he hasn't been able to breathe since he hit Columbus.

He parks in front of the house because his dad's truck and Carole's Subaru and Finn's Honda are parked haphazardly. He decides that his bags can wait until morning, but he does grab his backpack before locking the doors and heading inside. He hugs his dad and Carole and Finn, and then makes excuses about needing a shower before dinner. He's halfway up the stairs when Carole calls his name. He looks at her, and sees that she's holding an envelope.

"This came for you today. It doesn't have a return address."

But Kurt can see the writing, knows it's from Dave, and his heart speeds up a little bit.

"Thanks, Carole."

He takes the envelope and waits until he's in his room with the door closed before sliding his finger under the flap. When he opens the paper, a postcard flutters to the floor. He reads the letter first.

August 23rd

Dear Kurt-

You didn't make me uncomfortable. I was worried that I'd made you uncomfortable.

Anyway, I was wondering if we could keep writing letters instead of the phone or email. I kind of like it. You're right, it feels intimate.

I've missed being your friend.

I'm back to the dorm at the end of the week, so you can start using my Berkeley address again.

I found this postcard and thought of you.

Love,

Dave

Kurt leans over and picks the card up. He recognizes the front image right away. When he turns it over, he's startled to see that Dave has written on the back.

I'm not, and never will be, sorry for loving you.

Kurt lies back on his bed and sighs. He closes his eyes against images from the past, of coffee dates and movies and the gentle press of Dave's hand at the small of his back or the back of his neck, or soft against his cheek. Of that December night when Dave kissed him for real. Of the echo of his whisper, I'm not sorry.

Kurt feels oddly peaceful. He lets the postcard rest against his chest as he whispers his own prayer into his darkening bedroom.

I'm not sorry, either.