(Author's note: You can, and absolutely should, watch the entire filmed version of the original Broadway cast of Sunday in the Park with George on YouTube. Mandy Patinkin and Bernadette Peters and, like, the whole freaking original Broadway cast of Into the Woods. I watched it four times in the course of writing this story.

Thanks to Lena for ideas for staging and lighting.

Warning in this chapter for minor character death. If you've been waiting for this story to get less angsty, well, this is not where it happens. Sorry. -amy)

Kurt didn't call Noah until four days after camp was over, the day before Finn and Michael's show. When Noah didn't answer his cell or respond to his text message, he called the house number.

"Go for Puckerman," said a voice much younger than Noah's.

Kurt smiled. "Hi, Sarah. It's Kurt."

"Hey." Sarah's voice dropped to a whisper. "Ma told me I'm not supposed to talk to you."

"Well, maybe you shouldn't, then. I don't want to get you in trouble?"

"It's okay. I'm in the kitchen. Did you know we have a new stove? The oven works and everything! And Michael and Finn replaced the countertop on the—" There was a pause, followed by the sound of arguing. He could hear her say, "It's just Kurt. I won't!" Sarah let out a long sigh that sounded way too old for eight. "In a minute!" she called again.

"Is Noah there?"

"He's at Dad's. I don't think he's coming home for a while."

Kurt knew he shouldn't feel disappointed by this, but he did. Noah had told him he wanted to see Sunday in the Park with George.

"Well, if he does come home, please let him know there's a ticket waiting for him at will-call for the Sunday matinee. Do you want to come with us?"

"I'll ask Ma?" She sounded hopeful. "She's always busy hanging out with her new boyfriend."

"Boyfriends aren't a bad thing."

"Yeah, I guess. Hang on." There was a muffled pause, then a protest of "Why not?" and a sharp retort before Sarah came back on. "She says theater's a bad influence."

"You know I don't agree with that," said Kurt, "and neither does Noah, or your dad."

"Yeah. Thanks anyway." Sarah sounded disappointed. "What did you do to piss Noah off this time?"

"I accused him of doing something he didn't do. Or maybe of not doing something he should have."

"Well… he didn't actually seem so mad this time, so maybe he really did do it. He breaks the rules a lot, you know?"

"I know." Kurt sighed. "I think everyone else expects him to break the rules, but I've mostly been on his side. So when it was me accusing him, that really hurt his feelings."

He heard Mrs. Puckerman's insistent voice in the background. "I gotta go. Bye."

It felt particularly strange to be back in his old room, not because he'd been gone so long, but because Kurt knew Michael had become accustomed to spending the night while he was away. Since they'd arrived home, Kurt had watched Finn and Michael cutting short their dates and Finn prowling restlessly around the house after he left. Kurt knew exactly how that felt.

"You know," he told Finn, as they set the table for dinner, "when Puck and I were at Usdan, the week before the show, we arranged to have privacy in my room for a couple of hours each afternoon. It gave us a sanctuary, where we could do anything we needed to do together, alone, without time pressure. I mean, mostly we slept and fought, in addition to the obvious, but I think that's what we needed to do."

Finn shrugged, glancing around. "That sounds about right."

"Why don't you and Michael do that?"

Now he was just relieved. "That would be okay with you? Just a couple of hours would be… yeah."

"I know it's not the same as having him there overnight."

"No, that's—it's okay," Finn said quickly. "I mean, I really liked having him spend the night, but… it's pretty crowded in that little bed? There wasn't a lot of sleeping, and I think we could kind of use that before the performance."

"Is Blaine coming for dinner again?" Carole called from the kitchen.

Finn looked at Kurt sharply as he called back, "Yes, he'll be here in about twenty minutes."

"So what's that all about?" He handed Kurt the sixth plate. "You guys dating now or what?"

"No," Kurt said. "Not dating. He's helping me with something."

Finn still looked suspicious, but he didn't press or tease him. It was something Kurt particularly appreciated about Finn.

Kurt met Blaine at the door with a hug. He accepted his kiss on the cheek without comment. "How was the drive?"

"Terrible. August is construction season for sure. I bet you're glad not to be making that drive quite so often anymore." He gave Kurt a coy smile. "Or maybe you will be? You think you and Asher…?"

"Not at all. He's a friend, and a good one, but that's all."

"Well, he sure is cute. Something about dancers, I don't know. There was this one boy at Six Flags—Kurt, I could have watched him all day." He gave a little shimmy of ecstasy.

"Just watched?" Kurt glanced back as he led him down the stairs to the basement.

Blaine grinned. "Since when do you want details? I mean… we were taking a break, right? It wasn't cheating."

"I didn't say it was," Kurt protested. Blaine laughed, giving him another half-hug.

"Well, not exactly just watched. But he was definitely not ready for anything like a relationship." As they sat on the edge of Kurt's bed, Blaine touched his knee. "Maybe you would know something about how that feels?"

"Maybe."

"So the two of you aren't together right now?"

"No," Kurt said reluctantly. "But, Blaine, that doesn't mean I want to get back together with you."

Blaine inclined his head in what Kurt interpreted to be awareness, if not agreement. "Not as boyfriends, then, but… as friends who once dated, you've got to know I understand what you're going through. If you need anything, I'm here." He patted Kurt's leg. "Now, let's take a look at how your play is coming."

Kurt watched Blaine's face, the easy grace of his body while he read the pages Kurt had written since Tuesday. It wasn't that he wasn't attracted to Blaine, after all. He was handsome by anyone's standards, and his body certainly rivaled Noah's for fitness and strength.

"You're staring," Blaine murmured, flipping a page. Kurt scowled at his pillow as Blaine grinned. "Well, this is very interesting. I am certainly going to look forward to reading more on Saturday."

"Are you sure it's not too slow?" He reached over and turned back a few pages. "What about this part, with the boy and his father? I think the pacing is off. Would you read it with me?"

"Kurt," Blaine said, laughing, "can't you just believe me that it's good?"

"You didn't even look at it. Come on, which part do you want to read?"

He sighed. "I'll take the father, I guess? Show me where you want me to start…?"

As Blaine read all the words, it quickly became clear to Kurt that Blaine had no idea how to set up or develop creative tension in a scene. When they got to the end, Blaine seemed more excited by the story, but Kurt just felt—well, dissatisfied by the whole experience.

"Thanks," Kurt said anyway.

"You definitely should submit it for that contest when it's done." Blaine beamed. "I can't wait to find out what's going to happen next!"

Blaine chattered with Michael and Carole all the way through dinner about his experiences at Six Flags, but Kurt was too distracted to pay very close attention.

"What do you know about scriptwriting?" he asked Michael after dinner, while Blaine was helping with the dishes.

"Not much." Michael shrugged. "What do you want to know?"

"I'm at a technical standstill and I don't know who to ask." At Michael's look, he sighed. "Okay, I know who I want to ask, but that's not an option."

"What about one of your friends from Usdan? Or, for that matter, why don't you call Puck's father?"

"Even if I had his phone number, I don't think I'm quite at the social phone call stage of our relationship. Maybe Anthony; he was working on a play of his own." He nodded at the basement door. "Do the two of you need some time alone?"

Michael looked inexplicably nervous, but he nodded. "Thanks, Kurt."

Blaine took about twenty minutes to wrap up his conversation with Carole. He even hugged her before saying good night to Kurt.

"I really missed your parents," he said. "Almost as much as I missed you."

"I missed you, too," Kurt said, even though he wasn't really sure he had.

He wondered if he was going to have to duck another kiss from Blaine, but Blaine just climbed into his car and gave him a cheerful wave. It was almost disappointing. Kurt stared at the empty street for too long before heading inside.

While Finn and Michael were enjoying their quality time downstairs and his dad dozed in front of the television, Kurt picked up his phone and put it back down again about five times. He hadn't reached the point of considering deleting Noah's phone number from his contacts list. He certainly wasn't going to accidentally-on-purpose dial him. Also, every time he looked at his list of recent outgoing calls, he saw Chris's name and felt a twinge of guilt. He wished he hadn't left the hospital so quickly.

Finally he sighed and texted a number he'd never called before. This is Kurt. Is it so weird being back home for you, too?

Weirder than anything, Asher replied immediately. Just seeing those words, hearing them in his head in Asher's voice, flooded him with relief. My sister and I went to see Inception, and she could only talk about how hot Leonardo DiCaprio was, and I just wanted to dissect the scene structure.

I tried to get Blaine to read this scene with me and it was a freaking disaster. He had no idea what I was talking about. How am I ever going to enjoy theater again if all I can do is notice what's wrong with the way people are doing it?

Maybe the enjoyment will come back. Focus on musicals? What's your go-to comfort watching movie?

Funny Girl, usually.

Mine is A Chorus Line. My dream role is Mike Costa. After a pause, Asher added, Have you heard from Puck at all?

Not since Saturday.

Kurt looked up as Carole put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm heading to bed. Can you wake up your dad and send him up before you go downstairs?"

"Sure, of course."

She smiled. "It was so nice to see Blaine. He's going to join us for Finn's performance, right?"

Kurt only waited a moment before nodding. "I'm sure he'd love to. I'll ask him tomorrow."

Asher had typed, I definitely got the feeling Blaine thinks the two of you are dating again.

He thinks we never stopped, said Kurt. He thinks I just needed this summer to get Puck out of my system, and then I'd come running back to him as soon as he batted his pretty eyelashes at me.

I'm sorry he won't take no for an answer. That's a shitty thing to do to anybody, no matter how charming he is.

You know, I have never heard you swear before, Asher.

You probably never will. I'm just grumpy because my sister ate all the Frosted Flakes. Not to mention I've been misgendered about fifty times since I returned to this house.

I hope that improves. Let me know if you get any comfort from Zack and Cassie.

Will do. Stay in touch.

Now Asher's name was at the top of his recently-called list. Somehow that made it easier to set his phone aside without texting either Noah or Chris. He didn't text Blaine, either. Blaine certainly was charming, but whatever Kurt was looking for, it was becoming increasingly obvious that charming wasn't going to be enough.

And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget, forgetting any other home but this, Romeo whispered. Kurt shivered and pulled the afghan around his shoulders.

He waited there in the glow of the television beside his sleeping dad until Michael and Finn emerged from the basement, speaking in quiet murmurs. After a long pause in the front hall, the door opened and closed, and Finn came into the family room.

"Hey," he said. "Uh, you can come downstairs now. Sorry it's so late."

"You get to take as long as you want."

Finn sighed. "It's not like that. We just fell asleep."

"I'm not the sex police, Finn."

Kurt was aware he was being terrible, but he knew Finn would let him, and he also wouldn't hold a grudge, so Kurt didn't bother to apologize. He just led his sleepy dad to the stairs going up, pointed him in the right direction, and went downstairs.

Then he dug in the bottom drawer of his desk for Noah's birthday Henley, the one Kurt had given him last summer. Kurt had stolen it from his room at Usdan six days ago, after desperately going through all of Noah's clothes. He'd been relieved to discover that hadn't been the shirt Noah was wearing when he went to the city and found Chris.

The one that had been so covered in blood he had to throw it away.

Kurt changed out of his clothes into his regular pajama bottoms, and put on the Henley. Then he climbed into bed and turned out the light, feeling like the biggest fool, and buried his nose in the shirt, inhaling the scent of Noah until he fell asleep.

Mrs. Wright approached Kurt in the lobby of the Encore, smiling broadly.

"I'm sorry Puck couldn't come," Kurt said. "His sister wanted to be here, too, but their mom said no."

She nodded. "Things happen. But you're here. I would love to hear all about Usdan."

"I'm guessing you're a little busy tonight, but… maybe we can have coffee after the show is over?" He brought out a manilla envelope containing a copy of his script. "I will confess I have an ulterior motive. I'm in the middle of a project, and I could really use an editor."

Her eyes gleamed as she tucked it under her arm. "You bet, Kurt. I'll take a look at it next week and get back to you. Enjoy the show."

He and Blaine weren't sure if they would see anybody else they knew in the audience, but Lauren and Tina and Mike were there, and Kurt saw some of Michael's friends from jazz band. Rachel wouldn't be back from Oberlin for another week, and Mercedes was now at her church camp, but he was a little surprised not to see any of the Cheerios in the audience, considering Quinn was playing the lead.

"I get to see three shows in a week," Blaine said. He took Kurt's hand and squeezed it. "I'm getting spoiled. Do you suppose your school will do a musical this fall?"

"Maybe?" Kurt sniffed. "I'm not holding my breath. The politics of theater at McKinley are fraught."

The set was painted in a monochromatic palette, but the lights were used to good effect to set the tone. Kurt could almost see the grass waving and the river rippling across the stage.

The first scene opened on Michael as George Seurat, painting Quinn, who was playing his lover and model Dot, on the bank of the river. Quinn's character was immediately funny, with just the right amount of sass and conciliation, and her singing was crisp and perfectly on pitch:

There are worse things
 Than staring at the water
 As you're posing for a picture
 After sleeping on the ferry
 After getting up at seven
 To came over to an island
 In the middle of a river
 Half an hour from the city
 On a Sunday in the park with—

Everything was mutable, shifting from the Seine to George's studio and back without much detail other than what was produced by the light. George's intense inner focus and Dot's wistful annoyance were in perfect counterpoint.

Color and light, sang George, gazing at his painting,

There's only color and light.
 Yellow and white.
 Just blue and yellow and white.
 Look at the air, miss—
 See what I mean?
 No, look over there, miss—
 That's done with green...
 Conjoined with orange...

And then Dot, grumbling in song as she dressed to go out and watched him paint:

Nothing seems to fit me right.
 The less I wear, the more comfortable I feel. More rouge...
 George is very special.
 Maybe I'm just not special enough for him.

Blaine pointed and whispered, "Hey, look!" when the two shopgirls named Celeste entered together, whispering and giggling. It was Brittany and Santana.

"Look who's over there!" Santana-Celeste said. "Dot is with Louis the baker."

"How did Dot get to be with Louis?" Brittany-Celeste wondered.

Santana-Celeste snickered. "She knows how to make dough rise."

George wore black; everyone else wore beiges and grays and pastel, until Finn's character, the Boatman, came on.

"People all dressed up in their Sunday-best pretending?" The Boatman snorted contemptuously, swaggering in his boots and rough clothes. "Sunday is just another day. I wear what I always wear—then I don't have to worry."

Overprivileged woman
 Complaining.
 Silly little simpering
 Shopgirls.
 Condescending artists,
 "Observing;"
 "Perceiving"...
 Well, screw them!

Dot did her best to impress George, even through his frustrating inattention. She practiced learning to read and write in her composition book, but he continued to ignore her in favor of his work.

George's friend Jules, a more accomplished artist, played by Scott from jazz band, was perplexed by George's singular focus on such a weird way of painting.

"People are talking about your work," Jules warned him. "Always changing! Why keep changing?"

George regarded him steadily. "Because I do not paint for your approval."

It put a lump in Kurt's throat he did not expect. He'd seen the recording of the show more than once, but—

But it's the audience that brings it to life, Bryce reminded him in his head. It's the interaction between the art and the perceiver that makes it theater.

He was even more startled to discover George explaining as much to Jules in a later scene. George pointed at his painting. "What is the dominant color? The flower on the hat?"

"Violet," said Jules.

George brought him closer to the canvas and pointed. "See? Red, and blue. Your eye made the violet. Your eye is perceiving both red and blue and violet. Only eleven colors—no black—divided, not mixed on the palette, mixed by the eye." He was more excited now than they had ever seen him. "Can't you see the shimmering? Science, Jules. Fixed laws for color, like music."

Like music. Kurt sniffed, digging in his pocket for his handkerchief. Blaine put a hand on his shoulder, and Kurt leaned in a little, appreciating Blaine's warmth, but he could not look away from the performance.

Dot explained in song why she chose to leave George and go with Louis the baker instead, even though he was clearly not ideal. It hit a little too close to home for Kurt. Luckily Blaine appeared to be oblivious:

Everybody loves Louis,
 Him as well as his cakes.
 Everybody loves Louis,
 Me included, George.

Not afraid to be gooey,
 Louis sells what he makes.
 Everybody gets along with him.
 That's the trouble… nothing's wrong with him.

Before the end of the first act, Dot came back to George, now visibly pregnant, to let him know she was leaving France for America. Her indignant desperation was so familiar.

"You care about nothing," Dot accused him.

"I care about many things. People too. I cannot divide my feelings up as neatly as you." George pointed his brush at the painting. "And I am not hiding behind my canvas—I am living in it. You will be in this painting."

Tell me what you feel, Dot demanded.

What I feel? George sang back to her.

You know exactly how I feel.
 Why do you insist
 You must hear the words,
 When you know I cannot give you words?
 Not the ones you need.
 There's nothing to say.
 I cannot be what you want.

After she left, George's senile mother, the old lady in the painting, approached him. She was played by an underclassman named Kitty whom Kurt didn't know, but she had a great voice and a solid stage presence. She spoke wistfully of the past:

I see towers
 Where there were trees,
 Going,
 All the stillness…

Sundays
 Disappearing
 All the time
 When things were beautiful…

George shook his head and sang back,

Pretty isn't beautiful, Mother,
 Pretty is what changes.
 What the eye arranges
 Is what is beautiful.

"You make it beautiful," his mother told him fondly. "Quick, draw it all, Georgie!"

All of the characters showed their individual colors in the chaos of conflict before the end of the first act, until George rearranged them into the finished painting. The figures of the chorus spun, stopped, expanded, contracted in patterns echoing the dappled jewel tones of the light—then stopped, spun, expanded and contracted again as they coalesced into composition. Order… design… tension… balance… harmony.

"Wow, they're so good," Blaine effused as the house lights came up at intermission. "And there's a whole second act set in the future, right?"

"This is when it gets weird," said Kurt. "But it really does hang together."

Blaine laughed. "It doesn't have to be everybody's cup of tea. Just because I love Sondheim."

Kurt tried not to bristle at the implication: Just because Puck doesn't. He wanted to defend him, but after all, the whole point was that he wasn't there to defend himself. He gazed around the packed auditorium and sighed.

The second act began with a humorous scene. The characters in Seurat's famous painting, still in their poses, were all whining about having to stand there for decades while it was so hot.

Why are they complaining? said the Boatman;

It could have been raining.

The transition to current day was immediate. Michael was playing George, a contemporary painter and descendent of George Seurat. He introduced his grandmother, Marie, Dot's daughter, now in her nineties, and together they presented his "chromolume" light sculpture exhibition in celebration of the painting A Sunday on La Grande Jatte.

On the screen behind the scrim, a pattern of laser light traced the outlines of Seurat's painting to synthesizer music, while figures in glowing costumes walked the same patterns they had danced at the end of act one. Points of light in bright colors shrank into patterns that became figures. Gradually, on a canvas as large as the curtain, the impression of the painting took shape. Kurt wondered who had done the computer programming to make that happen.

Following the exhibition, George and his grandmother attended a cocktail party. Just as they had in the first act, commenters and potential patrons criticized George's work, while in rapid patter George addressed the need to raise money in order to keep his art alive:

Advancing art is easy
 Financing it is not.
 A vision's just a vision
 If it's only in your head.
 If no one gets to see it,
 It's as good as dead.
 It has to come to light!

His grandmother Marie—Kurt could barely believe it was Quinn in all that makeup—sang to George, and to the painting, with gentle reminiscence about her mother and "the two things one should leave behind when we go: children and art."

That was the last of Marie, and after she passed away, George went with his crew to France to put on his next exhibition. Michael sat in the middle of the stage and sang sadly to himself of being lost, without inspiration:

George looks within.
 George is adrift.
 George goes by guessing.
 George looks behind.
 He had a gift.
 When did it fade?

His great-grandmother Dot returned in a vision to help him make sense of the red composition book she'd written, and of the world. Kurt watched, with full-on tears running down his face now, as Quinn sang the words Noah had sung to him before they went to Usdan:

Stop worrying where you're going—
 Move on.
 If you can know where you're going,
 You've gone.
 Just keep moving on.

I chose, and my world was shaken—
 So what?
 The choice may have been mistaken,
 The choosing was not.
 You have to move on.

The show ended on a blank white canvas, the light, and a hopeful chord: so many possibilities.

Kurt pressed his soaked handkerchief to his eyes once more, but it was a futile gesture. Blaine smiled as he applauded, cheering for Michael and Quinn and the whole cast as they came to the stage for their curtain call. Mrs. Wright came out to stand beside them, and Quinn brought her a bouquet of flowers and gave her a hug.

They all moved to the lobby to meet the cast as they came out to pose in costume for pictures with their families. While Blaine rushed over to congratulate Quinn, Kurt went to find Santana.

"The two of you were amazing!" he said. "I had no idea you had even auditioned."

"Yeah, well… after last year's Rocky Horror debacle, I decided I wasn't going to miss being in another musical." Santana gestured at Quinn, who was beaming at Blaine. "She talked us into it."

"Wasn't it great, though?"

She nodded, without a trace of irony. "It really was. I had a blast. But now I think we have to convince Mr. Schue to do a musical."

He offered a high-five, and she accepted it. "I'm in."

Finn swept him up into a great big hug that left Kurt laughing. "That was amazing," Kurt told him. "And you were great."

"It was enough for now," Finn said. "Maybe the next time we do a show, I'll have the courage to try out for something bigger. Seriously, the best part of all of this was getting to watch Michael do his thing every day."

Kurt grinned. "His singing was beautiful. And he's a much better actor than he used to be. It was Quinn who blew me away. She was so funny, so expressive."

"Yeah." Finn gave him a lopsided smile. "Some people have a way of letting more of themselves show on the stage than they do in real life."

"Who said the stage isn't just an extension of real life?" Michael walked up to stand beside Finn. He slid an arm around his waist, like it was nothing, and Finn relaxed against him with a contented expression. "What did you think, Kurt? Not bad for community theater, huh?"

"It was inspirational," Kurt decided. "Because life can't be arranged like a painting. It doesn't wait for the eye to see its value. It's dynamic." He glanced at Michael, then back at Finn. "… Which means it's only here for a short time."

"I know what it means," he said, frowning, while Michael smirked.

"And in addition, it was technically impressive. You know, it struck me how James Lapine's music is like Seurat's art. He uses notes like pointillism, coming together to make colorful phrases. And Sondheim's lyrics, they're humorous, whimsical, even sentimental. It's an alluring combination, but not always accessible."

"Dude." Finn made a face. "You're making it sound so boring. Can't you just enjoy it? You don't have to take it apart like that."

"Yes, he does," said Michael. Now he was smiling. "Kurt lives for his work, too."

Kurt dwelled on Michael's statement as they returned to the car. It made him feel anxious.

"Dot and George," he mused. "They were… really different people."

Carole nodded in the front. "Do you think the song Quinn sang was right? Did they belong together or didn't they?"

"Not in the first act," said Michael. "George Seurat was an original. He was compelled to focus on his art, while Dot needed somebody who wanted to be with her, like Louis. Not somebody who was obsessed with one thing."

"Like in RENT," Blaine said.

Kurt turned to him. "What?"

"That's what Mark and Roger fight about in the second act." He sang, as Blaine always did, totally unselfconsciously:

Mark hides in his work
 From facing your failure
 Facing your loneliness
 Facing the fact you live a lie
 Yes, you live a lie, tell you why
 You're always preaching not to be numb
 When that's how you thrive
 You pretend to create and observe
 When you really detach from feeling alive…

"Poor baby," Kurt murmured, wincing. He'd been thinking of himself as Dot in this situation, but maybe he was as much George as Noah was.

Or maybe they're just characters, and you're not like any of them, he reminded himself.

After bringing Michael and Finn home so they could clean up before the cast party, Blaine turned to Kurt.

"My long-standing tradition of going out for ice cream after every performance is beckoning me," he said. "Can I treat you?"

Kurt regarded Blaine dubiously. Then he took him by both shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"Can you honestly tell me this is neither a date, nor an attempt to convince me to date you again?"

Blaine actually looked hurt. "Kurt, are we going to go through this again every time I try to make plans with you?"

"Only if you're going to keep kissing me and giving me little snuggles every chance you get."

"Can't I just be a snuggly friend?" Blaine sighed when Kurt rolled his eyes, tugging on his arm. "Okay, I get your reticence. I do! But all I can say is you're going to have to let me prove it to you. I'm not going to stop being who I am just because you're afraid I'm being manipulative. You say we're only friends, I'm listening."

"Yeah, well, nobody else believes you either." He let Blaine lead him down the steps to the sidewalk toward his car. "Asher called you on it right away."

"Well, I hope you stood up for me. Wasn't I the one who convinced you to take a break and think it through instead of making a rash decision after prom?" Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Tell me why that was a bad idea."

"Because you didn't listen to me when I told you how I felt." He climbed into the car beside Blaine, watching his placid face with mounting irritation. "You didn't trust that I would know my own mind."

"Kurt, that's just not true." He leaned on the steering wheel. "Look, I'm not trying to gaslight you here. I'm just saying, no matter what I think about whether or not we belong together, I am willing to accept your choice."

"Eventually? Or right now?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, right now, can you say you still want to be friends with me if I am no longer and never will be your boyfriend?"

He watched Blaine's smile fade into uncertainty. Kurt sighed and opened the door, removing his seatbelt.

"That's what I thought."

"Kurt—wait." He grabbed Kurt's wrist, then chewed on his lip as he gathered his thoughts. "Okay, maybe that wasn't… one hundred percent what I was hoping to hear. But I don't want to stop spending time with you just because—"

"Just because what? Because you refuse to accept I've friendzoned you and you're still waiting for me to change my mind? Because you keep trying to flirt with me in an effort to show me what a bad decision I made?" Kurt shook his head. "I do love you, Blaine, but I don't trust you. I want to be your friend, but I want you to stop hoping that someday or eventually or if you get me drunk enough, things will be different. Okay?"

Blaine's face was closed and hurt, but he nodded. "Okay."

"Okay," Kurt said again. He took a long breath. "Now we can get ice cream, assuming you still want to."

They went to Pete's and sat under the umbrella table with their hot fudge. Kurt decided it was a little too soon to make a joke about having a sundae in the park, but Blaine surprised him by giving him a little smile.

"So I'm assuming things with Puck still aren't going anywhere?"

"They just stopped," Kurt said. "That probably should tell me something. He stopped calling, which is what I figured he would do. I'm trying to accept it, but it's hard without hearing any feedback at all."

"You're not going to try to figure it out?"

Maybe. No. Yes. He shrugged. "I haven't decided yet."

Blaine nodded, toying with his ice cream. "I was just wondering… how would you react if Puck told you what you just told me?"

"That I never have a chance with him?" He smiled bitterly. "Blaine, he's been telling me that since day one."

"So how is that different from what you're telling me not to do with you?"

Kurt stared at the concrete table. "Some days I honestly don't know. But he asked me not to give up on him, even though most days he's barely been able to acknowledge me in public. He's ashamed and terrified and angry."

"See, this is the part where I have a hard time not giving you advice." He looked up at Kurt with a nervous laugh. "Which—I am not going to do. See, this is me, not telling you he's bad for you."

"Blaine…"

"At least after this summer, I'm going to be sure you didn't just hook up with Puck because he was hot. Not if you had a chance with Asher." He made a fanning motion. "Whoo."

Blaine continued to make offensively attentive comments, but Kurt decided to stop commenting on them and just appreciate that Blaine was trying his best. He didn't offer to hug Kurt goodbye, which was something.

"How about we take a few days without calling one another?" Kurt suggested. "And let me be first. Then you can be sure when I do, I'll feel ready."

There was no mistaking that Blaine looked heartbroken. He simply nodded and waited for Kurt to get out of the car, then drove away. This time, watching him go felt a lot less confusing.

Kurt's dad was still awake when he went back inside, sorting through papers at the table. He gave Kurt a tight smile. "Blaine heading home?"

"Yes. I should probably tell you, just so you're clear, I just broke up with Blaine. We're never going to be more than friends."

His dad set down the stack of papers and nodded. "I seem to remember you guys going through this before?"

"It wasn't final then, but now it is."

"You doing okay?"

He nodded back. "I feel… relieved."

"So do I."

Kurt sank into a chair across from him. "I always thought you liked Blaine."

"Oh, I do. That's not the same as saying you should date somebody you're not in love with. You notice I waited a heck of a long time to date anybody again? I wasn't going to settle for just anybody. Carole, she was it for me." His dad raised an eyebrow. "But I'm not saying you have to know who that might be at eighteen. You've got time."

He nodded. "I do. I think I'm still not quite ready to… to move on, but… yeah. I should take some time to figure it out."

Kurt took a long shower, taking advantage of his time alone in their room before Finn got home, and put on the 1984 soundtrack of Sunday in the Park with George while he moisturized. He was singing loud enough that he almost missed his phone's ringtone over the music.

Then he nearly dropped the phone again when he saw the name on the display: Chris Janssen. With shaking hands, he accepted the call.

"Hello?" he demanded. "Who is this?"

"It's me, Kurt."

It was undeniably Chris. Kurt laughed in relief. "I thought—maybe it would be somebody else. It's so good to hear your voice. Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not." Kurt could hear him crying. The fear washed back over him, intense enough to make him feel sick. "I couldn't get through to Puck, and I figured, if he didn't already know, he should hear it from a person, not in a message."

He gripped the edge of his chair. "What—what is it?"

"It's Bryce. He didn't tell anybody how sick he was." Chris's words were almost unintelligible now. "Metastatic lung cancer. He went into hospice last night. I just found out. Kurt, he died this afternoon."