Bold are Blaine's texts, Italics are Kurt's, for future reference.

Do you remember my friend Charlie? The only person I've ever met who's crazier than you? Pink faux-hawk, green nails, pride-flag nails? The one I met at Dalton when I spied there last year? Well, I went out for coffee with him after I didn't get the part of Tony because I wasn't masculine enough. I'm not still bitter, but I definitely was at the time.

"You know what you need?" he asked me, and I shrugged. "A pick me up."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious." Perhaps I was a little unnecessarily sarcastic, but it didn't even faze Charlie. Things rarely do.

"I don't mean like shopping with the girls, or coffee with the best person ever," he pointed to himself, "I mean like a boy pick me up, and I have the perfect one picked out."

"Charlie, I have watched enough relationships crash and burn in the New Directions to honestly not care about romance, especially not in high school." Because seriously, you guys are the most ridiculous group of hormone-driven idiots I've ever met.

"Yeah, yeah, the Nude Erections has their issues, but I promise you this guy is absolutely perfect for you." Charlie always calls us the 'Nude Erections,' but he kind of has a point on how it sounds when it's said quickly. "He has a little bit of a past-"

"That doesn't sound promising," I interrupted.

"Kurt, he's an absolute sweetheart. Completely romantic, genuinely nice, incredibly smart, extremely talented, ridiculously flexible," Charlie waggled his eyebrows and I could feel my face heating up. No matter what, something Charlie says always pertains to sex. It's the one thing I don't like about talking to him.

"Have you slept with him?" I asked suspiciously, because most of the gay guys Charlie knew, Charlie had slept with, and I definitely didn't want Charlie's seconds.

"No," Charlie said, his tone sour. "Trust me, I tried, but like I said, he has some past."

"I would really feel more comfortable saying 'yes' to this if I knew something more about this mysterious 'past.'" I took a sip of my abnormally bitter coffee and tried to think of what Charlie (who has a bit of a 'past' himself) would think of as 'past.' The options were not looking good.

"But you are saying 'yes'?" Charlie was smirking at me. I knew it. I didn't even have to look at him, but I did anyway just to confirm. Yep.

"I am saying 'yes,'" I agreed. When I thought about it at the time, there was absolutely no harm in going on a date with a friend of Charlie's. Anyone who was willing to spend time with Charlie was probably out, pretty patient, and a good person. Charlie didn't put up with anything for long. Charlie was the best person I could think of to set me up on a date. How sad is that? Plus, even if I hadn't wanted to, Charlie would have found a way to make me say 'yes,' or just trick me into going on the date anyway.

"Excellent!" Charlie chirped. "I'll call him tonight, we'll set up the date for Thursday at my house?"

"Why Thursday? And why at your house?" I was admittedly starting to get a little suspicious. If I had listened to my gut at this point, we would not be sitting here in this choir room. And was locking the door really necessary?

"My parents are out on Thursday, and the reason it's at my house is that my house is unfamiliar ground to both of you, but you also have privacy. I don't want either of you to have the home-field advantage. It's like the Super Bowl." The fact Charlie was turning this date into some sort of battle in his head also made me nervous, but I agreed. "Don't worry, I'll make it wonderfully romantic."

"Charlie, I know your idea of 'wonderfully romantic,'" I said hesitantly, because I know his boyfriend, and 'romantic' isn't really a word he knows the definition of. "No condoms. Not even one." Charlie cracked up laughing, but I was being completely serious.

"Oh, would you relax?" Charlie asked between fits of laughter. "It'll be fine. Maybe the fact that you worry too much is what the directors thought was too feminine about you."

"Really?" I asked dryly. "That's the only thing you can find about me that's feminine." I gestured to my face and to my outfit, and Charlie just shrugged.

That week, the week when Rory was introduced to the Glee club and I had to deal with another countertenor being around for the first time, I was an absolute ball of nerves, but Charlie texted me every so often to remind me to breathe properly and tell me he had everything under control. He refused to tell me anything else about the boy he was setting me up with, which makes sense now, but at the time just made me want to kill him.

I was first at his house on Thursday, which was kind of relaxing. Though I refused to think about the date as a war like Charlie did, being the first to survey the field and find the high ground did give me the upper hand. I would need it.

I took the seat facing the door, and looked around. I had to admire Charlie's attempts at romance (now I just had to convince him to try doing the same thing for his own boyfriend). The room had low lighting, there were candles on the table, and the food looked delicious in its silver platters. I wondered if Charlie was serving us for a moment, because that would be exactly his clever way to observe the date without getting in the way, and then I realized I didn't see the crazy boy anywhere. I decided not to worry about it. Another bad decision.

My heart jumped into my throat and started working overtime when the door opened. "Charlie?" a voice called, and I could have sworn that the voice was familiar. It was, of course, but I had never heard him talk to someone in a relaxed tone that implied they were his equal. I'm sure you still haven't. "So where's this..." Blaine Anderson and I froze at exactly the same moment. The door behind Blaine shut without him even touching it. For a moment, I let myself believe it was the wind, but in the silence we both heard the lock click. "That bitch," Blaine said, turning around and pulling at the doorknob uselessly.

"You're going to have to try a lot harder than that," Charlie's voice came from the intercom I had noticed but paid no attention to. "All the doors are locked, the windows have been barred since my parents caught a college-age biker sneaking out of a fifteen-year-old me's bedroom, and I promise you I set booby traps outside in case you actually do manage to escape. Have fun, the both of you need it."

For the next half an hour or so, Blaine walked around and tried all of the exits as I watched. Charlie had locked us together in the room, leaving only the bathroom open, and true to his words, the bathroom windows were barred. "I will kick a hole through your wall," Blaine threatened the empty air, but there was no reply. We had no way of knowing if Charlie was still observing us. "Dickhead," Blaine muttered under his breath.

"Heard that." Well that answered that question.

"Let us out!" Blaine yelled, seemingly having remembered my existence.

"Nope. Now sit down and eat your damn food. It's going to get cold." No matter what else Blaine called Charlie under his breath (and he had quite a few creative ones), Charlie didn't say anything else after that.

"I'm sorry about this," I apologized. It wasn't really my fault, but I had nothing else to say to Blaine, who was known for being the scariest gay Cheerio in existence, considering everyone thought he was from a reform school. He isn't, in case you're wondering, but I'll get to that.

"It's not your fault. I should have known when Charlie asked to set me up with someone that he had something like this in mind. It's not only characteristic of him, it's stereotypical of him." Blaine seemed to be trying to get a rise from the intercom, which was silent. Blaine grumbled and headed over to the silver dishes Charlie had left. "Do you want your food?"

"Sure," I muttered. Blaine's hostility towards Charlie (I had a feeling some of it was towards me as well) was making the atmosphere uncomfortable, and I was shifting in my chair.

"Do you have to use the bathroom or something?" Blaine asked with a raised eyebrow when he placed my food in front of me, and I stopped shifting immediately.

"No," I said quickly, and Blaine let it go, sitting down opposite me and starting to eat, seemingly perfectly comfortable in the awkward silence. I got the chance to observe him. He was still in his Cheerios uniform, probably having come straight from practice (though he had showered), but for the first time I noticed how his well-built arms stretch the seams, and how the tight shirt emphasizes that Blaine is well-muscled for someone so short. He's cute, too, once you stop being frightened of him, with the most fascinating hazel eyes. His hair was still gelled back, but he had sweated out the gel a little, and it was curling at the edges.

"You're staring," he commented, and I could feel my cheeks heating up as I stopped.

"How are the Cheerios?" The only good piece of advice you have ever given me, Rachel, is that common ground is the key to making conversation with anyone, and logically speaking, Blaine and I had, and have, a lot of common ground.

"Fine. We're pretty excited for Sectionals." Even in these simple words, I was seeing a whole new side of Blaine. He wasn't being sarcastic or biting, or acting like I was dirt underneath his shoe. He was just... talking. Like a normal person, which was something I had never considered him as before.

"I used to be a Cheerio," I piped up, than was tempted to smack myself for how stupid that sounded, but Blaine looked up from his food for the first time since he had sat down, raising an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"During my sophomore year," I said, glad I had finally found something to talk about. "I only did four performances, one of which was mostly Mercedes-"

"Mercedes Jones?" he interrupted, and I could hear the slight against my best girl in his tone (no offense, but I will always consider her my best girl).

"Yes," I said, and now I was the one who was being cold. Tables turned.

"I'm sorry," Blaine said gently. "I didn't mean to offend you, or insult her, it just surprises me that Coach Crazy would have let her be on the Cheerios. I know how obsessed she is with the idea of the perfect Cheerio: 5'3", blonde, too skinny to be real... and female, for that matter." I chuckled at that. That was exactly how Quinn had started out.

"She made an exception, for the both of us. There were... extenuating-ly weird circumstances," I explained, and I told him the story of Madonna week and what had happened with Coach Sylvester.

"Yeah, you two should definitely have a show on Bravo," he said once I had finished the story, but he was actually smiling. That only made him cuter. "Are you not eating?" he asked.

"I'm not really..." I was tempted to smack my head against the table as my stomach growled so loudly it practically talked over me. Blaine smiled like he was trying not to laugh.

"I don't think your stomach agrees with you," he said, and I could hear him trying not to laugh in his tone too. "Eat up, it's pretty good. I guarantee Charlie didn't make it." The intercom was still silent. Blaine sighed. "So what numbers did you perform?" he asked once I had taken my first bite, and he was right. Charlie definitely hadn't made this.

"We did 4 Minutes that week," I said, trying to remember what the fourth one had been.

"That's a great number," Blaine commented. "It's a shame we don't do more music like that on the Cheerios. Don't get me wrong, I love Katy Perry, but if I hear anymore of her, I might just scream and smash all the stereos in the school."

"Just stay away from the choir room," I said, a vivid mental image coming to mind.

"Deal."

"Mercedes performed Beautiful, by Christina Aguilera, when Coach tried to get her and I to lose weight for a visit from a reporter." Blaine nodded.

"I knew something like that must have happened... but you too?" Blaine asked, and I was flattered by how surprised he sounded.

"That was almost two years ago," I explained. "I still had some baby fat." I still think I do, but first... could this still be considered a date? I had wondered. Anyway, first dates were not the time to bring up insecurities.

"Can't imagine that," Blaine commented, and I had nothing to say to that.

"We did Fergalicious once, but it was just during practice. No one ever saw it." I was, and am, still angry about that. Fergalicious was a fantastic number, and we never got to perform it.

"So, still going along the lines of pop music, just a little bit outdated," Blaine commented, taking a bit of his food and gesturing with a hand for me to go on.

"And during Nationals that year, I did a fourteen minutes Celine Dion medley entirely in French," I said, and yes, it was bragging a little, but that was definitely the number I was most proud of. Blaine almost choked on his food. "You okay over there?" I asked as he coughed.

Blaine nodded, taking a sip of water. "Fine," he said once he could breathe again. "Wow, that is... something." He seemed at a loss for words, and I smiled to myself.

"Yes, that was the best number I did. The Cheerios do so much better with vintage music." Blaine was nodding before I was even done my sentence.

"I agree, or even something that's not pop music. I like pop music, and it's still driving me crazy that I can't perform anything but that with the Cheerios."

"Sounds like Coach hasn't changed much. She respects you more if you stand up to her, you know." Blaine shook his head.

"It's called picking your battles, and songs aren't the most important issues. I'm one of the captains, so where I really have to argue with her is over dangerous stunts. Santana doesn't care, and Becky believes Coach when she says they're fine, but I don't want any of the girls to get hurt." Blaine just shook his head, eating some more of his food, and I admittedly just stared at him. This was a side of Blaine I had never suspected even existed.

"Wow," I said before I could help myself, and Blaine looked up at me with a grin.

"Never expected that from the crazy bitch?" he asked, and I didn't really have an answer to that.

"No... well, I mean... I don't..." Blaine just chuckled.

"No, I understand. People think I'm a scary delinquent."

"Aren't you?" I had lost count of how many times during our conversation I had wanted to smack my head against the table. This was another one of those times. Thankfully, Blaine seemed to find my lack of tact amusing.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "I'm from a public high school near Columbus, and not a reform one either. Just a normal high school."

"Why did you transfer?" I asked, and it didn't seem like such a hard question at the time, but Blaine bit his lip.

"I... I don't think I'm ready to tell you that yet," he said, and his voice sounded pained.

"Okay," I said, accepting that as part of the 'past' Charlie had mentioned. We sat in silence for a few minutes, though the silence was considerably less awkward than the earlier silences had been.

"How 'bout them Buckeyes?" Blaine asked, and I blanched.

"I hate football." Blaine stared at me incredulously. "What?"

"I'm sorry, but I've met your brother. How can you hate football? Didn't you play football?" I raised my eyebrows. How had he known that? "Charlie told me," he explained. "For some reason, he thought 'football player' was a better seller than 'cheerleader.'"

"Maybe he didn't know about the cheerleading." Under no circumstances did I ever plan to tell Charlie that I had been a cheerleader. The amount of vulgar comments he could come up with based on that... I shudder to think of it.

"Fair enough. So, why would one play a game that they hate?" Blaine asked, and I told him the story of how Brittany had gotten me in a tight spot, neglecting to tell Blaine about Finn's original reaction to my question, or the history there at all. "Well, your life is just a dramatic mess, isn't it?" Blaine didn't sound judgmental, but I had a feeling he was judging me.

"Most of the time, yes," I admitted, because the drama was fodder to the New Directions. There was nothing I could do to avoid it.

"Most of the school seems to be," Blaine commented.

"Definitely," I agreed. "Between scandals, gossip, and flat-out lies, there's never a dull moment at McKinley."

"Yeah, and I swear the least interesting part of the school is the classes. I think I sleep through ninety percent of the day." I nodded. I knew the feeling. "I read more Shakespeare at home than they assign at school, and the books the school assigns are simple compared to my father's library, which consists of Keats, Browning, and the Bronte sisters. Though I'd have to say, my favorite is actually the contemporary author Jonathan Keates, with an extra 'e'. But of course, you already sleep through class, as a senior," he teased, and it was cute how he rambled a little, like he was just as nervous as I was.

"You're not a senior?" For some reason, I had just placed him as a senior because of the authority he had over the school. Blaine shook his head.

"I'm a junior. Why do people always assume that?"

"Maybe because you have the school in your own personal vice?" I suggested, getting bold enough to kid around with Blaine, who smiled.

"Perhaps."

I won't bore you with the rest of the banter, because it went on for quite a while. About two hours after we had finished our food, Charlie finally let us out, because we were running out of subjects and there was absolutely nothing else interesting to do in the kitchen but sit and argue with the silent intercom. Once Charlie had unlocked the front door and disarmed the booby trap that really was lying there, Blaine walked me to my car (down the street).

"Would..." Blaine began hesitantly as I opened the door of the Navigator to get in. He cleared his throat. "Would you like to do this again?" he asked softly, and I was admittedly surprised.

"Yes," I said with no hesitation. Spending time with Blaine had been fun, despite the forced circumstances and the hesitance of the beginning of our conversation. Blaine smiled and hugged me gently before heading off to his own car.

Blaine's snotty expression had returned by the next day, but I walked up to his locker anyway, saying "Hi" softly and my heart sinking when his expression didn't change.

"Hello there, Porcelain. What can I do for you?" he asked icily, his eyes flickering around the hallway as if he had no time for me.

"I..." I was too thrown to say anything articulate. "What... I... Blaine..."

"Very articulate, as I would expect from someone who uses enough hair product to melt their brain," Blaine said coldly, making a few Cheerios standing farther away snigger, then shut his locker abruptly and strutting away, joining arms with one of them and muttering something that made her laugh.

I was ready to call Charlie and kill him just with words as I walked to next period. My phone buzzed, and I opened it, hoping it was Charlie, but the number was unfamiliar. Here, you can read what happened next.

I am so sorry, I know I shouldn't have done that, but I can't risk having any sort of... it's nothing personal, I just don't want to appear... empathetic, I guess. There's a reason I like the reputation of horrendous bitch that doesn't tolerate anyone not in a Cheerios skirt.

What did you whisper to her?

... Something that had to do generally with the Glee club and the kind of people involved in it. Kurt, I am so sorry.

I don't want to be involved with anyone that would mock me to his friends for the sake of his reputation. Whatever last night was, it's over.

Kurt, I promise that will never happen again. We just... can't be like that at school. Or at least, I can't. I really do enjoy spending time with you, and I would really like to see you more, but it can't be here. I can't do that.

Why not?

I... can't, Kurt. I can't tell you that, but please try to understand. I really didn't mean to offend you: 1) I would love to be in Glee club, but once again it's an image thing. 2) I use *way* more hair product than you do, and your hair still looks better. I would really like to continue talking to you, like this and outside of school. If you still want to.

I... okay. I understand about image, and if I had been given the chance when I came to McKinley, the one I would have created for myself would have probably been exactly like you. And my hair definitely looks better :) So, we keep talking?

Absolutely.

I was willing to put up with a lot for Blaine, who I was genuinely starting to like, even though it had only been two days. I put his name in my phone first as 'Secret Admirer', but I knew you ladies would zoom right in on that, then as 'Blaine', because he may have had a secret to keep, but I didn't. I finally settled on 'BA' which, while still a name, would keep us a secret... not that I was particularly happy about that.

I mentally began referring to the day Charlie locked us in his house together as 'Day One', and it was on Day 8, after several more text conversations, that we went to get coffee. Blaine greeted me with a hug, burying his head into my shoulder and clutching onto me, so my natural inclination was to ask what was wrong.

"I... I just saw someone from my old school," Blaine answered, and let go of me at the same time, gesturing for me to sit at the table his Cheerios bag was already sitting near, two coffees on the top. "Skinny vanilla latte okay?" Blaine asked, and I just shrugged. Now wasn't really the time to get picky about my coffee order.

"Are you okay?" I asked him softly, and he sighed.

"Yes. It just... threw me." It was the first time I had seen Blaine vulnerable, and it just made me like him all the more. "I'm not even sure he saw me but... my old school was difficult," he admitted. "Very homophobic. I hated it there, but the rest of the school hated having me there even more. I don't really..." Blaine sighed and took a sip of his coffee. "I don't really want to talk about it."

"You don't have to," I said gently, "but know whatever it is won't change this." Blaine just shook his head. "I've been there," I admitted. "People at McKinley, not to scare you off, weren't very accepting to me at all. I've been slushied, thrown in dumpsters, beaten, pranked, nailed with pee balloons," Blaine looked torn between horrified, disgusted, and amused, "almost everything you can think of. They even voted me Prom Queen last year." I took a sip of my coffee to get rid of the sour taste in my mouth.

"I'm so sorry," Blaine said, his expression wiping clean to sympathy, which was pity without condescension.

I then found myself telling Blaine a story I had never told anyone, a story which involves some things that happened last year that I shouldn't talk about, and that I certainly can't tell you about. The important part is: when I finished telling the story, Blaine laid his hand over mine for comfort. "Thank you," I muttered, a little teary. Then I noticed Blaine's eyes, which were also a little bright, but were shifting around the coffee shop, obviously looking for either the person from his old school or someone we knew. Or both. I pulled my hand away.

"I have to get home to my dad," I declared, a ball of lead in my stomach as I stood up. Blaine didn't want us to act like... friends at school, and that was fine, but if Blaine wasn't even comfortable being with me in public, I didn't want to put up with that.

"Kurt..." he said, his apologetic tone suggesting he had figured out that I had figured him out. He opened his mouth to say something else, and I was prepared to let him, but he shut it again, waving me goodbye and forcing me to leave the coffee shop. I really liked Blaine, but I didn't want to be in the closet. Not again.

Blaine texted me again that night.

I know you didn't have to leave the coffee shop.

Maybe I didn't have to leave to see my dad, but I did have to leave. For my morals. I'm not hiding in the closet with you, Blaine. Believe it or not, I've been there and done that, and I will never again be afraid to be myself.

I'm not asking you not to be yourself. I'm asking you to please accept that I can't be with you publicly. We've both been treated poorly for who we are, and I admire that you're ready to face the world together, but I'm not. Can't you understand that?

Blaine, I like you, but I can't be with you like this.

Based on what you told me today, how are things going to be for you if we're together openly? I have the Cheerios and my fearsome, delinquent reputation, but I can't be with you at every moment. Can you handle being together in the open?

I'm at least willing to try.

I don't want you to get hurt, Kurt, and I don't want to get hurt either. Please, let's just get to know each other this way. And if things become... serious, we'll talk about being open about it. All right?

Okay. I supposed being out, proud, and... with someone, might be a little too much for McKinley right now… but I really don't like this, Blaine.

I know, but I do appreciate it. Goodnight, Kurt.

Goodnight, Blaine.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoy the narration. I had fun writing this in first person, really getting inside Kurt's head, so I hope you enjoy reading it. In case there's any confusion, I wrote the story as if Kurt were talking to Rachel, so that makes you, my lovely readers, Rachel :) I appreciate the reviews i got for the last chapter, and I'm assuring you guys right now that Blaine's not realy a bad guy, but you've probably already figured that out.

Songs mentioned:
'Four Minutes' by Madonna feat. Justin Timberlake
'Beautiful' by Christina Aguilera
'Fergalicious' by Fergie

Reviews are Love. New chapter on Sunday.