Blaine hadn’t run into Kurt at all Sunday morning. There hadn’t been that many New Student Weekend activities, what with it being the day before the semester started and the fact that all the rest of the students had been turning up and taking over the campus. He knew it would have had to be lucky if he had run into Kurt, all things considered. It didn’t help that he was skipping all the activities to meet with his professors one by one. He’d sent them emails previously, explaining his situation and asking to have the opportunity to meet with them before classes started so he could make sure he could meet the requirements of their classes.

He hated that it was necessary, but he wanted to head it all off before it even started. If nothing else, he’d learned to be very up front about his abilities and try to keep there from being any questions of what he was able to do.

Thankfully, everyone he met with seemed to be welcoming and accommodating, most even expressing their gratitude that he sought them out to discuss matters beforehand. At least, with being an English major, a great majority of what he was going to be doing was reading and writing. Most of his books had been available in braille versions, and he’d checked them all with his teachers to make sure they were the right versions. He was forever grateful for audio books, as well, because he still wasn’t as quick with braille as he wanted to be and it could drain his concentration fairly quickly sometimes.

His biggest concern had been meeting with Dr. Birk, who was teaching his Relationships and Dialogues class. Just from what Kurt had been telling him about it, he was worried. If they were supposed to rely a lot on personal experience, he wasn’t sure how well he would do. He didn’t have much personal experience when it came to relationships, at least not in the romantic sense. If they were going purely off romantic interactions, he had exactly diddly to contribute.

“Blaine, you said in your email that you had concerns about my class,” Dr. Birk said, once she had welcomed him into her office and had him sit across from her desk. “Usually most students wait until we’ve gone over the syllabus to get worried.” Her voice was gentle, almost teasing, but not in a way that made Blaine feel bad about asking to meet with her.

“I was talking with someone who took it last year,” he said, biting at the inside of his cheek a little before going on. “They said it was a great class, I just wasn’t sure if it was a good fit for me.”

“Well I’m glad whoever you talked to enjoyed it,” she said. “I try to make a good environment for all my students, but I can understand there being reservations. The two main classes I teach in the general track can be touchy subjects, and I take absolutely no offense if people want to drop them. May I ask what your concerns are?”

“I haven’t ever... had a relationship,” Blaine said quietly, fidgeting in his seat. “Not one that counts for anything. So I wouldn’t have much to contribute, I don’t think.”

“Blaine,” Dr. Birk said softly, and he’d been expecting to hear pity but it wasn’t there. “You think I accept students into my class based on the number of their romantic entanglements? That would be an absurdly negative learning environment. This class isn’t about what you’ve done, and it’s certainly not limited to your personal experiences alone. It’s also about your views on relationships, how they’re portrayed, what they mean to you. Everyone goes their own pace, and no one should expect a bunch of incoming freshmen to be well practiced and versed.” She paused, and Blaine let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Thankfully she hadn’t sounded offended. “Why don’t I tell you how I generally run my class, and you can see how you feel about it then.”

“Okay,” Blaine said with a nod, his anxiety waning.

“Mostly there are readings, but occasionally we watch a video, it depends on what seems relevant that semester,” she said. “It’s a lot of writing, compared to some of the other sections. Each teacher does it differently, and I just happen to like to focus on writing and getting to know all of you better. A lot of writing is in reaction to the readings, but it’s also the interpretation of that style and making it your own. I encourage students to share what they’ve written, but it’s not a requirement. There’s always a time at the beginning of classes when people can read their writings. I never call on people who don’t volunteer. There’s a project at the end of the semester, in lieu of a final. Last year it was to write a story involving a character from each of the main books we’d read and also yourself, making everyone interact and discuss their differing views on the subject. This year, it’s a Powerpoint. The topic hasn’t been solidified, but I’m fairly certain I’m going to leave it up to everyone individually, so long as the topics are cleared by me.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Blaine said, biting his lip. Dr. Birk laughed lightly, making him smile.

“Well I try to keep it from being painful!” she said cheerfully. “I’m not going to lie to you and say that it’s easy, because it’s not. I can promise a supportive environment and an open door that you are free to come through any time you want. I love answering questions, because that means you’re interested and involved, and I enjoy getting to know my students.”

“I definitely want to give it a go,” Blaine said, nodding. “It sounds interesting, I just wasn’t sure if it was going to be alright for me.”

“I think that if you’re open to it, it will definitely be more than alright for you.”

Blaine left Dr. Birk’s office feeling much better about her class. It was going to be a challenge, but he liked to push himself. That was what college was about, after all, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t he have been attempting to better himself and test his limits? Classes seemed like a good way to do just that. Besides, he didn’t think he could be that uncomfortable with that class when the teacher was someone like Dr. Birk.

Meetings done, he went to the fine arts building to play for a while. Unlike the days before, it wasn’t as a means of escape or a way to make his day better. He had been having a great day, if he was being honest. Most of the stress and anxiety he’d been having about his schedule and classes was gone, and it felt like he had breathed sighs of relief after every sit down with his teachers. He didn’t think he was going to have to drop any of his classes, but he knew he had to wait and see what they were actually like before he was completely reassured.

The auditorium was in use, at least that’s what the administrative assistant of the department said. There were numerous practice rooms up on the second floor, and he was more than happy with using one of them. He missed having a piano in his home, though he wasn’t sure how much Santana would have appreciated it if they did. Maybe she wouldn’t have minded, but it wasn’t like they had the room. It was nice, though, having a place to go away from home, a place where he could be wholly himself and not have to deal with anything else. He was halfway to the elevator when he got stopped in his tracks.

“Blaine? Blaine!” He barely had time to react before there were slender arms wrapping around his waist and hugging him. Brittany. “I thought that was you!”

“Hey, Brittany,” Blaine said, slipping an arm around her to return her hug. “What are you up to?”

“Practicing,” she said, not moving that far away when she let go. “School starts tomorrow!”

“I know it does,” he said, nodding. “You were practicing? Practicing what?”

“Dance,” she said, dropping her hand down to his and lacing their fingers together, swinging their linked hands between them. “It’s what I do! Are you here to practice?”

“Oh, well, not really practice but just play,” Blaine said, shrugging. “I was headed upstairs to find a piano.”

“Do you want to come play with me?” Brittany asked, and Blaine tilted his head. “We have a piano in the dance studio and it’s just me in there right now and you could play and I could dance and it would be fun! You don’t have to if you don’t want, but I was doing ballet and you playing would be perfect. If you want to, I mean.”

“No that sounds like fun,” Blaine said with a smile, squeezing her hand lightly. “Lead the way.” Brittany walked with him down the hall, back in the direction he’d just come from, and into the dance studio. She left the door open behind them and he got settled at the upright piano.

Lifting up the lid over the keys, Blaine ran his fingers over them. They were worn, smooth, and felt right beneath his fingertips. His mind was racing with options, all the pieces he could play, everything available to him in his repertoire. That was the only potential problem with being in a good mood, the fact that nothing was jumping out at him and begging to be played. When he was feeling down, having a bad day, those were easy choices. That was how he’d played so many pieces right in a row with barely any hesitation in between the other day, the day when he’d met Kurt. There were so many go-to dark, emotional pieces, that was easy.

He ran through a few scales and arpeggios, chord progressions, just to get his fingers warmed up and his mind focused on the task at hand. Brittany didn’t seem to mind the delay, or at least she didn’t say anything about it. It only took a few minutes before he was diving into the piece, settling on Chopin and playing the first piece that came to him. He could hear Brittany moving, the sound of her feet against the hard surface of the dance floor, but if not for that he might have forgotten she was there.

It was something he’d always been able to depend on, but even more so since the incident. Music was the best outlet he had. It was a solitary hobby, but that suited him most of the time. Usually when he felt the urge to play, it was because he was alone and needed to get it out. Brittany was there with him then, but not really. She was lost in her own self, twirling and flying across the floor. He slipped from piece to piece, pausing just long enough to decide what to play, and he couldn’t even remember what he’d played or how many pieces in all. Brittany never stopped him, and he planned to play for as long as he could.

In the end, it was the alarm on Blaine’s phone going off that stopped it all. His hands dropped from the piano keys to grab his phone from his pocket. As soon as he got it out, Brittany’s fingers were overlapping his and turning the screen so she could see it, and Santana’s voice rung out through the studio. “Hey Ray Charles, you’d better not blow me off for dinner again, or I’ll fuckin—“

“That was Santana,” she said as he got the alarm turned off.

“Yeah, she set an alarm so I would know when I had to head home for dinner,” Blaine mumbled, pulling his phone from Brittany’s hands and sliding it back into his pocket. He’d told her just to set a normal alarm and he’d know what it was for, but clearly she hadn’t listened.

“But your name’s Blaine,” Brittany said slowly, confused. “Why’d she call you Ray?”

“She thinks she’s funny,” he said, carefully closing the lid over the keyboard of the piano. “I do have to go, though. Thank you, for letting me play for you. I hope you had fun.”

“I did!” Brittany said, back to sounding upbeat and full of energy. “You’re so much better than my ipod! We should do this more, I had so much fun.” He barely had the chance to straighten up and stand from the bench before her arms were around him again, her face nuzzled against his hair, her voice whispering into his ear. “Thanks, Blaine.” It was almost overwhelming the way it felt like Brittany threw herself into affection with wild abandon, like she put everything she had into showing whoever she was with exactly how much she cared about them at every opportunity she could. Santana was lucky, he thought. Whatever she and Brittany had going on, she was lucky.

The walk back home was pleasant, a light breeze keeping it from being too hot out in the August sun. Blaine would be happier once summer was officially over, giving way to fall. It was one of his favorite seasons – the crispness of the air in the mornings, the crunch of leaves underfoot, and the smell of autumn all around. He could never explain that last part, the way everything just gave off that aroma, but he knew it was there. It wouldn’t be long, and he could deal with summer for a few weeks more, he just couldn’t wait for that shift in the seasons.

His phone rang as he walked up onto the porch, and he hadn’t planned on answering until he heard Call from… Kurt Hummel announced from the speaker, and he quickly answered.

“Hello?”

“Blaine, hi!” Blaine bit his lip, grinning just at the simple greeting alone. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” he said, reconsidering a moment before changing his answer. “Actually, I’m great. How are you?”

“I’m well,” Kurt said. “Great, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty good day,” Blaine said, holding his phone up to his ear with his shoulder as he fiddled with his keys and got the door unlocked. He stepped inside and the smell of dinner hit him like a wave, a fragrant, delicious wave. “Hey, um, can I call you back later? We’re about to have dinner.”

“That’s fine,” Kurt said, and Blaine smiled a little more. “I’m not doing anything tonight, so call whenever. Have a good dinner!”

“Thanks,” Blaine said, and after a brief goodbye from each end, he slid his phone back into his pocket and made his way into the kitchen. “San, I thought I was supposed to cook for you.”

“Yeah well, you were taking too long getting back and I was hungry,” Santana said briskly, and he heard the smack of oven mitts hitting the countertop as she tossed them down. “It’ll still be about ten minutes, though.”

“That’s fine. Sorry, I was doing… stuff.”

“By stuff do you mean that gangly gay who was here last night?”

“Santana!” Blaine’s face flushed and he folded his arms across his chest defensively. “No, it was – I was – piano – Brittany was there and I was playing for her and then I came right here when my alarm went off.” Santana just snorted with laughter, and Blaine could feel himself blushing deeper. “I hate you.”

“You love me,” Santana corrected. “Speaking of how much you love me, you’re totally cool with me having a party here this coming Friday, right?”

“A party?” Blaine asked, the sudden subject shift throwing him off for a moment, though he was more than happy to be talking about something else.

“Yes, a party,” Santana repeated. “A… yay we got through the first week of the semester, let’s drink and dance and celebrate… party.” She paused, waiting for him to say something. “Blaine, it’s a party. It’s college. These are things that go together. I’m going to need you to stop standing there with a dumbfounded look on your face and give me a yes or no, and yes would be preferable because I’m probably going to do it no matter what you say. I would just probably invite a few less people if you were against it.”

“No that’s fine,” Blaine said, shaking his head. “You can have a party, just as long as people stay out of my room.”

“Sweet. I have a friend who’s going to hook us up with booze, so don’t worry about that.”

“I definitely wasn’t worried about that.” Blaine hadn’t ever been drunk, or even tipsy. He was only just eighteen, and other than his brother slipping him a few sips of something here or there, he’d never really had anything to drink. He knew most people age probably had very different stories as far as alcohol was concerned, but he was fine with his limited experience. There was the rest of his life to enjoy whatever he wanted to drink; he didn’t see the cause for rushing into it and wreaking havoc on his liver right out of the gate. Not to mention that his parents hadn’t allowed it.

“Great. Now move, you’re blocking the fridge and I want a beer.”

There wasn’t any more mention of the party during dinner, so Blaine just took it as a done deal. They were fairly good at leading their own separate lives and leaving the other be, but something that was destined to take over the entire house for a night was definitely something new. He wasn’t exactly excited about it, but he had no real reason to say no. At least he would have his room to escape to, if nothing else, and noise cancelling headphones to put into use if it really got bad.

Blaine liked having dinner with Santana, especially when she cooked. The food tended to be much spicier than when he prepared it, but he figured that was to be expected considering how much more feisty of a person she was than him. It made sense. There had only been one time so far when he’d needed to chug down a glass of milk because she’d unleashed some kind of super spicy pepper on him with no warning. He’d felt like he was going to die, she’d called him a wuss and told him it would put hair on his chest (though hopefully he wouldn’t try to shellac that into submission like he did with the hair on his head), and so far as he could tell that was the best representation of their relationship there was.

Once dinner was over and the dishes were done, Santana washed and Blaine dried – it was a tried and true system, he shut himself into his room and sat on his bed, phone in his hands. He’d said he would call Kurt back, and he very much planned on it, but he was having trouble ignoring the slight flutter in his stomach at the thought. The same little flutter that had been there when Kurt had called him earlier. Finally, he shook his head and let out the breath he’d been holding, using the voice commands on his phone to call Kurt.

“Hey, how was dinner?” Kurt asked as he answered.

“It was fine,” Blaine said, leaning back against the wall. “Santana cooked, even though I was supposed to, to make up for last night. She’s impatient, which shouldn’t be too surprising for you.”

“What happened last night?”

“Oh, um, well I was supposed to have dinner with her, but…”

“…then I came over?” Kurt finished. “I didn’t mean to disturb anything, it could have been some other ni—“

“No, don’t,” Blaine cut in quickly. “I invited you, remember? She’s not mad or anything. She’s just… Santana.”

“She’s just Santana. I can see that,” Kurt said, his voice laced with amusement. “So you said before that you had a great day? What made it so great?”

“Well I met with all my teachers and I think I’m going to like my classes,” Blaine said, crossing his legs out in front of him and getting comfortable. “Plus I had some time so I went and played for a while, hung out with a new friend.”

“And it wasn’t me? I’m disappointed,” Kurt said. It was a simple comment, but enough to make Blaine blush. He wasn’t sure if Kurt was being serious or just teasing, but he wanted to believe it was true.

“It could be you next time,” Blaine said lightly. “As long as I get to hear you sing.”

“Mhm. We’ll see about that.” Kurt deftly changed the subject and launched into talking about the sparsely attended events from the day. Blaine apologized for his absence, but Kurt assured him that he hadn’t been missing much. The whole time he was talking, all Blaine could think about was how he could sit and listen to Kurt talk all day. There was something about his voice that was just so animated, Blaine could almost imagine him gesturing as he talked.

“Hey, do you have any plans for Friday night?” he asked when there was a pause in the conversation.

“Friday? No I don’t. Why?”

“Santana’s throwing some party to celebrate surviving the first week of school,” Blaine said, picking at the hem of his shirt nervously. “You should come, if you’re not busy. It’d be nice to have a familiar face around.” There was a moment of silence from the other end of the phone, and he nearly thwacked his head back against the wall in realization. “Familiar ­person that is, not face. Habitual phrase, sorry. Let me try that again. You should come, because I am slightly terrified of a Santana party but also because I’d like you to be there, if you’re not busy.”

“You are particularly adorable when you get all flustered,” Kurt said, sounding amused, and Blaine blushed.

“So will you come?” Blaine asked, dodging the compliment. “To the party?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That night, Blaine went to sleep with a smile on his face, and he doubted it would be gone by the time his alarm went off the next morning.