Blaine has never been in an actual ballroom before. Dalton didn't have proms or any equivalent to them, and Blaine masterfully avoided all the dances or events they had with their sister school. His only experience from a school dance isn't exactly a memory he wants to think about, so he has deliberately stayed away from dance halls and ballrooms. Geoffrey's birthday party, however, bears no resemblance to Westerville High's Sadie Hawkins dance and Blaine has no worries about any unpleasant flashbacks. The huge ballroom is decorated tastefully with bright lights and heavy curtains, all of them some shade of blue. ("Geoffrey thinks blue is the official color of swing or something," Kurt had explained when they arrived.) There is a large stage on one side of the room, full of musicians already fiddling with their instruments, and a long bar on the other side. Round tables are scattered near the walls, but there's an open space right in front of the stage, obviously reserved for dancing.

There was no red carpet and no photographers this time, and so far Blaine has only had to steer Kurt away from one thick crowd. He keeps his promise and tells Kurt everything he's about to do, and Kurt seems to relax when Blaine rests his hand against the small of his back. There are a lot of people, all of them in gorgeous clothes, but no one looking quite as gorgeous as Kurt in his quilted metallic jacket. Kurt waves to a few of the guests, exchanges one or two words with Geoffrey himself, a tall balding man with a booming voice, and introduces Blaine to him as his assistant.

When the obligatory greetings are done, Kurt looks around the room like he doesn't know what he should do, and his shoulders tense again. Blaine thinks he looks almost a bit... lost.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks, leaning closer to Kurt when they pass by the bar. The party hasn't even officially started yet, but there are already several people leaning against the bar, gesturing to the bartenders and sipping their drinks.

Kurt shakes his head, worrying his lip. "Not really? I guess we could go... sit down."

Blaine leads them through the crowd to one of the round tables, pulling a chair for Kurt and then sitting down next to him, scanning the ballroom for anything suspicious. Everything seems safe and joyous. People are talking and laughing freely, the band is already playing soft background music, and soon a few women and a man approach their table and ask if the remaining seats are taken. Kurt glances to Blaine, and when Blaine nods his approval, Kurt smiles thinly to the people and gestures for them to sit down.

The small-talk is awkward and shallow, the sort that always happens between complete strangers at parties like this (who are you, what do you do, how do you know the host), and Blaine zones out of the conversation for a while, opting to let his gaze wander around the ballroom instead. When he focuses back a few minutes later an uneasy silence has fallen over the table, as it also often does at parties like this, and Kurt and the other guests are looking around the room as well. Another group of people has taken over the table next to theirs, and even though most of them are engrossed in their own conversation, one of the men is staying just as awkwardly silent as everyone in Kurt and Blaine's table.

Blaine glances at Kurt. Something in his posture seems odd, as if he isn't entirely comfortable, and his eyes keep darting from one guest to another. He's uncharacteristically quiet, and Blaine is about to lean over and ask him if something's wrong when the crowd suddenly starts to clap their hands.

Geoffrey has gotten up on the stage and gives a small welcome speech – he doesn't even use a microphone but somehow his voice still carries across the whole room. He receives a deafening round of applause when he finishes, and then the band starts playing again, louder and clearer now that the dancing can begin. The ballroom comes alive, and in a few minutes the dance floor is full of people, the air is bursting with swaying sounds, and the bright lights over the room seem even brighter, shining in the dark like stars too close to the earth.

Naturally the band – the orchestra, really – starts with New York, New York. It's amazing, and Blaine decides that he's definitely going to have a party like this when he turns sixty-five.

He hasn't actually heard live music like this in a while, not since he went to see a gig in LA with Cooper a few months ago. So even though he's focused and professional he can't exactly help it if his eyes sometimes dart to the musicians, to the pianist living completely inside the song, to the saxophones, trumpets and trombones blaring and to the talented singer giving his everything to the swing and bossa nova classics. Blaine's feet are tapping against the floor, and he can't exactly help that either, or the fact that his fingers are sometimes pressing against invisible keys or strings in the air.

He has always been a music person. He's horrible in visual arts – the best thing he can draw is a bunch of stick figures – and even though he loves literature he doesn't write stories, never has. Stories written by other people are more than enough to satisfy him. He fenced and played a bit of polo at Dalton, and of course there's boxing, but those were always just ways to empty his mind with physical exercise. He did try acting a few times, and while he was apparently good at it, it never gave him quite the same thrill and excitement as music. Blaine lives through music; he had small gigs at coffee shops when he was in college, Warbler practice was the best part of his day at Dalton, and whenever he hears music, especially live music, he feels more alive than he normally does.

He's been reading a lot for these past few weeks because his guitar is still in Los Angeles and he's living with Kurt and doesn't want to force Kurt to listen to his music. But he does miss music; he noticed it that night at that karaoke bar and he's noticing it again right now. So really – if he can't stop staring at the musicians, he can't really be blamed.

When the next song begins Blaine sneaks another glance at Kurt sitting next to him. Kurt is staring at the dance floor, at the couples swirling and waltzing to the music. They are laughing and having the time of their lives, but Kurt looks sad. His expression is a stark contrast against the joyful music and the glittering lights above the ballroom, and Blaine's feet and fingers stop their tapping immediately.

"Is everything okay?" he asks softly. He ignores the music and moves a little closer – their table is empty, all the other guests already gotten asked to the dance floor or getting more drinks at the bar, but Kurt's expression is still private, personal, like whatever he's feeling isn’t meant to be seen.

Blaine knows he's right when Kurt looks at him, obviously trying to erase all traces of sadness from his face, and grins a little forcedly. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You just... You don't look that happy," Blaine points out, trying to choose his words carefully.

Kurt flinches, and Blaine panics – he said something wrong, didn't he, oh god, he needs to fix this.

"I'm sorry," he hastens to say. "It's none of my business and I should have..."

The awkward grin falls away from Kurt's face and he shakes his head, turning back to look at the dancers. "No, it's okay. I just... Is it that obvious?"

Maybe not to everyone else, but I've spent the last few weeks studying your face and learning each and every one of your expressions because I hate to see you sad. Well, Blaine's not going to say that out loud, that's just creepy.

"No, but I can still see it," he says quietly instead.

Kurt's lips turn into a sad smile. "I don't..." he starts and stops, his hands moving restlessly in his lap. He doesn't look at Blaine, but it's obvious that he's fighting some sort of a battle inside of himself and losing.

After a moment he finally leans back in his chair with a sigh. "It's just that I... I came to New York to be myself, to finally fit in, you know. The dreams of New York and Broadway got me through high school. Every time someone called me a fag or said something mean about my voice or my clothes, I just thought about New York and instantly felt better. I mean... My high school experience wasn't completely awful," he adds. "I had the glee club, I had friends, I had my dad and a support system, and things did get better after my junior year. I'm not saying high school was the best time of my life, but it had its redeeming features."

Blaine thinks about a sixteen-year-old Kurt Hummel, wearing amazing clothes like he is now but getting bullied and ridiculed every day, and his heart starts to hurt. He sincerely wishes that he had met Kurt earlier. Maybe he could have helped, maybe Dalton-Blaine could have stood up for Kurt, and maybe Kurt's expression wouldn't be so sad right now.

Kurt laughs bitterly. "It had its redeeming features, sure, but I still always felt like an outsider, like no one understood me. I was the only openly gay kid at my school, at McKinley High in Lima, Ohio, full of homophobes and Neanderthals, and even though my friends tried to understand, they never really... got it."

Blaine gets it; he knows what Kurt means. Kurt's high school experience sounds a lot like Blaine's first year at Westerville High, right after he came out and right before Sadie Hawkins, but Kurt's life must have been even worse, with his proud personality and out-of-the-box clothes.

Dalton saved Blaine, at least in some ways, and Blaine wonders if Kurt was ever saved.

"So I always thought that when I came to New York everything would magically fit," Kurt continues, not looking at Blaine. "I would magically fit. And I'm grateful for everything I have, don't get me wrong, and life has gotten better, so much better, even though I have this stupid anonymous fan situation going on right now." He laughs again, and it sounds a little choked. "But sometimes I feel like... Like I will always be that scared little kid. Like I will never fit in. I mean look at them." He gestures towards the dancers and the orchestra, and Blaine looks, looks at the smiling faces and the bodies moving together with the music.

"They all look so happy together. And I'm sitting here alone, with just my bodyguard as my company." Kurt closes his eyes. "It's like prom all over again. Isn't that... pathetic?"

Blaine shakes his head immediately, his lips forming a quiet no. Kurt Hummel is a lot of things and pathetic is definitely not one of them. Kurt's eyes are still closed, and Blaine notices his throat swallowing nervously, his hands still restless in his lap, as if he's waiting for Blaine to dismiss his feelings as something stupid or trivial.

It's like Blaine's seeing Kurt for the first time; seeing the man behind the clever words and designer clothes and unique voice, seeing the boy who feels like he never had the chance to be just him and be accepted for it. And god, that boy is beautiful. Blaine never wants to see him doubting himself, never, and he would do anything to see him smile right now. No matter how unprofessional it would be, no matter how badly he would slip.

Blaine furrows his brows a little, looks at the crowd once more, and then promptly gets up. He stands in front of Kurt, holding out his hand, and Kurt blinks his eyes open, looking up at him and raising his eyebrows even though his eyes are glistening with unshed tears.

"Blaine? What are you doing?"

"Dance with me." Blaine wiggles his fingers a little.

Kurt's eyes widen. "What? Are you crazy?"

"Come on. Dance with me," Blaine asks again.

"Blaine, you're my bodyguard. Wouldn't dancing with you be considered... unprofessional?"

Blaine shakes his head with a smile. "I'm not a professional, remember? So I don't care." He bends down and takes Kurt's hand slowly. Kurt doesn't flinch away, just stares at his hand like it's something unreal. "You can't not dance to this music. So would you please do me the honor and dance with me, Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt opens his mouth and then closes it, still staring at Blaine's hand. "I... Okay?"

Blaine smiles and pulls Kurt to his feet. "Come on then, they're just starting a new song."

He leads Kurt to the dance floor, not letting go of his hand for even a fraction of a second. The horns blast out the first notes, loud and brave, and Blaine turns to look at Kurt when they reach an empty spot on the floor. Kurt looks bewildered, his mouth a little open and his eyes shining beneath the bright lights, and Blaine smiles reassuringly before placing Kurt's hand on his shoulder and then his own on Kurt's back.

The smooth voice of the singer drifts over the crowd when they start to dance, swaying with the rhythm. Kurt's back is stiff against Blaine's hand and his eyes keep darting from Blaine to the orchestra and to the other dancers, but Blaine just keeps smiling, tugs Kurt a little closer and hums along to the words of the song. He knows he's slipping worse than ever before, knows that he's not being professional or distant, that he's not acting like a bodyguard – but for once he doesn't care.

Slipping has never felt better.

When Kurt finally relaxes a little and gives a small, nervous smile during the first chorus, the tears gone from his eyes and most traces of sadness from his face, Blaine can't stop grinning so widely that his mouth feels like it's going to break his whole face in half.

But the song ends all too soon, and Kurt lets go of Blaine's shoulder during the following applause, taking a hesitant step towards the tables, like he's somehow thinking that this was a mistake. Kurt's cheeks are flushed, and Blaine can feel his own face burning as well, but he can't let go of Kurt, not yet. He knows he did this for Kurt, to make him feel better, but there are still barely visible tight lines around Kurt's eyes that Blaine's grin hasn't managed to erase. Kurt still isn't smiling completely, not giving Blaine that smile that always makes him feel better. And Blaine knows he needs to feel better right now as well – this is for him and Kurt both, a way to associate dancing with something good, something beautiful. The last time Blaine danced like this with another man, with another boy, he got beat up, and he has to remind himself that this is different, that he is different, that there are no jocks waiting around the corner.

The slow notes of My Way start to drift over the room, and Blaine tightens his hold on Kurt's hand and stares into his eyes, almost desperately.

"One more dance?" he asks. "Isn't it a tradition to dance at least two songs with the same partner?"

Kurt opens his mouth and looks at him, disbelieving. "Blaine, you don't have to –"

Blaine shakes his head. "I want to."

"But... This song?"

Blaine tugs his hand a little shyly. "I've always liked it. And it's... fitting, don't you think?"

Kurt swallows, but when Blaine tugs his hand again he gives in and places his other hand back on Blaine's shoulder. He doesn't meet Blaine's eyes, and Blaine knows he's going to regret this tomorrow, knows that he's slipping too much and too far, but he still pulls Kurt closer until he can hook his chin over Kurt's shoulder and wrap his other arm around Kurt's torso.

"Is this okay? I can – I mean, we don't have to..." he starts when Kurt stiffens under his hands.

Kurt takes a deep breath, the puff of air tickling Blaine's neck. "No, it's... It's fine. I just... You don't need to do this because of me."

Blaine sways a little. "Yes I do." He stops for a moment, pushes the thoughts of professionalism out of his mind and gathers all his courage. "And I... I think I understand. I didn't always go to Dalton, so I get it. I know what it's like."

Kurt's fingers tighten on his shoulder for a moment, but then he relaxes against Blaine, all the tension flowing out of his body, and he leans his own head against the side of Blaine's face, a few strands of his hair tangling with Blaine's gelled curls.

Blaine closes his eyes. They are so close that he can feel the heat from Kurt's body, can smell the skin care products he uses. It's not professional anymore, not distant, but Blaine can't bring himself to care; what they're doing now is for the boys they were before, for two terrified teenaged boys who were bullied and ridiculed because of who they are. It's redemption – a reminder that they made it.

They sway together under the blue lights, two lost and lonely boys who grew into men and made things better. When the song is drawing to a close, the horns and strings stronger and bolder than before, Blaine leans even closer and sings the last lines quietly to Kurt:

"For what is a man, what has he got? If not himself, then he has naught. To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels..."

Kurt turns to look at Blaine, his eyes shining with tears again, but this time he's smiling genuinely, giving Blaine the smile that always makes everything better, and all the tight lines are gone from his face. His eyes are full of emotions, and Blaine feels like he's allowing himself to see Kurt as a whole for the first time, seeing the flaws and bad memories right next to everything brave and gorgeous.

"... The record shows I took the blows – and did it my way," he finishes softly, staring into Kurt's eyes. He knows he has to go back to being a bodyguard soon, that he has to let go of Kurt and start to focus on work any moment now – but maybe he has deserved this small moment of lingering. Maybe they both have.

Thank you, Kurt mouths as the crowd erupts into applause around them.

The song changes soon enough, but Kurt doesn't pull away and Blaine doesn't want to stop, so they just keep dancing.

-

They dance to several other Sinatra songs and swing classics, both fast and slow, all of them starting to blur together after a while. By the time they decide to stop Kurt feels light-headed and almost dizzy, and he wants to go home as soon as possible, go home with Blaine and leave all these people he doesn't even know behind.

"I think we've reached the end of our stay," he whispers to Blaine when the orchestra starts yet another song. Blaine smiles and nods, and Kurt wonders how on earth his smile is still so comforting, like a warm embrace around Kurt's heart, like the whole feeling of Blaine's arms around him wrapped up in one smile.

They spot Geoffrey near the bar and head over to say their goodbyes. Geoffrey's voice is booming despite the loud music around them, his movements exaggerated and large, and Kurt can see Blaine flinch when Geoffrey claps Kurt's shoulder. The words they exchange don't register in Kurt's mind, but apparently he doesn't say anything stupid since Geoffrey keeps smiling at him and then good-naturedly waves them off. Kurt doesn't notice anything when they leave the ballroom and get their coats, doesn't concentrate on the people walking around them and doesn't even have the presence of mind to criticize their outfits. He only feels the pressure of Blaine's hand on the small of his back, guiding him away from thick crowds and drunken people the way they talked about earlier.

The only one Kurt notices right now is Blaine. The curtain is completely gone, and Blaine's face is like an open book, full of emotions and thoughts. His cheeks are a little flushed, a thin layer of sweat is shining on his forehead, but his eyes are focused and determined, noticing everything and everyone and always coming back to rest reassuringly on Kurt. Blaine's whole posture is determined, but not in a distant way, not in the way that Kurt has gotten used to during these few weeks. He's open, relaxed and present, completely and without a doubt, and he's still doing his job masterfully.

The air outside is chilly and damp from rain. They hail a cab – Kurt doesn't notice whether it's the first or the tenth cab that passes them – and find shelter in the confined backseat. Automatically Kurt rattles off the address, a reaction he gets every time he steps into a cab, while Blaine settles next to him, closer than he usually sits. A small smile is tugging at the corners of Blaine's lips for some odd reason, and Kurt finds himself grinning as well. The cab driver rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything.

The ride is a blur of stolen glances and shy smiles that Kurt can't quite comprehend. He stumbles when he gets out of the car even though he didn't drink anything, and Blaine's hand is immediately on his arm, keeping him upright. The soft drizzle has turned into a downpour, and they run to the doors. Blaine futilely tries to protect Kurt's hair from the rain by keeping his hands over Kurt's head, and Kurt can't help but giggle. It's ridiculous; everything about this moment is ridiculous.

The doorman raises one eyebrow at them and just wishes them goodnight as they walk through the lobby. In the elevator Kurt runs his fingers through his hair and catches his reflection in the large mirror – his hair is a mess and dripping with water, his coat is wet and his face almost completely red, but he's smiling like an idiot. Blaine shakes his head, his curls sending little droplets of water flying, and Kurt laughs again. Blaine looks like a drenched puppy, and the amused look on Blaine's face tells Kurt that he probably looks the same.

Finally they reach the ninth floor. Kurt digs his keys from his pocket and opens the door, and they get inside. The apartment is dark and silent, and their steps seem to echo through the hallway.

Blaine shakes his head again. "That was a..." He searches for a right word. "An interesting birthday party. I didn't know people actually reserved actual ballrooms for their birthdays."

"Geoffrey is a little eccentric." Kurt shrugs his coat off, and before he realizes it Blaine has already taken the coat from him and hung it carefully.

"I really want to hire that orchestra for my next birthday," Blaine says wistfully.

Kurt stops for a moment. Blaine sounds different. His voice is softer, and he doesn't sound like a bodyguard or like he's hiding behind something. He's talking more, the tone of his voice changing to fit his words, and his voice sounds so expressive that Kurt doesn't even need to see his face in the dark hallway to know what his expression looks like. He sounds like... Blaine. Just Blaine.

Kurt ducks his head with a soft laugh and quips, "I'm sure you can afford them with your bodyguard salaries."

Blaine hangs his own coat and then turns to look at Kurt. "I'm... I'm sorry if I overstepped or anything when I asked you to dance."

"No!" Kurt exclaims, lifting his gaze. "No, you didn't, trust me. It was... nice. Really. Thank you."

Blaine beams at him and then reaches over to brush a stray strand of hair from Kurt's forehead. His fingers are warm and soft against Kurt's face, and suddenly Kurt realizes just how close to each other they're standing. Blaine smells of rain and hair gel and sweat, and Kurt can see his eyelashes trembling when he blinks his eyes, his thick eyebrows staying completely still.

Blaine's fingers stop when they reach Kurt's hairline, stroking quietly. He takes a deep breath, and then his eyes dart hesitantly to Kurt's lips. Kurt almost stops breathing. They both lean slowly closer and closer, and Kurt can already feel Blaine's soft breath on his lips when Blaine seems to realize what he's doing. His eyebrows shoot up and he quickly moves away, letting his hand fall from Kurt's hair and putting some distance between them. Kurt startles, surprised by the sudden movement and the coldness that hits him when Blaine isn't near him anymore.

Blaine crosses his arms over his chest, not looking at Kurt. "I'm... I'm glad I could make you feel better," he mumbles under his breath.

"I'm glad as well," Kurt manages to croak out. He can't tear his eyes away from Blaine's face, away from the embarrassed blush on his cheeks or the way his lips are almost quivering.

"That's... good," Blaine stammers. "I'm just... I think I'm going to go to bed. It's getting late."

"Yeah." Kurt swallows.

Blaine's eyes dart to Kurt's face again, staying far away from his lips. "Goodnight, Mr. Hummel."

The distant name twists through Kurt's body and settles next to his heart like a cold weight. "Goodnight, Blaine."

Blaine shuffles his feet, takes one last look at Kurt – and his eyes are full of something, something that Kurt doesn't quite grasp, something that seems to be a complete enigma to Blaine himself as well – and then disappears down the hall. Kurt stares after him until he hears the guest room door thud shut. His shoulders slump immediately, and his hand rises to touch his lips that are still tingling from Blaine's breath.

What the hell just happened?

-

Blaine lies on his bed that night and doesn't sleep at all. He stares at the ceiling, listens to the quiet voices of the apartment, and wonders what on earth happened between him and Kurt tonight.

He tries not to tug his hair in frustration, but somehow his fingers, the same fingers that were in Kurt's hair just a few hours ago, find their way into his curls anyway.