“Its being here now thats important. Theres no past and theres no future. Time is a very misleading thing. All there is ever, is the now. We can gain experience from the past, but we cant relive it; and we can hope for the future, but we dont know if there is one.”

—George Harrison, The Beatles 

The snap of the bathroom door being shut startles Blaine awake. As he orients himself in place and time, he feels his cheek resting half against the grainy surface of his desk, half against the smooth pages of his open planner. It's dark in his room, aside from the work lamp's light. Blaine lets the bulb's warmth seep into his skin as if hes just a turtle basking on a log, waiting for sunlight to loosen stiff limbs.

It's late. It's early. 

It's five in the morning, apparently—Blaine can tell by the glow emanating from beneath his closed bedroom door. He listens to the familiar sounds of his parents beginning their day: the creak of the hallway floorboard just past his room, the beep of a heated iron, the clatter of toothbrushes and hairstyling tools, the hum of the dishwasher downstairs.

He blinks, and memories of the day before (or days, which blend together now with nearly sleepless nights) cause his heart to lurch. He jolts upright, remembering suddenly the state of his life. Blaine fixes on the planner—slightly drool-covered now—and all of its lists. Lists everywhere, even in the margins: lists of things he'd like to do if he could manage them, lists of things that absolutely have to be done. And then a shorter list, an uninspired one, of homework to be completed, of college applications that need following up on. There are just so many things he needs to do. 

So he wipes the sleep from his eyes, clicks his pen and gets back to work. 

Even without a full night's rest he feels at least somewhat refreshed. Thinking, prioritizing, deciding—all of these are easier at the moment, and just like that he is confident again, sure. Quickly drawing lines across the page, he connects tasks listed on one side to people who could do them on the other. He decides what to delegate: the rose petals, the costume arrangements, the trumpet guard. He has to simply trust, even as he senses himself clutch at certain details over which he's less willing to give up control. 

Choreography, for instance. 

Whats the theme? he imagines Cooper asking, but this time the answer's easy, as Blaine pictures a path through halls full of history, a route that ends and begins with a staircase: the theme is love.

As he works, a yawn winds its way through his entire body, making it shudder. He needs to get moving. The day's tasks can't be passed on to someone else, no matter how kind or willing Sam or Tina might be. And Tina . . . Oh. Blaine quickly jots down in the planner, “Call the girls to the auditorium after school tomorrow.” He rubs his forehead, willing himself to remember to find time to practice left-handed bass. Assuming the guys want to go along with the idea he's been forming in his mind.

All he can do in the face of the chaos is chuckle and shake his head. He isn't complaining. 

The next yawn contorts his face worse than the last one, so he stands and stretches, then impulsively, extends his arms and spins, because he is Kurt's boyfriend again. Blaine throws open his closet and pulls a green polo from its hanger. He feels lucky. He has friends. He has his lover back. 

And at the moment, he has a plan for the future. 

Downstairs his parents are busy making lunches and searching for cell phones. As usual, they chat back and forth about clients and meetings; they jokingly share predictions about the exact time dinner will begin that night. Blaine knows by now that dinner is always late, no matter his parents' good intentions. He stands watching his mother and father from the edge of the room, smiling, not wanting to interrupt the routine—he's been excited to tell them about Kurt, but has barely crossed paths with either of them over the last couple of days. As he sees them collect their things and begin walking toward the door to the garage, Blaine knows he's running out of time, and the pressure of it all mixed with the joy he's feeling starts bubbling up inside him.

“Wait!” he blurts, moving closer. “I have an announcement before you both go!” Then Blaine just beams. He knows exactly the kind of goofy grin he's wearing, and he doesn't care. Hes already bouncing on his toes with delight. 

His parents both pause, then look back at him expectantly. His mother's gasp shifts quickly to a smile as she steps forward to ask, “You heard back from one of the schools, already?” 

His father chimes in. “That's great, Blaine! Which one?”

Blaine's smile falters as he realizes what he'd said, exactly, and why now, the news he is most excited to share can't possibly live up to his parents' expectations. A little defeated, but still smiling, he shrugs and says, “Actually, I just wanted you to know that Kurt and I are back together.”

Did he imagine it? The glint of disapproval in his father's eyes, a look of disappointment in his mother's?

“Say something,” he prods. He looks back and forth between the two of them, searching. “Are you . . . happy for me?” he ventures.

His mother is first to speak up. “Of course we are, honey,” she soothes, reaching out to grasp Blaine by the arm. “You're going to tell us later how that came to be, I hope? Maybe at dinner?”

“That's quite an announcement,” his father says carefully before adding, “and kind of a big step, you know, since you're getting ready to go off to college this fall? I know you have your heart set on New York, but you did apply elsewhere . . .”

Blaine can't even stop himself from rolling his eyes at the remark, which stings. “Dad—“ he trails off.  

“I'm just saying,” replies his dad. “It's a big, wide world out there, and you're young. That doesn't mean I'm not happy for you, too, okay?”

His mother looks at him fondly, then reaches up to brush his cheek. “Always so many big plans . . . Have a wonderful day, Blaine, and we'll talk later tonight.”

“Sure, Mom,” Blaine nods, before giving his dad a smile, too. His dad moves as if to rustle his son's hair, then gives him a teasing knock on the head instead, which makes Blaine laugh. After that his parents head out to the garage, and the house is quiet again.

Blaine busies himself with collecting what he needs for his own lunch. Several minutes pass before he realizes no sounds are coming from the garage. No trunk being opened and slammed shut. Just silence. He can't help but imagine the hushed conversation his parents are likely having about him.

He also wonders, guiltily, what they would think if they knew what he was now planning. Or what he'd already attempted and failed at, for that matter: in the hallway with Kurt before Regionals, or in the choir room as Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury exchanged vows of their own. The first time hadn't felt right because he hadn't bought a ring yet, and the second time he'd hesitated because . . . well, Blaine had to admit it'd just seemedrude, to pull focus from another couple on their own wedding day. He had to acknowledge, though, that the austerity of the ceremony—the location, the attire, the guests, the roses—sparked in Blaine the desire to want more from his and Kurt's moment. 

It wasn't just about asking the question and getting an answer, he'd realized then. For Blaine, it had quickly become much more monumental than that. In some ways, experiencing Mr. Schue's wedding—weddings—only highlighted how easy it was for straight couples. Mr. Schue and Miss Pillsbury could get married in a church, or choose not to. What did it matter? They could get married anywhere. They could get married on a whim. Standing there that day, with the velvet ring box in hand, Blaine had wondered at his own proposal plan, or at Jan and Liz's for that matter, because even if you got a “yes” (and Jan did, she so beautifully did), there was still the reality: nothing could be done with that answer, not in Ohio at any rate. Not yet. But there was hope now; things were changing, and as he'd put the ring box back in his pants pocket, he'd already begun formulating a new plan. Ohio had seen plenty of proposals, he'd figured. Maybe what it needed now was a statement. 

The cars rumbling to life in the garage at last bring Blaine back to the present, back to thoughts of his parents. Pulling a fork from the kitchen drawer and dropping it into a lunch bag, he wonders: if Kurt actually says yes, to marriage, what will his parents' reaction even be? He remembers Mr. Hummel's hesitation—his reluctance to give even a simple blessing. Even further back in his memory is Rachel and Finn's failed wedding, and allthe parents' reluctance to support it, even as they pretended to. Which had always been sort of confusing. 

Honestly, Blaine thinks, he is happy right now, happy to have Kurt back in his life—and happy to have a chance at showing him just how he feels about their future. He doesn't care to listen to others' disapproval.

Because frankly, none of it matters.

And so he decides to keep it secret, for now.

By mid-morning Blaine's sitting in science class, jigging a nervous leg as he watches the clock. He feels a puff of air tickling his ear; it's Tina whispering, “Calm down! You've got plenty of time to go there and get back.” He looks at her and smiles encouragingly, but she doesn't know. She doesn't know what he knows, that's he's seen her isolating herself from them. She doesn't know what he's planning, not for Kurt but for her, just her, and then the bell rings amidst the shuffle of papers and feet, and she's wrong, there isn't time. He's the first one out the door, Tina clomping her heels behind him as she tries to keep up. 

“Good Luck!” she shouts, and he looks back over his shoulder in thanks before running to his locker, depositing his books, and grabbing his keys. His palms are sweaty, even though he's on schedule so far today. 

It's a quiet ride to Dalton. 

He's wearing the lucky green polo he'd picked out earlier that morning, and he'd been, in fact, lucky. He'd easily scored a pass to leave McKinley's campus to “take care of some glee club business.” It's an excuse, he supposes, that isn't any different from yesterday's. But he's had to make thistrip in record time, since later this afternoon he's got to fit in a rehearsal for the number he and the guys have planned to cheer up Tina. (They did, in the end, like his idea, or at the least were willing to go along with it once he'd corralled them in the choir room earlier.) Besides, Sam could use some cheering up too, even if he seems to be taking his breakup with Brittany so well. He imagines Sam will have a laugh over the way Blaine plans to style his hair—which is fine. Blaine's too excited to pull off McCartney at McKinley to care. 

Blaine's phone chirps at him once, twice, three times, as he approaches the gated entrance. As soon as he finds a place to park, he reads the texts from Kurt: Just had coffee with Mercedes—happy shes still in town and My flight is in a couple of days :( and Can't wait to see you tonight. 

Smiling as he types, Blaine answers, Don't worry. You'll see *plenty* of me.

o__O  followed by !!! are all he gets in return, but as soon as Blaine remembers where he is currently, and why, his heart clenches. If everything goes to plan this morning, then the rest of his afternoon—and probably his evening—are going to be very, very busy. How will he explain that to Kurt? 

For now, he simply types :^* then exits the car.

The Dalton halls are quiet as Blaine approaches the headmaster's suite. It's weird, he thinks, how he and Sam had run through the place just yesterday, giddy and joyful as they rode a never-ending wave of good feeling and camaraderie. When it was all over, Blaine couldn't believe all the help he'd enlisted for his cause. Now, hopefully, he'll enlist one more person.

Gathering himself, Blaine takes a breath, then pushes open the door. He's escorted to a waiting area by the assistant, so he sits, hands placed carefully on his lap, trying hard to simply keep still. He wants to fidget. He keeps checking the clock as he waits, but soon he's distracted by the sound of classes getting out and students walking the halls just outside the suite entrance. He can't help but try to eavesdrop, straining his ears for the sound of familiar voices. Most of the boys he really knew from his Dalton days are gone, but he listens anyway, and swears he can make out Trent's voice drifting past, and Sebastian's replying to it.

Sebastian.

It's funny, Blaine thinks, how enthusiastic Sebastian had been yesterday. How eager. After the vote, he'd pulled Blaine aside and made sure to update their phones. Sitting there in the waiting area, Blaine wonders whether Sebastian has really changed. Is he just more himself? His true self, once you peeled away the layers? He smiles and shakes his head as he thinks, maybe he finally found love. And Blaine would know the effect of that—how finding the person you're meant to be with, forever, could change you.

How it changes everything. 

His phone vibrates as he sinks back into the chair, and he looks down at the screen to see a text from Cooper that reads, I may have an announcement tonight.

Why not right now? Blaine quickly types back. 

I'm heightening the suspense. 

You don't have to do that. I'm not one of your Twitter fans you know.

You mean youre not a Cooperstan?!

…

A what?

I have quite a following.

You dont say.

I should come back to your school and give a talk on social media. On the Twittersphere. 

Im kinda busy here. Just tell me your news?

See how well it's working already? 

The SUSPENSE.

Cooper!!

There's no reply from his older brother after that. Which figures. Blaine's about to ask him for at least one legitimate clue, but the headmaster is apparently ready to see him. 

When Blaine enters the office, he takes a seat across from a person he now needs something from, and it strikes him that this person had utterly failed him not so long ago. This person did nothing, after all, in the wake of his eye injury. The other man motions for Blaine to speak, and he does—he asks the question he came here to ask—but his request is met with an astonished, are-you-kidding-me look that he doesn't think he's ever seen before on the older man's face. 

The thing is, Blaine's not leaving. 

“I'm appealing to your sense of romance, Sir . . .” he begins again, his fingers gripping the chair's armrests.

The headmaster removes his eyeglasses, folding them neatly before placing them on the desk. “Mister Anderson,” he says, “In the two years you were a student here—well, less than two years, wasn't it?—we knew you made friends, and we were pleased the school was able to support you. But this idea of yours, of closing off a part of the school so you can have a private party, it's just unheard of, do you understand? And Dalton is a place of . . .”

Suddenly there's loud knock on the door, and Blaine and the headmaster turn to find none other than Sebastian Smythe peeking in. 

Blaine's unsure whether this is a good or bad thing. 

He tries his best to give Sebastian a look of warning, but the other boy just smiles at him (almost dopily, Blaine thinks).

“If I may, Sir?” says Sebastian, who simply walks right in, closing the door behind him.

“Mr. Smythe,” says the headmaster, rather cooly. His tone makes Blaine wonder what kind of student Sebastian even is—really is. Or what that person looks like to the faculty and administrators here. 

“I'll be brief, Sir,” he says. “I know why Blaine's here, and as a member of the Warblers,” he adds, placing a hand on his heart, “we've already pledged to help him. You may recall, Sir, that Blaine Anderson probably saved us from an even greater catastrophe regarding, er, Hunter Clarington, and his role on the team?” 

“I'm perfectly aware of the ‘help' Mister Anderson provided regarding that scandal, thank you very much, Mr. Smythe.” The headmaster levels a look at Blaine that's downright unfriendly. 

Blaine shifts in his seat, wondering what Sebastian is up to. What greater catastrophe? Blaine only recalls "helping" the Warblers get disqualified—the story had been all over the local news. It had certainly tarnished the Dalton image. And yet, Blaine thinks, making eye contact with Sebastian, who seems to be signaling for him to speak up . . .

"Imagine, Sir," Blaine pipes up, finally getting it, "what would have happened if the Warblers were now busy preparing for Nationals, and were still, well, you know." 

The headmaster levels a long glance at Blaine. "Humph" is his only response. 

Sebastian clears his throat and adds, “It would have been a public relations nightmare, Sir. My father—”

"Dont bring your father into this, young man," says the headmaster, pointing. 

"Well then," says Sebastian, who clears his throat, looking squarely at Blaine. “Then it will behoove you to remember that Blaine was assaulted by fellow Dalton students, and that even though the incident took place off campus, it reflected poorly on the school.” 

In a flash Blaine remembers the quick-change from freezing to burning, the feeling of wanting to leap out of his body if he could so as to escape the pain. He reaches to gently touch his face, the memory of it flickering in his mind like a ghost, and looks back up to see the headmaster appraising Sebastian. The man leans forward in his seat, and smirks, “Well you of all people know the way that reflected on this institution, Mr. Smythe.”

Blaine clasps his hands together in his lap, brow furrowed. He thinks he gets what Sebastian is trying to do, but the approach isnt quite Blaines style. Laying it on the line is. So he says, "Sir, all I want to do, all Ive ever wanted to do, is tell the man I want to marry that I love him, that I want to spend the rest of my life loving him. And this place," he adds, gesturing, "this is where we met. He came here because he knew he would be safe, just like I knew Id be safe." The heaviness in the room suddenly gives way, and Blaines buoyant as he continues, "This moment that I want to share—with everyone—is a celebration. Its a celebration of all the good memories I have of this place, that Kurt and I both have of this place."  

The cynicism is long gone from the headmasters gaze, which remains fixed on Blaine as Sebastian adds, "This is a student who's done much for the school, and frankly, you allowing two boys to get engaged on these grounds? You couldn't ask for a better way to bolster the Dalton image.”

Happily, the meeting is over pretty quickly after that.

When Blaine exists the administrative offices (there are some details to go over, once the headmaster agrees to the plan), he finds Sebastian waiting, leaning against the mural-lined wall, hands in his pockets, one foot crossing the other. “Thanks, Sebastian,” Blaine offers. “I really appreciate it. You know that, right?”

The other boy nods. “I'm happy for you, believe it or not. Your idea is completely ridiculous, but I'm happy for you. So—are you going to show me the dance steps you mentioned yesterday after, you know, taking over the school like you and Blonde Ambition did? There aren't a lot of the guys left from when you were here as a student, and as much as they still probably wet their shorts at night dreaming about you . . .”

“Sebastian,” Blaine admonishes. Then adds, grinning like an idiot at his own cleverness, “That's just you.” 

Sebastian laughs. “Touché,” he says.

As they walk the halls, Sebastian makes eye contact with many of the students, who nod back with respect. They walk in silence, right out of the school, until both boys find themselves in the parking lot. 

Pausing briefly to check his watch, Blaine turns and reminds the Warbler, “After school, okay?”

“We'll be ready, Blaine.”

Blaine lingers, even though the weight of all he has to do tugs him toward his car. Still, he asks the question hes been wondering about since yesterday. “Why are you so willing to help me? Or us?” 

Sebastian shrugs, his hands still in his pockets. “Does that surprise you?” 

“A little,” Blaine admits.  

“Don't you remember? Once a Warbler, always a Warbler.”

Blaine studies the other boy's eyes. The glint he used to find there, the one that used to make him so flustered, is gone. “I know, but—“

“There's no but, Blaine. Well, there's a lot of butt where you're concerned . . .” Sebastian adds, directing his eyes and shifting a little to get a better view. 

That earns an eyeroll. “Sebastian.” 

“See you later, Killer.”

Blaine can't help but laugh at that. And feel lucky, again.

Until he remembers: Tina.

Blaine gets back to McKinley with a few minutes to spare for practicing left-handed bass, just before the guys gather on stage to rehearse. 

It's going to be perfect.