Warnings: The following things happen or are discussed in this fic: cult-like communities, arranged marriages, unplanned pregnancies, abortion, child abandonment, pseudo-incest, minor character death, slut shaming, suicide ideation.

Status: complete in 50000 words/17 chapters

Posting: 3-4 times a week

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Damn rain, damn traffic, damn fucking door.

It's dark and gloomy, the weather a clear reminder of how close it is to November, and Kurt is cursing under his breath as he pushes the resistant apartment door open with his shoulder. Between his two jobs at the bakery and coffeeshop, it's been a long, busy day to end a long, busy week, and getting soaked by the sudden downpour on his way back only adds to the heavy slump of his shoulders. The prospect of making dinner is too much to even consider tonight. Surely he can get away with just going to bed early – he'll eat a proper breakfast tomorrow instead, since his shift doesn't start until noon, a rare luxury.

Except... dinner is taken care of already, the smell of homemade mac and cheese permeating the apartment, and Kurt's stomach rumbles loudly.

"God, I love you, Rach." He announces loudly to the empty room and she emerges from behind the curtain separating her bedroom space from the rest of the loft.

"Oh good, because I've burned myself again putting it in the oven, so you better appreciate the effort. Come on, wash up and change, dinner in five."

They don't talk much while eating, nothing more than the perfunctory "How was your day?", and it feels good not to be obligated to interact coherently and politely. Kurt can just decompress, and he can already feel the stress and fatigue slide off his tense shoulders.

It isn't until Rachel brings him a cup of hot tea after dinner, strong and sweet the way he likes it, that Kurt's suspicions flare.

"Okay, Rach, spill. What have you done this time? You never go to so much trouble to mellow me out unless there's a reason. Did you go on a shopping spree again? Because I honestly don't have any more hours in my week to pick up additional shifts, you know that."

Her pout might be convincing if Kurt didn't already know her every trick. As it is, he just arches his eyebrow and waits until she huffs and shrugs.

"No, I was good. I don't understand why you always assume the worst, as if I couldn't be nice and caring just because." Kurt waits unmoved. "Fine, okay. I wanted you relaxed for an intervention. Of sorts."

"An intervention." Okay, that's the last thing he expected. Usually it's he who has to intervene, whether it's to curb Rachel's spending habits or pull her out of despair after another failed audition. Eyebrows drawn, he tries to think of anything intervention-worthy in his life, but he keeps coming up empty.

Rachel flashes her sweetest smile. "It's nothing bad, I promise. Just sit back and relax, I want you to listen to something – just listen. Carefully." She crosses the living room to the old CD player they rescued from a dumpster, and presses a button.

Kurt doesn't recognize the song at first, but once the vocal comes in, he identifies the singer immediately. Celine Dion, and it's that song with Barbra, isn't it? He's heard it before, but never paid much attention, why would Rachel–

Tell him
Tell him that the sun and moon
Rise in his eyes
Reach out to him

Ah.

As the song builds, it becomes increasingly obvious what the intervention is about, and at least Rachel has the decency to look sheepish, even though the stubborn jut of her chin kind of defies the purpose of her meek expression. Kurt waits until the end of the song, face forcefully neutral because no, it doesn't affect him, not at all.

"Rach, I appreciate–"

"No, Kurt, you don't get to tell me to leave it alone." Her face is set, her small fists clenched. She looks terrifyingly determined. "A year. This whole year on the run I've heard you talk about him, dream about him, plan what you will do once we're in New York and safe. How you will reconnect with the boy you love. You chose this city for him. And now what? We've been here for five months, Kurt. Five. Months. And you haven't done a thing about it except obsess over his every tweet and Facebook update."

"I've been–"

"Yes, I know. You've been waiting for him to get to New York, and giving him time to adapt to new circumstances, and making sure he's still single, and waiting for the right moment... I've heard it all, remember? But baby, you can't keep doing this to yourself. You've been crying in your sleep again, do you know that? It's eating you up inside, don't you think I can't see it. Either find a way back into his life, or forget about him. The longer you wait, the harder it's going to be, and I know you're scared, but you've got to make a decision, Kurt. It's time."

He hates to admit it, but she's right. Terribly, painfully right.

"What if he doesn't want me back anymore? What if we hurt him too deeply?" His voice is soft and shaky, but letting out the thoughts that have been torturing him for months now feels freeing.

Rachel takes his hand, a picture of compassion. Sometimes, in the stressful chaos of their new lives, he forgets how caring and understanding she can be.

"Are you ready to let him go?"

"No." The answer is quick, firm, so obvious. "No, I just need to... find the right way."

"Kurt. No way will ever feel entirely right to you. I know you, you'll analyze and obsess, and never do anything about it."

Damn, she's right. Why is she right?

"Just... go now. Don't think, don't plan, just knock on his door. Take that first step."

Panic shoots up like a bird, trapped and fluttering deep in his chest. "Now? No, no way, it's late–"

"Eight o'clock on a Friday night isn't that late, Kurt."

"I'm tired and I look terrible, I need a haircut and something decent to wear, and–"

"Kurt."

"No."

"Just go. Find out, one way or another. Stop keeping your whole life on hold. Go now."

He goes.

It's a long way from Bushwick to the NYU campus, and more than enough time to come up with a reason to turn around and go back home. Kurt keeps playing with the thought on the way, looking around for signs that he shouldn't go through with Rachel's idea – not that he believes in signs, not really, but when you're anxious enough, every excuse will do.

But apparently the world is voting yes on him doing this crazy, unplanned thing tonight. The train arrives almost as soon as he enters the subway station, and takes him swiftly towards his destination with no unplanned interruptions. He doesn't fall asleep or get mugged on the way, and manages to get off at the right station. No pigeon or dog or careless pedestrian creates a fashion emergency, no cab runs him over, and sooner than he's ready, Kurt is standing in front of the Tisch dorm building where he knows Blaine lives now.

He's never been here before, only knows the address thanks to the pictures Blaine has been posting and his own internet research. He needs to find the rest on his own. There's always the possibility he won't be able to learn which room is Blaine's, right? Or that somebody will stop him from going in because he isn't a student. Or, if everything else fails, Blaine may not be in – it's Friday night, after all. He's probably out with friends. It would be a dick move from the universe to let him come all the way here only to not meet Blaine, but at this point Kurt would take that as a blessing. He hasn't been so scared since that night, almost a year and a half ago, when they were desperately trying to get as far away from Lima as possible without leaving a trail. And he was scared for their lives back then.

Now, it feels like the stakes are just as high.

All that time, the memories and dreams of Blaine have been Kurt's happy place – often the only one as he and Rachel struggled through the misery of those first months on their own. They've been his escape from a reality that seemed hopeless, and his motivation to keep fighting.

He's terrified to learn how far his visions of the happy reunion are from reality. Because there's no way Blaine will just fall into his arms and tell him he's been looking for him forever. Not after the hell their alleged deaths must have been for him.

And if Blaine looks him in the eye and tells him he doesn't want to know him anymore after all this time – well, there goes Kurt's anchor, the one thing that has literally kept him going, made him stubbornly believe that it's all worth it because in the end, he'll have love.

Yes, he still loves this boy.

Will Blaine be able to love him back once he meets the real Kurt? Will he want to? Or is it too late for them?

He enters the building with his knees weak and his heart in a crazy gallop.

The girl at the reception is too busy flirting with a trio of hunky college guys to pay him any attention, and it's only after Kurt's quiet Excuse me that she looks at him at all.

"Oh, hello there. What can I do for you, sweetheart?" Her smile is big and very white, her right eyebrow pierced. Around them, students rush in and out of the building, laughing and relaxed.

"Hi. I... I'm looking for my friend, his name is Blaine Anderson? But I don't know his room number." This should be the moment where she tells him that she can't help him then, right?

"Okay, just let me check." A few seconds of rapid tapping on the laptop in front of her and then she's pushing a clipboard towards him. "Room 541, fifth floor. Just sign in here and you're golden." With a last blinding smile she turns back to the boys. Kurt is left to scrawl a shaky K. Hummel at the bottom of the visitor's log before walking toward the elevators on unsteady legs.

He doesn't faint or get trampled by galloping students, and the elevator works seamlessly, not a chance of fatal accident in sight, or even a nice little delay while he's stuck between the floors. He's quickly running out of things that could stand between him and the final, irreversible decision to knock on that door – to take that one step into the unknown, and hope it isn't a bottomless abyss he's stepping into.

So when the door is finally right in front of him, he doesn't let himself stop and think. If he did, he would most likely run away. Maybe after spending an hour or two hesitating. So he doesn't – he's knocking as soon as he's close enough to reach, the sound too loud in the empty hallway, and he barely has time to start panicking before the door opens.

And there he is.

Looking older, more mature than when Kurt last saw him, more solemn somehow... and that's about all he's able to notice before Blaine's eyes widen, and then the door is slammed closed.

Oh. Oh.

So that's it? Not even a word, nothing? Just the door between them, saying it all.

Kurt feels numb. Numb and cold and his eyes hurt. The music that flowed out when Blaine opened the door was from Wicked. The carpet under Kurt's feet is dark grey and dirty. Outside, New York traffic is humming and clanking as it always does.

He doesn't know what to do now. All of his imagined scenarios, even the most terrible ones, included words. Clear, definite words, or hopeful, careful words, or happy – anything. But not this. He doesn't know what to do with this.

No, he knows. He needs to go. He just needs to–

A click of the door, a sharp intake of breath against the familiar music in the background.

"Kurt."

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Chapter art: At your door

Chapter song: Tell Him – Celine Dion and Barbra Streisand

The next chapter will be posted on Thursday 19 September.