6.

“So it's Valentine's Day next week,” said Tony, and Kurt arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yes?”

Tony shot him a quirked, shy smile. “I was just wondering what you wanted to do.”

“As in—”

“You know, together. A Valentine's Day date should definitely be special, don't you think?”

Ah. Kurt looked away, suddenly fascinated by the storefront they were passing.

The question made sense, of course — seeing how this was their third date in two weeks. They'd spent three hours discussing fashion over coffee the first time, kissed goodnight after a lovely dinner on the second, and now Tony was walking him back to his dorm after a great off-off-Broadway show, his hand bumping against Kurt's occasionally. It was perfectly reasonable to expect they could be spending Valentine's Day together, too.

The problem was, Kurt wasn't sure he wanted them to.

It was nice, going out with Tony — definitely nicer than his first attempt with Greg from the coffeeshop — but that was all it was: nice. He kept waiting for it to feel like more, for the spark to flicker even just momentarily. So far there was nothing though, and Kurt wasn't sure he wanted a perfectly nice Valentine's Day date as a confirmation that they just didn't click.

He didn't know how to say it, though. He'd never had to reject anyone before.

“Um, I,” he started eventually, when the silence stretched uncomfortably. “I kind of have other plans, actually.”

Tony stopped and Kurt had no choice but to follow suit. The way Tony's expression flickered between surprise and hurt made it hard not to look away.

“But… I thought you were single?”

“Oh, I am. Why would I go out with you otherwise? It's just, there's this thing my friends are throwing, and I promised I'd be there, and it's, um, it's a single hearts party?” Kurt stuttered, feeling his cheeks heat up.

Tony smiled, sweetly relieved. “Oh. I'm sure they would understand though, wouldn't they? If you were maybe no longer single?”

“Um—”

“Because I would very much like to make you non-single, you know. If you wanted that. To be a couple,” Tony clarified, reaching for his hand, and Kurt felt like a monster. How did Blaine do this over and over?

“I… It's very flattering, Tony, but I'm just not sure I'm ready for that.”

Tony blinked as understanding seemed to dawn. “Oh. You mean… not ready for a relationship, or a relationship with me specifically?” When Kurt looked to the side, blushing, Tony nodded and let go of his hand. “I see. There's someone else, isn't there? You're single, but your heart belongs to someone anyway.”

“It's not— No, I'm—”

Tony raised a hand to stop him. “No, that's okay. He's one lucky guy, I hope he realizes that.” And with a final, sad smile, he nodded. “I apologize for not walking you all the way back to your dorm; I think I need a moment alone. But thank you, for trying.”

With that, he turned and walked away, and Kurt stood there for a moment, in the middle of the half-empty sidewalk, looking after him. He felt simultaneously relieved and angry at himself.

Because there wasn't anyone else, not really.

Sure, his heart had stuttered wildly at Blaine's not-quite-confession after Christmas; kept stuttering every time he remembered it since. But that was just it: it hadn't been a confession, not really. It had been something, sure — a maybe, a vague possibility, something to turn in his mind late at night and fall asleep smiling. They'd spent their last few days in Ohio seeing each other every day, and returned to New York closer friends than when they'd left. They spent New Year's Eve at Times Square with the Birdies, and Blaine didn't kiss Kurt at midnight. But he didn't kiss anyone else, either, and that was something.

Or not, because time flew and still nothing happened — not a word, not a gesture, not even a suggestive smile. Nothing. As if that conversation in the Lima Bean had never happened. And it hurt a little more every day, which was why Kurt had decided he needed to take a step back and regain the tight control over his feelings that he'd practiced for so long. He could love his best friend and not pine over him, right? He didn't want to be that guy, pushing for more where there was nothing more to offer, clinging to someone who simply didn't feel the same way about him.

So he made an actual effort to make friends outside of the comfortable embrace of the Birdies. It was hard at first, but sooner than he'd expected it started to feel nice to have a little group of people to talk to before each class and to study with on some evenings. Some of his classmates he soon became close with, some he only tolerated, but it was still a web of connections that felt shockingly like proper social interactions. After the social desert of his high school life, it was amazing, and Kurt felt himself bloom and settle into this normal, satisfying life. This was where he was supposed to be; slowly spreading his wings without fear that someone would aim to break them just because.

Dating was another step in that direction, and even though he didn't expect to find someone perfect right off the bat, it was a start. He would get there one day, meet someone who made him feel that special connection, but there was no hurry. He had an amazing life to enjoy, with friends and classes he loved, plays to see and songs to sing. There was a fantastic Vogue internship he challenged himself to apply to and somehow, unbelievably, got into.

And yes, Valentine's Day came and went, and he was still single, but it didn't bother him. The party was fun and exciting, he got to bring a few of his single new friends with him, and even when he got a little tipsy on the sweet pink drinks with heart-shaped floating candy, he didn't end up grinding on anyone this time — instead, he just sat on the floor in a corner with Blaine and they laughed at every little thing, unable to stop. He left the party well after midnight with a happy, bubbly feeling in his stomach.

New York was pretty damn good to Kurt Hummel.

#

There was just one cloud darkening the horizon: March was coming, and with it, the Spring Critique. Every freshman was supposed to prepare a song that best showed the progress they'd made since starting their education at NYADA, and perform it in front of the whole school in the famous Round Room. Every year, several students were let go if their performance wasn't satisfactory. Rumor had it, it wasn't an all-or-nothing thing — overall academic performance was taken into account, too — but Kurt had heard enough about people having nervous breakdowns and failing their performance spectacularly to break out in a cold sweat at the mere thought of it.

He knew he was good, that his vocal skills and control had increased enormously since he'd come to New York. Before, he'd had a strong, clear voice and a natural talent, but it was all raw, unpolished. He still wondered how he'd even been accepted, now that he knew how imperfect his audition must have sounded to a trained ear. He'd been working with a vocal coach for months since, in addition to the school courses, and his progress was undeniable. What terrified him, though, was the prospect of singing in front of everyone for the very first time. 

That, and the choice of a song. He'd taken the risk of singing Not the Boy Next Door for his NYADA audition last spring, choosing to show off the impressive range of his voice since he didn't have much else to offer. He'd practiced for months, until he hit every note perfectly every single time; until he could hold even the highest ones, long and strong. For a completely untrained voice, it had been a risk — and it paid off. Now, however, relying on his range wouldn't do the trick.

He'd gone through a whole list of options, choosing songs and changing his mind, sure he had the perfect song one moment and doubting himself the next. He had to prove himself — prove to Carmen Tibideaux that she'd made the right call, giving him a chance on nothing more than a lot of hope, enthusiasm and raw talent. This song had to be perfect.

It was his vocal coach that helped him pick in the end and convinced him that something simple that packed an emotional punch was the best way to show his vocal maturity. He didn't have to rely on props and high notes anymore, she claimed — and when she played back the recording of one of his last sessions before the critique, Kurt had to agree. The song was perfect — for his voice, for showing the changes in him, but also, incidentally, for the place in life he was at.

And now here he was — in the impressive Round Room, tucked between Blaine and Rachel in the second row, with his hands ice-cold and his stomach a heavy weight somewhere in his throat. Miss Tibideaux was in a snappy mood; not one, but two of his fellow freshmen had messed up their songs so far (and in one case, burst into tears), and the huge room filled with NYADA students and faculty felt more intimidating by the minute. The guy just before him on the list — Kurt couldn't remember his name; he could barely remember his own — was nearing the end of his song. It was almost time, and suddenly, Kurt was sure he wouldn't be able to do it. He couldn't get out there and sing, he wasn't good enough, they would all just laugh at him; he'd stutter, forget the words, miss the notes, he couldn't. Rachel's last minute advice sounded like buzzing in his ear, doing nothing but winding him up further. He couldn't catch a full breath and it was making him lightheaded.

Then someone was leaning over him, putting a steady, warm hand on his knee. “Rachel, shut up,” Blaine snapped, and bless him, she actually stopped talking — probably out of indignation. “Kurt, hey, look at me.”

Focusing on Blaine's face and not the guy belting out his last notes in front of them actually helped somehow. Kurt took a few deeper breaths and the band around his chest loosened when Blaine took his hand and squeezed reassuringly. “You're gonna do great. You're ready, you're so ready, and I may not know what song you chose, but I do know you're going to rock this. Just don't think about all these people.” Kurt nodded stiffly, and his doubt — how does one forget about a room full of people in front of them? — must have shown, because Blaine added, “Remember how you told me you love the feeling of becoming one with the music when you really get into it? Focus on that, on the emotions, on whatever you want to express. Forget about the audience.”

And then Kurt's name was being called, and he stood up on unsteady legs, his hand sliding out of Blaine's.

“Go slay us all with your voice,” he heard Blaine say, and then he was off.

Everything inside him shook as he made his way to the front of the room, and turning around to see all the people waiting to judge how good or bad he was didn't help in the slightest.

But he could do this. He could, he knew this song so well he could sing it startled awake at 4 AM. And he had something to prove here. This was his place, his dream; this was what he was going to do his whole life, in front of crowds far greater than this one. This was just the beginning.

Kurt closed his eyes when the first chord came from the piano, resounding through the amazing acoustics of the room. When he opened them on an exhale, he didn't see the audience anymore. It was just him and the music when he started.

Someone to hold you too close

#

The storm of applause when the last note dissolved in the air startled Kurt, and he blinked dazedly a few times, returning to the present. He couldn't say how the performance went, not really — but it felt right, felt like he'd given it his absolute best, and the elated calm was better than anything he'd ever felt before. He looked around at the faces in front of him — smiling, friendly, impressed — before finding Miss Tibideaux in her first row seat. She looked pleased.

“Very good, Mr. Hummel,” she said when the applause died down. “I am glad to see I wasn't mistaken about you.”

Coming from her, it was the highest praise, and Kurt nearly skipped to his chair as the next student was called forward.

Rachel grabbed Kurt's hands as soon as he dropped onto his chair. Her eyes were bright and her whisper frantic. “Oh my god, that was stellar, Kurt, I had no idea! We should duet sometime, your voice is so much better than it used to be, we will sound so good together—”

She kept whispering under her breath, exclamations and song suggestions, but Kurt wasn't really listening anymore, focused on Blaine — Blaine, who sat there on his other side with his eyes wide and his lips parted, not saying a word.

“So, was that half as good as you imagined?” Kurt smiled at him.

Blaine blinked and shook his head, the dazed look slowly melting off his face. “No,” he said earnestly, sounding a little breathless. “It was much, much better.”

Kurt beamed and bounced in his chair. For some reason, this meant almost as much as Miss Tibideaux's approval.

#

“You know, I really loved your performance at the critique,” Blaine said quietly two days later, when they were lingering in front of Kurt's dorms after a movie night. Kurt was completely fine getting home by himself,  but Blaine had insisted he felt like a walk.

“Well thank you! It was an amazing song if I say so myself.” Kurt preened, still a little high on the memory.

“It was,” Blaine agreed. “But it was the performance that really made it special. It just… it moved me, Kurt.”

Blaine's cheeks were pink and his voice was trembling a little in the night air. Kurt reached to squeeze his shoulder, tugging the lapels of Blaine's coat tighter together. The nights were still cold.

“Aww, that's so sweet!” he said, pulling off his own scarf and winding it around Blaine's neck, hoping that would help with his shivering. “You've got to tell me what worked and what didn't, tomorrow; I want all the constructive criticism you have. But right now, you should go home. You must be freezing and I don't want to be responsible for you catching a cold.”

Blaine seemed to hesitate, but then he nodded and went. Kurt skipped up to his room with a smile.

#

“Hey, will you go out with me on Friday?” Blaine asked him a week later, when their coffee date was over and they were leaving the coffee shop.

Kurt glanced at him over the text message from a classmate he'd just gotten. “Sure, where?”

“I was thinking about that Greek place we discovered last year.”

“Oh, I'd love to!” Kurt beamed at him. “I've been meaning to go there again. So who else is coming? Can I bring Dylan and Meg from my study group? I told them about that place and they've been dying to try it.” He was already shooting a group text to a few of his new friends. “Do you think we'll be able to book a big table so late? Should I call and check?”

The prolonged silence made him look up. “Blaine?”

Blaine smiled and whatever strange expression had been on his face a second before disappeared. “Yeah, sure. I'll call and book the table, no worries. Is eight alright?”

#

“Are you seeing someone?” Blaine asked one night in late March. They were on the phone, and Kurt should be sleeping already, since he had an early class the next day, but it was so nice to hear Blaine's voice. They'd hardly seen each other all week with Kurt covering for a sick assistant at Vogue.

The question came out of nowhere.

“What? No. I mean, I have been on a few dates these last few months, but I wouldn't say I'm seeing any of them.” He muffled a yawn in his pillow, then laughed softly. “Still waiting for my Prince Charming. Or looking for my Sleeping Beauty, or… I don't know, but so far all I've found were frogs.”

There was a beat of silence, then, “All of them?”

Kurt chuckled. “Stop fishing for compliments. You're not a frog. You're a butterfly, all beautiful and free. I don't know what that makes me if I'm just sitting here kissing frogs, but I feel like this metaphor is running away from me. Which probably means I should go to sleep.”

“Are we still on for Callbacks tomorrow?”

“Of course we are. I've missed you. I may even be persuaded to sing. Maybe. Possibly. I don't know.”

“I just want to see you.”

“I'll be there.”

“I'm looking forward to it. Goodnight, Kurt.”

“Goodnight, Blaine.”

#

Kurt was late to Callbacks, held back at the office again, so when he made his way through the Friday night crowd to their usual table, everyone else was there already: most of the Birdies, a few people from Kurt's study group, even Rachel with her current boy toy. Three tables were pushed together and there was still barely enough space, but Blaine had saved him a chair by his side and Kurt dropped into it, thankful. He was dead on his feet after the day he'd had, stressed and cold after the hurried walk from the subway.

The familiar ambience of their Callbacks nights washed over him, warm and comfortable. There was someone singing on the little stage, not half bad, and the murmur of voices around him enveloped him. He slumped in his chair, smiling despite the exhaustion.

“Hey, I got you an Irish coffee.” Blaine returned from wherever he'd disappeared to and put a thick steaming mug on the table. Kurt moaned in appreciation.

“Oh my god, you are the best. Thank you.”

Blaine smiled at him, a small, private smile, and… No, Kurt wouldn't let himself think what that meant, the softness of Blaine's expression, the fondness in his eyes. That way lay heartache, he knew already. But he couldn't help the way his heart fluttered as Blaine squeezed his hand before pushing up to his feet again.

“That's my cue,” Blaine said, and leaned in close to murmur right into Kurt's ear, his breath raising goose bumps along Kurt's back. “I hope you like it.”

Then he disappeared into the crowd, and it was only when Kurt looked around, dazed, that he realized the stage was now empty, the microphone waiting.

Sure enough, Blaine climbed on a moment later, but instead of taking his usual place front and center, he sat down at the piano, adjusting the microphone before lowering his hands to the keys.

Kurt hadn't even known he could play.

There was no introduction, no words at all — Blaine just started to play, and from the first notes, Kurt was gone.

You think I'm pretty without any make-up on
You think I'm funny when I tell the punch line wrong

He was vaguely aware of the guys whooping and laughing at the more suggestive lines, commenting on Blaine singing about sex again — but that wasn't it, not this time. Not with Blaine's face looking so earnest and intense over the piano, his eyes never leaving the keys. There was none of his usual flirting with the audience, no teasing. Blaine's voice never wavered as it flew strong and pure, filled with raw emotion like Kurt had never heard it before. Even the Birdies seemed to get it halfway through the song, the cheering dying down as they looked at one another, confused. This wasn't anything close to Blaine's usual Callbacks style.

Kurt sat among them with his heart caught in his throat and goosebumps all over his skin, barely able to breathe. Was it…? No. No, he wouldn't hope. He couldn't, not again.

The last piano note dissipated into the background chatter and yet Blaine didn't lift his hands off the keys or raise his head. When he finally did, he looked right towards their table.

“This was a song for a very special person, someone who moves me like no one ever has. I'm sorry I took so long and I don't know if I'm too late, but… I'm sure.”

His last words were barely more than a whisper into the microphone, soft and private. Then Blaine was off the stage and Kurt found himself up and pushing through the crowd toward him, falling into him halfway through the room. Blaine inhaled sharply when Kurt caught his hand.

“Did you mean—?” Kurt asked, his voice breaking uselessly at the end.

“Yes.”

“I need you to spell it out for me.”

Blaine raised his hand to cup Kurt's cheek, his thumb smoothing over the cheekbone. He leaned closer and Kurt could feel his next words warm against his lips, caught between them in this little bubble of privacy in the bustling crowd. It felt precious, intimate. It felt like theirs.

“I want you. Everything you said: I want dates, and kisses, and more. I want to be yours, Kurt, only yours, and I can't promise you I will be great at it, but I do promise not to break your heart ever again, and I swear that I will do everything in my power to be the best boyfriend you could ever imagine, because I…” He broke and shook his head, his eyes full of awe.

“Blaine?”

“I'm so fucking in love with you, Kurt, you have no idea.”

A sound tore out of Kurt's throat, raw and needy, and then he was right against Blaine's body, kissing him like he would die if he waited one more moment. Blaine reciprocated with an intensity that sent a shiver down Kurt's back, a wild wave of want completely improper in the crowded bar. He pulled back with effort, resting his forehead against Blaine's as they both caught their breath.

“Is that a yes?” Blaine asked, his eyes hopeful and so, so beautiful.

“Yes.” Kurt couldn't contain a giddy grin. “Yes, I want all that, too. Yes, I'll be your boyfriend. Yes.”

#

They didn't stay at the Callbacks long afterward. It felt too weird with all the congratulations, the stunned faces covering thinly-veiled doubts about Blaine's ability to be in a committed relationship. Not to mention, they both craved time alone. It was impossible to talk privately in the middle of a group of their well-meaning friends. So they slipped out half an hour later and started towards Kurt's dorm, holding hands and grinning every time they caught each other's eye. Now that they could talk, neither of them seemed to want to. The silence felt good. Not awkward — it was never awkward between them, but Kurt felt like he needed a moment to let it settle into his bones; the realization that he had this now, what he'd wanted for months. It was a major shift and it seemed like Blaine felt that too, walking silently by Kurt's side, occasionally glancing at their joined hands as if he couldn't believe it was real.

Kurt squeezed his hand when he caught him looking again.

“You're not freaking out, are you?”

“No, of course not. Just… it feels better than I've ever imagined. The handholding.”

Kurt's eyebrows arched. “You've never—”

Blaine shook his head. “No. Sebastian never let me, he said it was too much. We had rules. Handholding was for real couples. Just like monogamy, and staying the night. I never tried it with anyone since.”

Kurt's eyebrows shot up even higher. “You've never spent the night with anyone?”

“No. I've always left after sex, or made them go. Less  chance of morning awkwardness this way.” He shrugged.

That made Kurt stop in the middle of the sidewalk. “Do you want to—” Then he realized what he was doing and bit his lip, blushing. “No, wait. Not tonight. I— I'd love to invite you to spend the night; not to… do anything, just— But not yet. I… I want to do this at my pace, okay? The sex stuff. Will you be okay with this?”

Blaine frowned, as if hurt. “Kurt, I would never push you, do you really think that little of me? We will do anything you want, at whatever pace you want.”

He looked so concerned that Kurt felt a little bad for the chuckle that escaped him. “It's not you, it's just… I'm probably gonna need you to remind me I wanted to go slow, at some point. Because what you're doing to me — I want you, I want everything and I want it now. But at the same time, I only have one chance to enjoy this for the first time, and I want to savor every step of it. Discover and explore. And I already know it's going to be hard to stop, because we've barely kissed and I already want you to spend the night.”

Blaine laughed softly and pulled him into another soft kiss. “I'd love to spend the night with you, whenever you wish. Although I think my place will be better for that, since I don't have a roommate. And we don't have to do anything at all, just spend the time together, fall asleep next to each other and…” He paused, looking at Kurt with his mouth parted in surprise. “Oh wow, I had no idea I would want that so much until just now.”

“You don't seem to be freaked out at all,” Kurt mused, pleasantly surprised, as they started walking again.

“I'm not. I had enough time to dream of this for all my fear to burn out. Now there's only happiness left.” He beamed at Kurt. “You said yes. There's nothing to freak out about anymore.”

They were almost at the dorms now, and Kurt pulled Blaine close enough to whisper into his ear, “Do you want to come in and make out a little? Justin won't be back until late.”

Blaine turned to him with a grin and stole another kiss before saying against his lips, “I'd love to. But no funny business tonight. I've heard someone wanted to take this slow.”

That startled a laugh out of Kurt. “Oh, I have a feeling I'm going to eat my words sooner rather than later. But oh my god, yes. Come up and kiss me silly.” And then a burst of boldness made him add, “so that I can make myself come later with your taste still on my lips.”

Blaine's answering groan was almost as delicious as his kisses.