It's terribly strange, how easily a heart can break. It's buried beneath, encased in bone, muscle, fiber, at the center of you. Yet it seems the most vulnerable part of your body. And even though you know it isn't really feeling, it's simply pumping blood and oxygen, the heart is fragile and terrible and wonderful all at the same time because we give so much attention to the organ. We give it so much meaning even though it's all a fabrication of our minds.

But when it breaks, the pain is real. It is physical, it is there, it is lonely and it is unlike any other sensation you will ever experience in your life.

Kurt Hummel felt heartbreak when he was seventeen years of age, still young and vibrant with a beautiful voice, the kind that stems from the soul.

I have to go, his lover had said. We're moving to Germany. They won't let me stay.

Kurt had begged, he had pleaded, he had cried and cried but nothing would make it better.

I can't be with you, his lover had said. It's too far, it's too hard. I'll see you again soon.

He didn't.

Kurt graduates high school, he goes to college, he graduates from college, and now he's sitting in his almost dingy little apartment in Los Angeles, sliding on his shoes before he walks out the door to take up his shift at the little coffee shop down the street. It's what he does when he isn't singing or auditioning or the things he really wants to do. But it's okay. The people are fairly nice and the city is massive. LA is much more accepting of gays than small-town Ohio.

College really did nothing for him. He knew what he wanted to do and it had nothing to do with a bachelor's degree in sociology. But the diploma was still framed and it hung awkwardly, quite out of place on his living room wall at home. He refused any money from his family when he'd moved, doing things the American Dream way. You work hard, you save money, you make a life for yourself. He sings occasionally in old coffee houses with this guy he met who knew how to play the guitar but didn't sing very well himself. Patrons always seemed fascinated by his voice and Kurt sort of liked that he had that about him, something unique that people weren't expecting when he opened his mouth and his voice filled the room.

Though his voice wasn't exactly as pure as it was in high school since he took up smoking cigarettes his sophomore year of college. He knew the habit wasn't a good one for a vocalist but sometimes you just needed a stick of nicotine to calm the fuck down.

Kurt hadn't led a life without love either, oh no. He'd had a few flings and one very serious boyfriend in college. They were similar people and had over a year and a half of good memories. They'd seen plays together and had quiet dinners and gone to parties and all the normal things that a normal couple would do.

But Kurt realized that there were far too many days and far too many nights where he wished for dark, curly locks and a broad smile that could light up the entire west coast.

So they'd split. It wasn't too terribly bad and there was a minimum of tears shed and Kurt kind of felt like an asshole. But it needed to be done because it wasn't fair to his boyfriend at the time.

He'd been single for about a year now. But he had a good life.

So here he is now, strolling down the street and taking a drag off the cigarette held loosely in his fingers. When he reaches the door of the coffee shop, he stubs the thing out in an ashtray on one of the tables outside. He greets a few of the regulars as he goes to the back to clock in and put on his apron, smiling brightly at a couple of his coworkers. Everyone is so laid back here. And they'd heard him sing before too, joking about how he belongs on Broadway rather than LA and Kurt always takes the jibes with a grain of salt.

Little did he know his life would change that day.

He finishes his shift and it's kind of cool outside, so he rolls his sleeves down and lights up a new cigarette, puffing a breath of smoke into the night air, about to turn and walk down the street when he literally runs into another guy with so much force that the shorter man topples to the ground.

"Holy – are you okay?" Kurt asks immediately, bending down to help the poor guy back on his feet.

"Whoa, yeah, I'm fine," the man replies, graciously taking Kurt's hand and standing, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. "Sorry I wasn't-"

And they both stare at each other for a long moment after that, recognition alight in their eyes, the colors like night and day.

"B-Blaine?" Kurt stutters out.

"Kurt?"

"What're you doing here?" Kurt asks because, hello, what the hell?

"I'm just…here," Blaine replies, running his fingers through the base of his curls on the back of his head, a motion that is so familiar to Kurt that it makes his heart jump. "I graduated and just…wanted to see places I've never seen before. I was going to start here and kind of uh, work my way across the country."

Oh right. Blaine could do that, Kurt thinks, his family has a lot of money.

But now Kurt doesn't know what to say because they hadn't spoken a single word since they were seventeen. There had been no letters, no phone calls, no emails, nothing. They'd fallen right out of each other's lives even with Blaine's parting promise. Kurt wants to be angry at the moment, wants to yell at Blaine and 'why didn't you call me, why didn't you write me' but it was five years ago and he's supposed to have grown up a bit.

Not to mention, Blaine looks really, really good with his facial hair grown out, his eyes still that light shade of hazel that really more resembled honey with a smattering of green and the ever present curly hair that Kurt remembered fisting his seventeen year old fingers into.

"What're you doing here?" Blaine finally asks after a few moments of silence.

"I live here," Kurt tells him, taking a drag off his almost forgotten cigarette.

Blaine lifts an eyebrow at the action. "And you smoke now too?"

"A lot changes in five years, Blaine."

"So it seems."

"Mmm." Kurt ashes his cigarette. "Where are you going?"

"Uh…I don't know, really. I haven't eaten all day, but I figured I'd check into a hotel somewhere first."

In hindsight, Kurt would realize that his next question might not have been the wisest (or perhaps it was), but the words would slip from his lips almost naturally.

"Do you want to get dinner with me?"

Blaine is obviously caught off guard because his eyes widen almost instantaneously and then return to their normal size. But he shrugs, attempting to be nonchalant.

"Sure," Blaine says.

Kurt leads him to a twenty-four hour sandwich shop a couple of blocks over and refuses to allow Blaine to pay for their meals.

"I can buy my own sandwich," Kurt states. "I'm not destitute."

Kurt can't help but admit to himself that there's still this tiny seed of bitterness in the back of his mind and snapping at Blaine seems to fulfill its need to flourish. Blaine's eyes are slightly downcast as they settle into a couple of chairs on opposite sides of a small table to eat.

"So have you been in Germany this entire time?" Kurt wonders.

"For most of it," Blaine says. "I went to England for a summer semester though."

"How nice for you," Kurt drawls.

For some reason, Blaine isn't snapping back and Kurt sort of hates it because he is definitely in the mood to argue. He doesn't feel the need for small talk. He wants answers. They had been close. They had been in love and yes, they were most certainly young when they'd been ripped away from each other, but Kurt was of the belief that it had been very, very real.

However, it doesn't seem like it was real to Blaine.

They finish their meal in silence, throw their trash away, and walk out.

"Look," Blaine finally speaks, "I get that you're pissed at me and to be honest, you have the right to be. But I don't know anything about this damn city so if you'd be kind enough to point me in the direction of the nearest hotel, I'd really appreciate it."

Kurt sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose and he can feel a headache in the near future.

But god help him, this was Blaine. This was the boy who had dragged him out of a depressing stupor and showed him love when he was coming to the horrific realization that the entire idea didn't even really exist. This was the boy who'd kissed him (properly) for the first time and this was the boy who shared dreams of Paris and singing at sold out venues with him. And when Kurt looked at him now he was obviously a little older, a little more jaded and rough around the edges, but wasn't Kurt the same way?

So because this was Blaine, he let that seed of bitterness fall to the wayside for the moment. He knows he's fucking crazy and his thoughts and emotions are all over the spectrum. One moment he wants to slap him and the next he wants to shove Blaine against a wall and fuck him until he can't remember his own name.

"No," Kurt declares after a moment or two.

"Fine," Blaine says, settling his backpack on his shoulders. "I'll find one myself."

Blaine makes to turn away but Kurt stops him with a single hand on his arm and…

Oh.

Oh god.

The moment their skin connects Kurt seriously wishes he hadn't done it because this warm, unusual feeling settles in the pit of his stomach and fire is suddenly coursing through his veins.

He lets his hand drop.

He's surprised to see this confused, shocked look on Blaine's face and he's almost positive that Blaine felt it too. But he doesn't address it.

"I only meant that no, I won't tell you where a hotel is because I was going to offer to let you stay with me," Kurt clarifies.

"You – you don't have to do that," Blaine says. "I can find a hotel."

"There's no reason to waste your money when I have a perfectly good sofa."

"I don't want to like, intrude on your life or anything."

"Blaine."

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and follow me."

Kurt can't decide if he's glad that Blaine does just that, but he's definitely blown away when Blaine gives him that smile.

That broad one that lights up the entirety of the west coast.