Blaine’s What-have-I-done phase lasted the whole of the plane ride. He tried to sleep, and when he woke up it was a dull, distant ache, until he rifled through his bag for some gum, and saw his own number scrawled on a page of music, and had to close his eyes to stop the world from spinning.

It lasted as he cleared customs, and tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. It lasted as he wrapped his arms around Dan, and burrowed into his neck, and promised never to leave him again.

“You ok?” Dan asked, holding Blaine at arms length, and Blaine didn’t believe in God, but he prayed that Dan couldn’t see just from looking what he had done.

“I just missed you”.

Blaine pulled Dan back to him, holding their bodies close together, trying to convince himself that this was it, and this was right, and this was home.

There was only one way out of this, he decided as Dan started rubbing tiny comforting circles into his shoulder blade. When he returned the music, he’d just have to tell them the second page got lost. He’d hide it somewhere it would never be found, or maybe just throw it away, and he’d feel guilty for an hour or so, he was sure. He’d feel bad on behalf of a stranger who became…something, and he’d feel bad that this was even a situation, but then he’d forget, probably, and everything would be right again.

The thought buoyed him as Dan took his hand and lead him from the airport.

Yeah. That was what would happen.

Then all of this would be done.

* 

Kurt should have learnt by now that if he wanted to keep something a secret, the least effective course of action would be to tell Rachel Berry.

“You KISSED HIM?” she screeched, and Kurt was sure he didn’t imagine the silence that fell over the deli.

“We are not doing this here” he hissed, draining the last of his coffee and throwing down a $20 bill. He was half way out the door before Rachel caught up, still struggling with her coat as they stepped out in to the frost. The snow from last night was melting now, Kurt noticed, and that made his heart twist a bit in his chest. If the snow melted, nobody would see the footprints they had left.

If the snow melted, Kurt feared, so might the memory.

“Kurt, sorry ok?” Rachel grabbed his sleeve, and Kurt closed his eyes, conceding that he’d have to tell the details now.

He nodded, just once.

“Yes, I kissed him…and please don’t screech again Rachel”.

She looked sheepish. Another screech was exactly what she had been planning. It was no secret that Kurt’s best friend and his boyfriend were not each other’s biggest fans. Rachel found Sebastian insincere, and sleazy, and selfish. Sebastian thought Rachel was an attention seeker who thrived on drama rather than real emotion. The irony, Kurt thought, was that in some ways they really weren’t that different at all.

“I’m sorry” she placed a hand on Kurt’s arm. “Please carry on”.

He told the whole story, starting with snow and gloves, and ending with scarves, and sheet music, and a single star.

Ending with a kiss.

It was a testament to what-had-happened that even Rachel Berry managed to keep quiet as he spoke. A few times she opened her mouth as if to speak, but just looked, dumbfounded, instead, and thought better of saying anything at all.

“So today we need to take this scarf…” Kurt fingered the silk around his neck “to a thrift store, and get this whole thing started”.

His stomach fluttered as he spoke. It was that strange phenomenon of saying something out loud; it always made it feel more true. He was really doing this.

“What about Sebastian?” Rachel’s voice was like an anchor to reality, and Kurt resented her for a second. He was quite enjoying the feeling of floating that had been a constant since the night before. He loved Sebastian, probably, but right now he didn’t need reminding of that.

“I love Sebastian”.

Kurt may not have felt guilty, but he knew he sounded it, and Rachel’s raised eyebrow did nothing to comfort the barely-there-but-still-something feeling that he was making a mistake. That he was about to begin something, or continue something, really, that he should leave well alone. He absently rubbed at the scarf draped around his shoulders.

Now, he thought. He had to do it now before something convinced him to retreat, and forget this hopeless fantasy.

“I have to do this Rachel” he said.

Rachel’s eyes were bright, and she bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet as she nodded.

“Lead the way…” She gestured as she spoke.

He did.

*

Blaine rarely slept in the afternoon, but somehow sitting on his bed for a second became sitting on his bed for an hour, and then he thought he’d lie down, and maybe close his eyes, just for a moment. Just a small reprieve.

It was only when he woke 4 hours later, the sun going down outside his window, that he realised he had fallen asleep.

His eyes were dry as he prised them open, cursing himself for falling asleep in contacts yet again.

“Dan?” He called, his voice rough with sleep. He didn’t even know why he was calling, really. He just felt disorientated, sleep crumpled, and kind of in need of a hug. There was no reply. Blaine reluctantly uncurled his limbs and stretched. He pulled himself up from the bed and padded towards the living room.

“Dan?” He called again, although the darkened apartment and general sense of emptiness told Blaine that nobody was there. He switched on the light, and rubbed his eyes to ease himself into the brightness. Dan had left a note on the dining table, scribbled. Blaine grinned as he picked it up, and was overcome with a rush of love for his boyfriend. His boyfriend, who would leave a note rather than waking him up; who would probably have gone to find dinner, who pretended for Blaine’s sake to love stupid things like bow ties and Katy Perry, and scarves.

Blaine didn’t have to pretend. He loved Dan entirely.

Dan’s handwriting was careful, as if he had taken care over even a memo to his boyfriend. That, though, was part of Dan’s charm. He took care over everything.

Babe,

Popped to the office to pick up some work. I thought since you missed me so much I could work from home until New Year, to give us back some of the time we haven’t had lately.

Blaine clutched the note to his chest. Perfect.

I’ll grab something for dinner on my way back. Hope you slept well.

Love you,

Dan x

Ps. I took your music, since I’m passing the library anyway. The chances of you waking up in time to return it were looking slim! X

Blaine read the postscript twice. He reached for his satchel and scrambled around, hoping…hoping what? That the sheet was there? That it wasn’t?

He didn’t know.

Alright fate, he thought, dropping his head into his hands.

Game on.

*

The first thrift store they came across was tucked away in the East Village. It was like a treasure trove of things that fashionable New Yorkers had once adored, but, like so many things that were once loved, had eventually been discarded.

The owner believed, or so he told them, that the store was where silk and lace and designer handbags came to be united at last with their rightful owners. Here, in a tiny storefront in the East Village, somebody could find the dress they had dreamed of, or fall for a pair of shoes they never knew they were looking for.

These discarded clothes were supposed to be found, the owner told Rachel and Kurt with sincerity. There was somebody out there meant for each jacket, each bow tie, each hat.

Each silk scarf.

And that, he told them, was why he had called the store Kismet.

*

As night fell over Chicago, Blaine wrapped himself around his boyfriend and tried to forget the taste of Kurt on his tongue. He tried to forget the snow, and the single star, and he tried to forget that a song he used to sing would never be just that again.

Every time he so much as heard it now, he’d remember Christmas, and a boy with a smile that could light up a city. Now, he thought, every time somebody took those particular sheets from that particular music library, they’d be holding a piece of his history. They could sing the introduction, soar through the first verse, and never know. And then they’d flip the page, and see a phone number scrawled in black pen, and maybe they’d wonder who Blaine was, and fumble over the notes while they read this handwritten addition, but then they’d just keep singing. They’d keep singing, never knowing that in that one piece of paper, they held a whole night. A whole, perfect night.

He decided not to sing it anymore.

*

As night fell over New York City, Kurt powered up his laptop, and typed ‘Music libraries USA’ in to google.

He wasn’t going to look for Blaine, he promised himself. He just wanted to know what he was up against. The number was in the thousands.

It would be only rational, Kurt thought, to put all of this out of his head right now, before anything more came of it. He’d kept to his side of the agreement; somewhere in the East Village, a quirky old man was locking up a store with Kurt’s Marc Jacobs scarf hanging up inside. Maybe, thought Kurt, that was as far as it would ever go.

It wasn’t though, something told him. It didn’t feel over.

He thought of Blaine that night as Sebastian kissed down his body. The hands pulling at his hair were Blaine’s, and the hips he clung to were Blaine’s, and as Kurt cried out and collapsed against Sebastian’s sweat-soaked chest, all he saw and felt and tasted was Blaine.

“I’ll find you” he whispered, and he wasn’t aware he’d said it aloud until Sebastian mumbled “Mmm?”

“Lucky I found you” Kurt corrected himself, and he felt Sebastian smile against his temple.

“Go to sleep” Sebastian muttered, letting his eyes droop closed.

Kurt lay awake for hours, thinking about chances, and destiny, and Blaine. Through it all, Blaine.

It was almost morning by the time sleep claimed him. Before he succumbed, and closed his eyes, Kurt noticed that they’d forgotten to close the curtains. The city lights were distant, but bright, and Kurt thought of all the people in Manhattan, and all the adventures, and all the beginnings that could be happening right now.

It was comforting, he thought, to know that even as he lay here motionless, life was happening.

Outside, it was snowing again. A whole new coat of white, shrouding the city once again in quiet.

*

That was December.

That was December, and in December Blaine felt heavy and distracted. He thought too much, and clung to Dan like a limpet, and every morning when he woke up, he hoped it would finally be the day that he didn’t think of stranger-kisses, and Kurt’s stupid smile.

That finally happened one morning in early January. He’d been awake a few hours before he realised he hadn’t once thought about the curve where Kurt’s neck met his shoulder. He hadn’t thought about the bench beside the ice rink, or Kurts “I’ll be seeing you, you know”.

He hadn’t thought about the gloves discarded at the back of his closet.

Of course, as soon as he realised this he was consumed with Kurtkurtkurt for the next hour, but the next morning, the absence of the memories took longer to hit, and the inevitable moment when he remembered was…less, somehow.

One Tuesday in February, he didn’t think of Kurt at all.

It was three whole days before he remembered, and even then his breath only shook for a second when he realised.

He held Dan a little less tightly that night. Held him a little less tightly, but let himself love a little bit more.

Blaine was going to be fine.

*

It was early March when Rachel burst into Kurt’s apartment brandishing a letter and looking like her smile would pop right off her face if it grew any wider.

“Stop what you are doing and listen to this” she demanded, and Kurt could not help being intrigued by her obvious excitement. This was Rachel Berry, admittedly, and her tendency to get excited over animal print sweaters and headbands had not changed, but Kurt knew her well enough to recognise the different stages of her hysteria, and this was threatening to head off the scale if she didn’t spit it out soon.

Kurt reached out to take the letter from her hand, but Rachel snatched it back and slapped away his hand.

“Let me tell you” she whined, not waiting for an answer before carrying on.

“Every year, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra choose two, just two Kurt, final year NYADA students as guest vocalists in one of their first Spring concerts. I half forgot I even auditioned, among final recitals and the end of year show, but they want me, Kurt. They chose ME!”

Rachel didn’t stop for breath until she hurled herself at Kurt and threw her arms around his neck. Kurt desperately tried to think of something cutting and cynical to say, but the truth was he was just genuinely, simply, happy for her. He laughed into her shoulder and pushed her back so he could look at her as he spoke.

“I’m so proud of you” he half squealed, and for just a second he felt like the Old Kurt Hummel. The one who let himself get excited.

“I’ll be there, obviously” he continued, and Rachel squeezed his hand and smiled shyly.

“I was thinking…you should bring Sebastian”.

Kurt returned the squeeze. It was a peace offering, he knew. Rachel and Sebastian may never be best friends, but she was trying. She was trying for him, and Kurt felt a whole layer of tension he didn’t know he was holding just melt away.

“He’d love that” Kurt answered.

In all actuality, Kurt had no idea if Sebastian would even agree to go. Even if he did, he would probably fidget, and tap his foot, and whisper in Kurt’s ear throughout. Kurt was determined to get him there, though. He was determined to show Rachel all of the reasons he loved Sebastian.

Because he did.

*

It was almost April when Dan came home with the tickets.

It was just starting to get warmer outside, and Blaine had opened the windows for the first time in a long time. Dan grinned as he walked up the path and heard his boyfriend’s voice drifting out from between the flapping curtains. He sounded beautiful. Always, so beautiful.

“Hey Blaine?” Dan called as he unlocked the door, and as Blaine popped his head around the doorframe of the bedroom, Dan was hit by a wave of just….loving this man.

Blaine smiled.

“I have something for you” Dan said, holding out the two rectangular pieces of paper in his hand. Blaine took them, studying them quizzically.

“You know you always said that whoever was first, whichever Warbler was the one to lead the way, you’d be there?”

Blaine nodded, twisting his face into an adorable expression that was a cross between daring-to-get-excited and still-quite-confused.

“Trent asked me not to tell you until he knew we could go…but he did it. He got the New York Phil gig…he’s the one boy they picked, Blaine!”

And then Blaine was screaming. He was jumping, and he was hugging Dan, and maybe he was crying, just a little bit, because Trent, who was so kind hearted, and talented, and a Warbler was singing with the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, and Blaine got to be there, and share that.

“Wait...who’s the girl? Do we know her?” Blaine asked. The closer they inched to the success, the smaller the theatre industry seemed to become, and usually it was the same names Blaine heard mentioned over and over again as the ones to watch.

“I don’t think so. A girl called Rachel Berry?”

Blaine shook his head. A new name…interesting. She’d be incredible, he was sure. The NYADA cohort were revered all over America; feared and idolised by fellow performers from other schools.

It didn’t even occour to him to worry about returning to the city. For the first time since December, the mention of New York did not conjure up images of Kurt. No, this was about Trent, and friendship, and celebrating that the first of his Warbler brothers was about to break through.

He couldn’t wait to get there. For the first time since Christmas, he couldnt wait to get back.

*

790 miles away, in a thrift store in the East Village, a man took his purchases to the register. He was a tall man, probably in his early thirties. His hair was curly, and he wore a sweater vest over jeans. His face was kind.

He bought a book of Shakespeare plays, despite already owning them all. He bought a blazer, dark blue and worn, and a pile of scarves, picked up seemingly at random.

“That’s a beautiful piece, isn’t it?” The shopkeeper remarked, fingering a particular scarf absently as he folded it and placed it in the bag.

“I wouldn’t really know” the man admitted.

“I’m not really one for fashion. I teach at a youth theatre…all this stuff is just for costumes”.

“Oh well, this will make a great costume” he gestured into the bag.

“It’s Marc Jacobs…a strange story actually. I got the distinct feeling that the boy who brought it in didn’t want to part with it. It seemed like he loved that scarf, you know?”

“Well I hope it serves my kids well, then”, the man answered, looking pointedly at his watch.

“I’m sorry, I’d love to stay and talk but I have to catch a flight”.

“Where did you say you teach?” the shopkeeper asked.

“Chicago” the kind looking teacher replied.

And so it began.