Kurt began by typing Blaine USA into Google, and from the 17 billion results he learnt that Blaine was the name of a city in Minnesota, a Republican congressman, and apparently a gymnast, which got Kurt’s hopes up for a second until he looked at the photo and just..no.

Fine. He didn’t expect this to be easy.

His next search term was Music Libraries USA, and every site disagreed on how many there were, but the fundamental lesson learnt was that the number was huge. So that ruled out searching every single one, he thought, letting the feeling of dejection last only a second before he moved on to the next idea. It was going to be a long road, he mused as he sipped his coffee and scanned the list of morning flights from JFK the past December, but there was something romantic about scouring the entire continent for a piece of printed music and the man who wrote his name upon it.

Pressure at NYADA was reaching fever pitch as finals rolled around, but he still found time to catch up with Rachel every few days. She’d drag him for vegan food, he’d reciprocate with cocktails, and as the hours wiled away they talked about life after college, and Rachel’s burgeoning affair with Tyler (currently straight, and any doubts Kurt had, he didn’t share) and always Blaine.

It seemed like even when they didn’t mention his name they were talking about Blaine. They’d be discussing fashion, and Kurt would remember how he was lit from the inside when they’d walked past the Winter Garden theatre, and Blaine complimented his jacket. When Rachel described, in far too much detail, the way Tyler kissed, and “isn’t he just amazing Kurt, did he do that with you?”, he tried to block out the absurdity of them basically sharing a man and remembered instead the way Blaine had slid their tongues together, so briefly, but it had shaken him to his core.

Sebastian, too, was a surprising ally, despite his efforts veering closer to ridiculous than actually helpful. He began a twitter campaign to find ‘Blaine, who kissed my boyfriend in the park in the snow”, which lasted a grand total of three hours before Kurt enticed him out of the room and deleted it himself. He didn’t know the situation with the man Blaine professed to love; didn’t want to step on toes, or ruin a relationship, or destroy his chances before he’d even begun. He doubted Sebastian’s 132 followers really held the key, but it unsettled Kurt. He felt better once he knew it was gone; less scared that he might actually find the answer, less scared that Blaine would see it, somehow, but wouldn’t want to be found.

Sebastian’s next scheme was dragging Kurt to Macy’s on a gorgeous May evening, when he would have rather been literally anywhere else than a sweaty tourist trap of a department store. He made Kurt point out the exact register where they’d paid, made him describe the cashier from memory to the flustered sales girl who obviously didn’t remember a Christmas temp who had probably left as the new year arrived. Sebastian, however, was undeterred. He kissed her hand, and thanked her oh-so-sincerely for trying, and as they turned to leave she called Sebastian back, and he looked over his shoulder, and winked at Kurt as if everything was going exactly to plan, which oh, Kurt realized, it kind of was.

He’d half forgotten that the unmitigated charm and flirty looks from beneath dark eyelashes were what had made him fall for Sebastian in the first place.

Within minutes they were crowded in to a manager’s office, which had obviously been Sebastian’s intention all along, as Sugar, the sales girl with an ever growing crush on Kurt’s ex-boyfriend, explained the situation to a bored looking supervisor. Her enthusiasm, it seemed, was infectious. It took her only a few minutes to convince him to log on to the central database; to find Blaine’s credit card record, to look away while Kurt took down his address.

Kurt bit his lip as Sugar scrolled. He grasped the edge of the table as she squinted at the screen, asked if he was sure it was Blaine.

He let his head fall hard against the desk as she announced she hadn’t found it, whined aloud when he realized he knew that would be the case.

Blaine, he remembered, had paid cash.

They left with downcast faces, Kurt in silence, Sebastian with Sugar’s number in his phone, promising to text her with any developments to what she was calling “The World’s Greatest Modern Love Story”.

So yeah, Sebastian helped, and if Kurt expressed his thanks by falling back in to Sebastian’s bed a few times, that was fine. They both knew it was comfort rather than love. They never mentioned it in the morning.

“Why are you doing this?” Kurt asked as a Sunday night turned in to Monday morning, lying sated and loose against Sebastian’s chest.

“Because I meant it when I said I loved you” Sebastian replied, and Kurt stiffened.

“Which time?” he had to ask, and Sebastian replied “All of them”.

That was the last time.

*

May was about to become June, the warm weather finally clinging to the Chicago air, the first time Blaine met Will Schuster. It was part of his course curriculum; all Music Education majors had to complete a placement as part of their degree, and Blaine had lucked out when he found Will.

Will taught in a public high school. He was over-worked, under-paid, and so grateful for Blaine’s exuberance, and passion, and quite frankly the extra pair of hands. So every Tuesday, Blaine would rush from his Vocal Arts lesson to Will’s classroom, where he played piano (and sometimes danced on it), and watched the students perform (and sometimes joined in), and listened as they found their voices; discovered how to use them to say something.

Blaine remembered that.

He knew Ashlee recognized that she was talented, but realized that sometimes being part of a team was more important than shining as an individual. When Cameron had a crisis of confidence, Blaine knew exactly what to do to place him back on track. And if Scarlett wanted to sing to a guy to tell him how she felt, who was Blaine to stop her? She’d learn the merits of subtlety by herself. Blaine knew how to handle these people because at one point he had been all of them. He was, he realized one Tuesday as he high-fived the last retreating student and closed the door, leaning against it with a grin, going to be really, truly, honest to god great at this.

*

Once sex with Sebastian was off the table, Kurt took up running to work out his frustrations, and although it didn’t leave him satisfied in quite the same way, he found some kind of groove as he pounded the Central Park pavements. As he ran, he listened to Sondheim and Schwartz, and Larson, and felt something dislodge within him as he remembered that he loved this.

Sebastian found a job as a bartender at a new cabaret spot, and Kurt and Rachel took turns on the mic, never officially employed but accepted as semi-permanent fixtures on the tiny corner stage all the same. Kurt sang Whitney, and Mariah, and Gaga. He sang Katy Perry in the hope that the sound would drift out to the street, and that a boy he once met who had whisper-sung the lyrics to this song as they walked towards the park would be passing, and would pop his head around the door, just to check. It never happened, but he never stopped. He hadn’t enjoyed anything so much in a long time.

“Do you think it’s changed you?” Rachel asked one night as they walked back towards her apartment, the June air sticky even at 2am. Kurt screwed up his face in confusion.

“Love” she clarified.

“Blaine. You just seem so much lighter since all of this. It suits you, Kurt”.

Kurt smiled, and let out one of those breathy laughs that meant he was happy.

Love.

That couldn’t, he was sure, be what he felt for Blaine. What he felt was more like anticipation; more like the title page, where the story itself was love. This was yearning, and falling, and wanting to be the best version of himself, to be ready, just in case the time came.

But he had changed.

Kurt felt like the cogs of his being were turning; rusty from misuse but inherently remembering their dance. Slow and steady his chest began to feel lighter, and his shoulders dropped, and when he opened his mouth to sing, a sound came out that said listen.

And when Kurt looked in the mirror, he recognized himself for the first time in a long time.

Was that Blaine’s doing?

Kurt didn’t think so. Maybe, he thought, it wasn’t the discovery that refreshed a person. Maybe it was the act of searching itself.

*

To look at, they were the unlikeliest of pairings, but Blaine had met Noah Puckerman in a Rock Singing seminar his freshman year, and between laughing at how decidedly un-rock their professor was and their concerted (and constant) effort to wrestle the solos from the Idina wannabe in the front row, they had become the firmest of friends. These days Blaine said dude a lot, and sometimes Puck wore bow ties, which had freaked them both out in the beginning, but Blaine had to admit that in Chicago, Puck was his closest ally.

Which was, Blaine supposed, how he found himself three beers down one Thursday in late June, telling Puck things he’d never uttered to another human soul. Like how sometimes, when Dan was asleep on the other side of a bed that had begun to feel to big for them, Blaine lay awake and tried desperately to convince himself that he hadn’t just accepted Dan’s proposal because he felt it was the right thing to do. Or how in class, on the bad days, the doodles he made of a tree, and above it a single star, weren’t random drawings but a memory, and a wish, and a cry for help. And once those parts were out of the way, when he couldn’t avoid it anymore, Blaine told Puck, in a series of run on sentences with not much space for breath or thinking, about Christmas, and kissing, and Kurt.

He worried about Puck’s reaction; everybody loved Dan, but Puck just said “Dude”, and Blaine said “I know”, and shook his head, and Puck bumped his fist with Blaine’s and said “Love is love, man”. That was when Blaine knew they’d be friends for a long time.

Later, when their beers were long since drained and the night was tripping in to morning, Puck asked Blaine what he was going to do.

“I…stay with Dan” Blaine answered, and his voice was stronger than his conviction, but Puck seemed satisfied.

“Good” he nodded, once, and then “But if you ever need to get out…I’m good at shit like that”.

And for some reason, be it alcohol, or guilt, or the recognition of true camaraderie, Blaine thought he might cry.

*

As June evolved in to July, and the city heat rendered even the slightest movement unbearable, Kurt took to holing up in the bar while Sebastian worked. It was quiet during the day, so Kurt would perch at the end of the bar and scratch out pencil sketches on napkins and receipts, designing outfits for the clientele as they unknowingly sipped their drinks a few seats down.

He knew he was good, relatively speaking. He had an eye for fashion, a penchant for design, but the technicalities had bypassed him, never being something he’d needed to know. Which was why he was surprised when Sebastian pulled out a sketchbook, on a Friday, sometime in the first few days of the month.

“What’s this for?” Kurt asked, and Sebastian smiled like he knew a secret and said “Your first collection”.

Kurt blushed and smiled bashfully, and thanked Sebastian over and over, but never imagined he’d use the sketchbook for such a thing.

It was only two days later, on a flight to Ohio, home in the most primal sense, that the idea came to him. It started with a sketch of a single star, lonesome in the corner of a page. The star sparked a memory, and the memory a feeling, and when the feeling became an urge, Kurt picked up his pencil and began to draw.

*

“Costumes off and back in the bags please” Will bellowed, the beginnings of a headache settling in around his temples. School had officially ended weeks ago, but it seemed that once the kids had really started singing they hadn’t wanted to stop, which was how Will found himself, on the Friday before the 4th of July, trying to control the chaos that had descended over the classroom.

“Scarlett take that scarf off” he called across the room, momentarily hating Blaine for bringing these kids out of their respective shells. Will still had to pick up the car from the garage, and find something for dinner, and clean the apartment before his parents arrived in town.

“Where did you get this scarf Mr Schu?” the petite blonde asked, letting the cool silk run between her fingers.

“From a thrift store Scarlett. Why?” he asked through gritted teeth.

“Because some guy has written his number on the tag. Can we call him?” She asked, her voice serious.

“No” Will half growled.

“Take the scarf off and put it in the bag or you wont have time to show Blaine your performance when he gets here”.

That got their attention. They scrambled for the bag, Scarlett’s face wistful as she slipped the scarf from around her shoulders and placed it somewhere at the bottom.

Blaine arrived just a few minutes later, suitcase in tow. He was heading straight from the rehearsal to the airport, with a quick detour to pick up Dan. It was the first time in years he was going home for the holiday, the first time ever he was taking somebody with him. He was scared, but it made him feel alive somehow. Fear just emphasized the magnitude of the situation. Of course, his parents had met Dan countless times, but this time Blaine wasn’t taking his boyfriend home as a potentially brief distraction, somebody who might not remain in his life. He was taking Dan home as the man he was going to marry.

For a second he thought he might be sick.

But he didn’t have time to think about that now, as he was pushed in to a chair by Ashlee, watching as the kids got in to position on the stage.

And they were breathtaking.

The girls took the lead, dancing around Blaine’s chair, flirting playfully while the boys stood in formation and provided harmony to My life Would Suck Without You. In each one of them, Blaine saw himself, and that, he thought, was why he wanted to teach. Ashlee had really taken on board his words about quiet commandment, and shining without pulling focus. Nick, who had barely sung at all a month ago, was riffing above the other boys in a manner reminiscent of Blaine himself.

Scarlett danced on the piano.

When the song ended and Blaine stood to applaude, he found himself wishing Dan could see this. And then he remembered sixteen year old Kurt, standing on the Gershwin stage and knowing who he was. He wished he could see it too.

“That was incredible!” Blaine congratulated Will as the last of the kids left, calling happy holidays and keep in touch over their shoulders.

“Exhausting too” Will supplied, and Blaine laughed.

“What are your plans for the weekend?” the younger man asked, and frowned when Will seemed to deflate.

“I need to drop these costumes back at the thrift store before I forget and they fester in this room forever, then I need to pick up my car and find some dinner before my parents arrive”.

“I could take the bag” Blaine said, and just like that Will’s shoulders dropped, his face shifted.

“Are you sure?” Will asked, but his voice told Blaine it was a done deal, and he nodded.

“Of course, there’s a place on the way to Dan’s office. I can just run there now”.

Will’s gratitude was written all over his face, all over his slowly relaxing body. Blaine reached for the bag where it lay on top of the piano, pushing the soft fabric of the costume pieces further in, hooking the straps over his shoulder.

“I’m lucky to have found you, Blaine”.

Blaine smiled, touched.

“As is the world of Music Education” Will continued.

“So many people of your calibre have everything pinned on being a performer. It’s so refreshing when one of the good ones says he wants to teach”.

Will clapped his hand on Blaine’s shoulder as they began to walk towards the door.

“I’d love to come back next semester” Blaine offered.

“Even though I won’t be getting credit anymore…I think it was as good for me as it was for the kids”.

Will smiled, nodded, it was settled.

“Have a great summer” Will called as Blaine got in to his car and threw the bag of costumes on to the back seat.

Blaine sang along with the radio as he drove. He felt light, and free, and happy.

He was going home for the weekend, to his family, with Dan who he adored. It was summer, his skin was warm, and he had weeks left of his break from school.

He was going to be a great teacher; an asset to the industry, Will had said.

Yeah. Blaine was happy.

The thrift store was closed by the time Blaine reached it. He left the bag on the doorstep, sure that anybody passing would be welcome to the hideous creations within in.

He didn’t think about the bag as he reached Dan’s office, waving when he noticed his boyfriend waiting, tilting his head up for a soft kiss as Dan climbed into the car. He didn’t think about it as they drove to the airport, holding hands at every red light, or as they boarded their flight, or during takeoff.

Blaine wasn’t thinking of the bag when the store-owner stopped by to retrieve his keys and noticed the costumes on the door step. He wasn’t thinking of it as the owner unpacked each item on to the counter, taking an inventory, hand picking which pieces to keep.

Somewhere above the ocean, ears popped and skin dry from flying, Blaine thought of Dan, and teaching, and his parents, and any number of other things that were not scarves and hats and oversized shirts. Somewhere on the ground, at a thrift store in Chicago, the owner was fingering a silk scarf in mint condition, and wondering who Kurt Hummel was.