Kurt sat with his feet dangling over the edge of the pool, a Shirley Temple that he’d long since stopped drinking in his hand. Behind him, Finn listened as Rachel whispered intently, her face alternating between Tyler who? and I’m far too sophisticated to be having this conversation with Finn who I happen to still love. Kurt was sneaking glances as often as he could without being caught, wishing he’d thought to invite Mercedes, Tina, somebody. His aunt’s back garden was beautiful, and the sun on his face felt like the beginnings of a resurrection, but Kurt was bored.

He’d been back in Ohio two days now, and beyond the obvious catching up with family, and a mini-Glee reunion with the members who were back in town, there was nothing left here for him. He’d spent Saturday morning mindlessly sketching, designing jackets and dresses and shoes without really giving any thought to the lines his pencil made on the page. It was Finn, actually, who had forced him to actually look at what he’d drawn. Finn, who popped his head out to the garden early on Saturday afternoon to ask Kurt if he wanted a lemonade, then stayed a while, curious to see how people who didn’t care for football or video games spent their time.

“What are you drawing?” Finn asked, and Kurt pushed the sketchbook across the table for his brother to look. He was silent for a moment as he flipped from page to page, and Kurt felt suddenly nervous despite Finn having no idea about the definition of a good design.

“What’s it about?” Finn asked finally, and Kurt crumpled his eyebrows in confusion.

“Nothing” he replied “They’re just designs”.

Finn shook his head.

“No dude I mean, they all look like part of something. I mean, I don’t know about clothes or anything, but they look connected. Like they have a story”.

Kurt’s throat was dry, and he cleared it before he spoke, buying himself a second.

“I don’t know what you mean Finn…they’re just designs”.

Finn handed Kurt the sketchbook, but kept his finger on the page, pointing out a jacket.

“No, I mean…this. This jacket has the broken seams-“

“Distressed” Kurt interjected, then gestured for Finn to carry on.

“Distressed then. And then these pants have the same kind of thing, but different, kind of. It’s like they’re related but not the same…” Finn trailed off as Kurt snatched the sketchbook back fully, and began slowly flicking through the pages.

“What?” he asked, and Kurt’s face was a picture of revelation.

“It’s a about searching” Kurt said quietly, and Finn unconsciously leaned in to his brother’s space to hear what came next.

“The tailored parts are the outward self. It’s all quite structured and refined, like…a person might want to appear, in public. But then there are the broken parts, as you called them, and that’s…reality. People have flaws. We fray, and sometimes if you know where to look, you can see that. It’s what happens when you strive for something…you unravel, usually, before you find it”.

Kurt finished with a “huh…”, surprising even himself with his description.

Somehow, consumed with thoughts of Blaine and the burning need to find him, Kurt had sketched out the beginnings of a collection. He’d have to tell Sebastian, he thought. His ex-boyfriend relished every opportunity to gloat about being right.

Had he realized, as he drew, that he was starting something? Kurt thought not, actually. It was an unconscious effort. It just happened. Some people ate their feelings, some sang until they were out. Kurt, it seemed, drew them.

So he’d spent the rest of Saturday trying to make sense of the stories that had shown themselves in the guise of dresses and shoes. The jacket that had sparked Finn’s original point became a centerpiece, and a representation of everything the collection epitomized. By the time he moved from the garden to his bedroom, no longer able to chase the fading sun, he had six complete outfits. By the time he fell asleep, cheek pressed to the pencil lines in his sketchbook, Kurt thought he maybe had a collection.

But now, kicking gently back and forth at the edge of his aunt’s swimming pool, Kurt was bored. He glanced over his shoulder again, caught Rachel swiping her thumb across Finn’s wrist, sighed.

Quickly, he pulled himself to his feet.

“I’m going for a walk” he announced to nobody in particular, and wasn’t sure anybody even noticed as he slipped out of the garden gate.

*

The Anderson house was quiet. Blaine had been elated when he arrived home, letting his mother coddle him, answering his dad’s questions about school, spending the first night back in the pool house with Dan and Cooper and his girlfriend Cleo, drinking too much wine and laughing too loudly, but the novelty of seeing everyone again was fast fading.

It wasn’t that the Andersons didn’t love each other, because of course they did. They had just never been a family who showed much physical affection. After a night, his mother’s pandering began to irritate Blaine. There were only so many of his father’s questions he could answer without the conversation becoming stilted and difficult, and as much as he enjoyed Cooper’s company, they saw each other so seldom that it felt like spending time with a stranger.

Blaine was grateful for Dan as they sat in companiable quiet in the garden. Dan was pretending to scan a newspaper, but Blaine was sure he wasn’t actually reading it, preferring instead to just be for a minute. Blaine was on edge. His family were somewhere in that familiar shift between interested and judgemental, and Blaine didn’t want Dan to see him crumble under the pressure he had become so used to. He sat rigid in the garden chair, listening silently to the sounds of lives happening around him.

Cooper’s laugh echoed from somewhere beyond the open door of the pool house, and Blaine smiled. He had his differences with Cooper, who rated his career far more highly than maintaining any kind of relationship with his brother, but it was nice to hear him laugh. Cleo was good for him, Blaine thought. She was different from his usual Hollywood model type, who were beautiful, and bouncy, and so boring. Cleo seemed real, and so, thought Blaine, did the relationship. Cooper was lucky.

He could hear his parents preparing food for the barbeque in the kitchen, their affection muted and subtle, but apparent all the same. Blaine listened as his mother said how happy she was to have the whole family home. Blaine knew she included Dan in that; knew she was trying. It was almost more than he had ever dared to hope for.

From the next garden, Blaine heard the sounds of children playing. He had never officially met the neighbours, having long since left for college when they moved in. They seemed nice enough, he thought now, if a little loud. Hudson, he thought, was their name.

“Finn, Finn” they called, and Blaine didn’t know who Finn was, but a deeper voice answered and the children screamed in delight. He’d introduce himself next time they met at the end of the driveway, he thought. They sounded happy.

“Whats up?” Dan asked, and Blaine turned to see his boyfriend staring at him with fond concern.

He mentally shook himself, and smiled.

“Why would anything be up?” he asked, and Dan cocked an eyebrow knowingly but let it go, turning back to his paper.

In the space of a question and a glance, Blaine was riled.

“I’m fine Dan…” Blaine muttered, berating himself even as he spoke for re-opening the conversation but unable to stop himself somehow.

“You’re not.” Dan answered without even looking up, and Blaine sighed and gently plucked the newspaper from his boyfriend’s hands.

“What makes you say that?”

Dan exhaled and shifted, turning to face Blaine fully.

“You’re being petulant and moody. It’s like you walk in to your parents’ house and revert to being a child and I just don’t get that. I just want you to be able to talk about it and know it’s ok”.

Dan was right, Blaine knew. After a few hours with his father in particular, he began to bristle at the slightest comments and would fold in on himself, coping the only way he knew how. He knew he did that, was fully aware it was childish and ridiculous, but he didn’t need to be called out on it by the one person in this equation who he’d expected to be unconditionally on his side.

“No, you don’t get it, so can we just let it go?” Blaine asked, closing his eyes.  Dan drew in a sharp breath and pushed his chair away from the table.

“Whatever you want, Blaine. I need another beer, do you want one?”

Blaine nodded.

“I love you” he called to Dan’s retreating back, and Dan’s voice was small, and sad, and far away when he said “I love you more”.

*

Kurt walked around the block slowly, the hot summer wind a comfort on his skin. He hadn’t grown up here; had barely spent time in this part of town at all, but that was the thing about Ohio. You could be anywhere and nowhere all at once. The houses looked the same as the ones where Kurt had played, creating worlds for himself while his parents; later, his dad, spoke in hushed tones to their friends.

He felt like a giant, and he felt so small.

In the past few years, Kurt had begun to equate the idea of summer in Ohio with hope. The last full summer he had spent here was full of last coffee dates, and last dinners at Breadstix, and last nights sleeping in his dad’s home, in his teenage bed. He was getting out, and every second of that Last-Ohio-Summer had been a reminder of that. His time was expiring, and he could not have been more excited. Heat, and quiet nights, and sticky skin still reminded him of that feeling.

As he walked, Kurt thought of cliché things, like how far he’d come, and how much he had changed, and how many wonderful things there still were to experience, and he wasn’t shocked when he felt a tear slip down his cheek, and come to rest above his top lip.

*

Blaine felt antsy by the time Dan returned with their drinks. His stomach was twisting, and his temples were throbbing with tension, but he tried to relax as Dan placed the beer bottle infront of him and kissed his cheek; tried to rearrange his face quickly in to a smile.

“I’m sorry” Dan offered, and his tone made it sound like a question.

“You have nothing to be sorry for” Blaine promised, reaching to his right to place a hand softly on Dan’s knee.

“I just don’t have the kind of relationship with my parents that you do, Dan. They don’t know about my life, my real life, and it makes me nervous to come here and show them what we have because it’s precious, and I don’t want their judgement”.

Blaine squeezed where his hand rested, and Dan smiled.

“But they love me, right?” he asked, and Blaine grinned.

“Who wouldn’t?” he answered, and the familiar pang of guilt rose in his chest for just a second, before it was buried by contentment, and a sense of home, and Dan’s lips meeting his.

They stayed like that for a while, lazy kisses punctuating the early evening quiet, hands grasping hands, smiles meeting smiles, until Blaine looked up and saw Cooper watching with an all too inquisitive expression on his face. Laughing, he pushed Dan gently off, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Don’t stop on my account” Cooper said, holding his hands up, and Blaine rolled his eyes.

“Did you want something?”

Cooper nodded.

“Yeah, actually. Remember the time I made you dress up and sing Mmmbop while Mom took pictures?”

Blaine rolled his eyes, nodded, gestured for Cooper to carry on.

“Do you have the photos? Mom said she thought they were in your boxes upstairs, and I want to show Cleo”.

Blaine pushed himself out of his chair with one hand.

“Probably. Keep my boyfriend company while I check?”

Cooper nodded, and Blaine made his way towards the house, desperately trying to remember the last time he saw the album that the photos of his uninvited makeover were in.

He began by looking under the bed, but all he found there was a sock long past salvation, and a pile of Fencing magazines left over from his Dalton days. Opening the built in closet was daunting; there were so many boxes, Blaine didn’t know where to start, but he methodically discarded the ones labeled clothes, and trophies (he’d been good at Fencing), and pulled down the few that seemed to be full of miscellaneous keepsakes.

Blaine sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the first box on to his lap, smiling as he rooted through the old school reports proclaiming him something akin to the second coming. He was the linchpin of the Warblers, the faded words on the paper said. He inspired others to be better. Dalton, the reports claimed, was lucky to have him. He placed the pile beside him and continuted flicking through, stumbling on photos of the Warblers after their first (and only) national win, ticket stubs from his first date, notes scribbled on hotel paper, left over from his last competition, somewhere in New York state.

He was half way through the second box when he found it. He remembered immediately what it was. The envelope was still pristine, his name written neatly on the front. No surname, no address, just Blaine, the handwriting soft and curved. He remembered thinking, at the time, that his name had never seemed so beautiful.

Blaine clutched the envelope to his chest, just as he had when it first arrived. He quickly untucked the flap and pulled out the single piece of paper, hand written, and began to read.

*

Dear Blaine,

I felt like I should explain myself after the way I treated you yesterday; It was a snap reaction and I admit I probably came across harsher than I intended. I forget how much younger you are than me, and I mean that entirely to your credit. I can sit and drink coffee with you, and talk about life, and not remember for hours that the things I take for granted are things you cannot possibly know at sixteen years old.

You’re at a point in your life, I know, where it feels like you know everything there is about desire and lust and relationships, and trust me when I say this is not, and will never be, the case. If that sounds patronizing I don’t mean it to. There will come a time when you realize that when it comes to matters of the heart, people never stop learning, but knowing this will not stop you from feeling you’ve discovered it all. It’s one of those things. Every time we think we’ve got it figured out, something happens that proves we are so wrong.

You’re an amazing person. I hope you never doubt that, but the nature of the world suggests that at some point you will. When that time comes, I hope you remember that when you were sixteen years old, you were brave enough to serenade a boy, and expose your heart in public in a way that so many people never find the courage to do. Remember that the boy thought you were amazing, even if it wasn’t in the way you thought you wanted.

One day, you’ll fall in love and realize that the grand gestures don’t mean a thing when they’re directed at the wrong person. You’ll realize that sometimes it’s the tiny things that come to define what you’re feeling, and that when you find the one you’re meant to direct all this energy towards, you’ll know. And all those times you thought you were in love? You’ll chalk them all up to experience and let them fade away.

That’s the way it goes, Blaine. One day, five years from now, give or take, you’ll meet somebody that’ll blow you away. You’ll probably think of me, when it happens, and of all the other people you thought you wanted between now and then. You’ll remember us all. And then you’ll let us go because from that moment, nothing can compare. Because you found him. It’ll be when you least expect it; when you’ve forgotten to look. And then every single thing you do will somehow mean more.

I hope you’re happy, then, but also now.

Your friend,

Jeremiah.

*

Blaine smiled, a warm wave of nostalgia spreading from the tips of his toes to his chest. He hadn’t read the letter in years; honestly hadn’t even known where he’d stashed it when he’d upped and moved to Chicago to start his new life, leaving behind the things he didn’t think he’d need. And then he’d found Dan. And Jeremiah had been right; everything else paled in comparison.

Except…something was niggling at him. He didn’t quite know what, but he felt unsettled as he scanned the letter again.

“That’s the way it goes Blaine”, Jeremiah had promised, and he’d been right.

“One day, five years from now…”

Blaine stopped.

“Five years from now…you’ll meet somebody that will blow you away.”

He went through the charade of counting on his fingers, although he knew immediately he was right. The letter had been written a lifetime ago, posted through the door of his parents’ house in Ohio. And five years had passed. Blaine had left Ohio, built a whole new existence in Chicago by the lake. But five years to the day since Jeremiah had promised him he’d discover-it-all, Blaine hadn’t been at home.

It was December when the letter was written, somewhere very close to Christmas day. Blaine remembered finding it on the mat when he came downstairs; remembered holding it close to his chest for a while, as if willing it to become a declaration of love would somehow change the contents. It was freezing, so he snuggled back under his duvet to read Jeremiah’s words, burying his face in the pillow when he cried because he was so devastated, but so touched.

He’d largely forgotten about the letter after that, because the Blaine of back then had become such as expert at putting on a brave face that even he often mistook it for the real thing. He’d picked himself up, and rearranged his smile until it didn’t look forced, and moved on.

And five years to the day later, Blaine Anderson touched down in New York City. He auditioned for a show, then headed to 34th street to buy a gift before his flight. He smiled at the tinny Christmas sound track, thought about how lucky he was to be in his favourite city, buying a present for the man he loved. He chose some gloves, saw them before he reached them.

He met a man named Kurt. Five years to the day.

*

Kurt felt as if he had been walking for hours, but in reality it was only about twenty minutes until he came to a stop back on his aunt’s front porch. He sank down to the top step, content to just sit for a while. He could hear Finn still playing with his cousins in the yard, and Rachel, talking to someone he couldn’t quite identify about her plans after graduation. He laid back on his elbows, let the sun lavish his face with heat and light.

He was, he thought, recognizing the moment as a transition. He had NYADA, and he had his designs, which he’d started to believe might really be something. There was Sebastian, who loved Kurt in so many ways, and Rachel, who loved him in other, different ones. Kurt’s life felt full. He had options. It was a nice feeling.

He was snapped from his reverie by the screen door sliding open in the neighbouring house.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” he heard a concerned voice ask, and he couldn’t make out the reply, but heard footsteps, and the door closing behind whoever had left the house.

Kurt ducked around to his aunt’s side door, not in the mood for awkward small talk with, judging by the house, a wealthy ohio-ite who could ruin his contentment with one misplaced comment. Kurt quietly opened the side gate and slipped back in to the yard. He heard the footsteps walk towards what he guessed was the front porch, and then abruptly stop. He guessed the mystery figure was seeking solace on the porch. Once again, Kurt thanked NYADA’s compulsary dance classes for his nimble limbs, and his ability to move quickly.

*

Blaine was shaken as he sank down on to the top step of his parents’ porch. He had stashed the letter at the bottom of the box, left the debris of his childhood on the bed as he made his way numbly back to the yard.

“Did you find it?” Cooper had asked as Blaine walked out of the house, and it took a second before Blaine even remembered that he was supposed to be looking for the photograph.

“No” he said quickly, and it felt like a lie despite the fact that he hadn’t.

“I need some air” he said, scrambling for the screen door, ignoring Cooper’s confused voice as he pointed out “We’re in the yard…there’s air here…”.

“Are you ok?” Dan called after him, and Blaine waved him off with a mumble about the heat of the house, and the heat of the barbeque, and promised that really, he was fine, he just needed a moment.

Which was how he found himself staring blindly at the street he’d grown up on, lying back on his elbows on the front porch of the very house where he’d read the letter for the first time.

He’d had no idea, back then when he was so young and so consistently optimistic, about what was in store for him; no idea that he’d meet a man so wonderful and supportive, no idea that he’d jeapordise it all for a kiss with a stranger, five years to the day that Jeremiah promised he’d find what he was looking for.

Blaine looked up as he heard the door open, and smiled as he saw Dan walking towards him. It reminded him so fully of the night they’d got engaged; Blaine sitting contemplative on a step, thinking of Kurt; Dan appearing from a doorway, Blaine smiling although he was rattled to the core.

Dan sank down beside Blaine and held out his hand. Blaine took it, holding tightly on.

“I love you” Dan said softly, and all Blaine could manage was “I know”.

*

It was Tuesday when Kurt returned to New York City. 

He dropped his bags at the apartment, and went immediately to the bar, where Sebastian was mid way through a shift.

“You ok?” Sebastian asked, pleased to see Kurt when he walked unexpectedly through the door.

“I wanted to show you something” Kurt said, brandishing his sketchbook in Sebastian’s direction.

They sat at the end of the bar, both of them silent as Sebastian pored over the pages, his face giving nothing away.

“Well?” Kurt asked, practically vibrating with tension as his friend reach the last page and flipped the book closed.

Sebastian took both of Kurt’s hands in his. He smiled, so wide that his face changed, and said “I told you so”.

*

It was Thursday when Blaine returned to Chicago.

He waited, subdued and mostly silent, for Dan to swing by the office, and then he called Puck.

They met at a bar on Michigan Avenue, and Puck talked while Blaine stared in to his whisky sour (he didn’t reply like the taste, but whisky seemed like something people might drink in a crisis).

“What’s up, man?” Puck asked, finally, realizing Blaine wasn’t engaging at all with his tirade about his latest conquest, and Blaine’s heart did a strange thing where it felt so full, just for a second, that he thought it might burst.

“I’m scared of losing Dan”, Blaine thought he might say.

“I’m scared of losing Dan, and I just spent a weekend with the people who are supposed to love me the most and felt like I was wearing a mask the entire time”.

“This weekend I found a letter” he rehearsed in his head. “I found a letter that made me think about the boy who was so pretty when he smiled, and a kiss in the snow, and a prophecy, of sorts, made so many years ago”.

When he spoke though, he didn’t say any of those things.

Blaine took a breath.

“Should I be looking for him?” he asked.

And then: “I’m going to look for him”.

*