Blaine began by searching Kurt singer New York, but the only real result that yielded was a man who had died in the 1940s, long before Blaine’s intended Kurt was even born. Kurt New York brought up a chain of upscale restaurants, and thrift stores New York City gave such overwhelming results that Blaine snapped his laptop closed and just stared at the wall a while instead.

He kept busy with essays and performance preparation for college, spent his evenings curled on the couch with Dan or drinking Whiskey sours (which he’d learned to like, actually) with Puck. As August ended, he began tutoring some of the kids from Will’s class. Scarlett wanted to sing in college; Blaine would do everything he could to get her there.

As the first leaf fell, and Chicago inched slowly into Fall, Blaine returned to school and found his time consumed even more fully with composition classes, and private conducting tutorials, and yet more drinks with Puck when they both needed a break from the pressures of their final year. It was sometime during the first days of October when Blaine half-stumbled through the door of the apartment after a long day of back-to-back lectures, and found Dan, home early, waiting.

There were candles on the table, music playing from the ipod dock in the corner, wine, chilled and poured. Dan smiled when he saw Blaine, gestured wordlessly for him to sit, and Blaine slid his messenger bag off his shoulder and dropped in to the empty dining room chair.

“What’s the occasion?” Blaine asked, and Dan said “I think we should talk about our wedding”.

*

Between voice lessons, and auditions for the Winter musical, and the dreaded dance classes, Kurt barely had any free time at all, but every spare moment was spent drawing. He bought a new sketchbook, transferred every piece by hand, made the collection he’d subconsciously designed in Ohio look like something worthy of the New York fashion industry.

It was mid October when Sebastian charged in to his room without knocking, brandishing a piece of paper, grinning. Kurt put down his pencil and waited.

“Graduate. Fashion. Week” Sebastian announced, punctuating each word with a hard jab to Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt grabbed the piece of paper, mostly to avoid any further abuse.

Kurt scanned the paper quickly, not wanting to test Sebastian’s patience. The upshot was that a well known designer was putting together a show celebrating New York’s student designers. He’d already spent, from what Kurt could gather, a lot of time trawling the fashion schools for potential participants, but now he was looking for the people he might have missed.

“Applicants must submit a portfolio sufficiently representing their collection by October 30th” Kurt read aloud, looking up at Sebastian in confusion.

“This sounds amazing…but I’m not a fashion student?”

Sebastian snatched back the piece of paper, pointing at a line Kurt couldn’t quite make out from his position on the bed.

“That’s the thing. It doesn’t use the term ‘fashion student’ anywhere. All it says is that applicants must be graduating from a degree program, which, last time I checked, you are”.

Kurt laughed affectionately.

“While I admire your outlook, that must be a mistake on their part. They’re looking for fashion students. It won’t work”.

Sebastian crouched, meeting Kurt’s eyes, taking both of Kurt’s hands between his.

“If it’s a mistake, we call them on it. We fight until they agree to look at your book, because when they do, mistake or not, you’ll be in the running”.

They just stared at each other for a moment, hard eye to hard eye, neither willing to back down from what wasn’t even a dispute. It was something left over from their time together, Kurt guessed. Battling had just become their default.

Sebastian saw the exact moment Kurt began to believe. His whole body relaxed, his hands softening in Sebastian’s. He closed his eyes.

“Ok, what do I have to do?” Kurt asked.

And then, “Thank you”.

*

They decided on December. It was very quick, but that was a trait the two of them had always shared; when their minds were set on something, they wanted it to happen quickly.

They decided on a small wedding, at least by some standards. Just a few close friends and their respective families.

They decided on the hotel they’d been staying in the night they got engaged.

Yeah. They decided on New York City.

Blaine was simultaneously trying not to think about it and counting down the days. He wanted to be married to Dan, he really did. That was binding, and final, and definitive. Dan would be his husband, hopefully forever, and surely that was bigger than any strange connection he might be feeling to a man he met once?

But oh that man. It seemed as if the closer he got to the wedding, the harder it was for Blaine to drag his mind away from Kurt. It was ridiculous, he knew that. They’d met once, talked once, kissed once. People in nightclubs and bars did that every single night, and when the lights came up they walked away and chalked it up to life experience.

Blaine couldn’t do that, could barely even try any more.

He felt, strangely, as if the decision had been taken from him completely. If only he could have one more night with Kurt, just to…check. If only he could really remember the sound of Kurt’s voice, or the exact placement of that light streak at the front of his hair. Maybe if he could properly recall the colour of Kurt’s eyes, he’d feel better. Maybe then he’d be able to choose.

“I’d choose Dan anyway” he said aloud to the empty room. It sounded, even to Blaine’s ears, defensive.

Like a lie.

But the date was set. December 24th, 11am.

Then, one way or another, all of this would be over.

*

It was only four days after Kurt sent off his portfolio that the call came.

“Hello?” he answered, distracted, sweaty from a stage combat workshop, running to his next class because the NYADA scheduling department hadn’t considered the fact that their buildings were, in some cases, entire blocks apart.

“Is that Kurt Hummel?” the sing-song female voice on the end of the phone asked, and Kurt gave a non-commital “mmm”, hardly in the mood for a conversation with a telemarketer or, more likely, his credit card company wondering why he’d missed another payment.

“This is Kyla, from Grant Halliwell’s office, calling about Graduate Fashion Week”.

“Oh” Kurt breathed, stopping still where he stood in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Grant really loved your collection” Kyla continued.

“He wants to meet you, of course. The next step is an interview, to talk about the collection, and then the finalists will be selected, but he loved your stuff”.

Kurt’s head was threatening to start spinning. He moved, weaving his way around pedestrians, sweeping in to the nearest NYADA building, which wasn’t even where he was supposed to be, and sinking in to one of the chairs reserved for visitors in reception.

“That’s…great” He answered.

“Unexpected, but great”.

“Yeah, he couldn’t believe he missed you on the initial sweep of the colleges” Kyla said conspiratorially.

“Where was it you’re studying?”

A laugh bubbled in Kurt’s chest, escaped from his mouth before he could quite mute it.

“I’m…NYADA” he admitted.

“I’m a musical theatre major. My ex-boyfriend said if that became an issue we’d call you on it because the application didn’t state that I had to be at design school, and I didn’t want to enter because I didn’t think it was fair on actual fashion students, but he told me I had to, and I do think the designs are good, I mean..I’m proud…I should stop talking now…”

Kyla laughed, bright and high, and Kurt thought he’d like her, if this went any further, if they ever met.

“Kurt, relax” she said.

“We loved your designs. I assume you’re interested in being interviewed, still free for the show?”

“Yes” Kurt breathed out quickly, and Kyla laughed again.

“Your email was on the application, right? I’ll send you an interview slot, but it’ll be in the next week, in New York City.”

“Thank you.”

The smile was evident in Kurt’s voice.

“No Kurt Hummel, thank you. This could be the start of something, you know”.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, and was met with the dialing tone. He closed his eyes, exhaled.

The start of something indeed.

*

They were shopping for their suits when Puck brought it up.

Blaine was half dressed, debating the merits of a printed shirt with a plain bow tie over a white shirt with more intricate accessories, when Puck asked “Are you sure?”

Somehow Blaine knew he wasn’t talking about the bow tie printed with bells (he wasn’t really considering it, he was just trying it on) or the cufflinks shaped like music notes.

Blaine didn’t turn around as he said yes.

He snuck a glance at Puck behind him in the mirror, felt a rush of affection when he noticed the concern etched on his best friend’s face.

“You know if you’re not…” Puck began.

“I’m sure” Blaine interrupted, his voice strong.

“Good” Puck replied.

“But if you’re not? We can stop this, at any point. Just know that, ok?”

Blaine closed his eyes, nodded, exhaling shakily.

“I think you’d love him” Blaine said, and even as he spoke he had no idea where it had come from.

Puck placed a strong hand on his best friend’s shoulder.

“I can’t wait to meet him” Puck said, and Blaine met his eye, and began, somewhat inexplicably, to cry.