Day 095: Thursday 20th December, 2012
Freefall (Oregon)

"It was filmed in so many places I feel like we have to watch it."

"It does keep coming up, doesn't it?"

"Alright. Oregon: Into The Wild."



"Seriously, whose idea was it to do this in a hundred days?" Blaine grumbled to his reflection as he struggled with his bow tie—he could usually tie them in his sleep, but all of his attempts so far had been in vain.

"Let me," Kurt said, moving in front of him and batting his hands away. He was already impeccably dressed, his skinny black tie knotted just so at his throat and his hair swept artfully up and away from his face. He quickly set to work, his long fingers deftly undoing Blaine's crooked effort. "You don't usually get worked up like this. We haven't even gone past 'fashionably late' yet."

"You can't get an R.V. from Crater Lake to Portland in four hours," Blaine muttered, fists flexing at his sides. "We should have left earlier; fuck what 'Kathy Bates' had to say."

"But I'll bet that's not why you're nervous," Kurt said lightly, pulling one end of the simple tie over the other and forming the beginnings of the bow. "So what's up?"

"Why did he have to make me the guest of honor? I barely even did anything."

"You gave him the idea."

"What if he wants me to make a speech?"

"Blaine, come on. It's just Artie."

"I know, but... I've never been guest of honor at anything before," Blaine said. "And the wedding doesn't count; you were right next to me."

"And I'll be right next to you for this," Kurt replied smoothly, and pulled the knot taut. Stepping back, he turned to look at Blaine's reflection in the mirror and nudged his shoulder. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course."

"I'm nervous, too. I've never been the arm candy before."

Rolling his eyes, Blaine said, "It's not some big red carpet thing."

"Exactly," Kurt said, quiet but triumphant, and Blaine smiled despite the butterflies in his stomach.

In truth, Blaine was nervous not just because they were about to attend the first and only public screening of Artie's documentary—the idea for which Blaine had given him in a series of emails back around spring break—but also because Artie had always taken on the role of big brother with Blaine, and had the uncanny ability to known when he was agonizing over a decision yet to be made. The decision he now faced between New York and Los Angeles was consuming almost every waking moment as he weighed the pros and cons, envisioned possible futures, and tried not to think about what would happen if he decided on New York. When he'd told Kurt back in Vegas that they'd figure out the rest later, he hadn't exactly counted on the rest showing up to knock on a moving door.

"Come on," Kurt murmured, taking his hand and squeezing it reassuringly. "We're about to be very unfashionably late."

After casting one final glance at himself in the mirror—with no dress code, they'd decided to simply go all out and wear the same suits they'd worn to Toby and Andrew's wedding—Blaine nodded silently and let Kurt lead him out of the R.V.

It was a chilly evening, and the breeze made Blaine grateful for the parking spot they'd been able to claim right outside the Alberta Rose Theatre. The small sign above and to the left of the door read, DECEMBER SHOWS: 20th – KIDS THAT I ONCE KNEW, and for a moment, a swell of pride quelled Blaine's nerves.

If Blaine had had the time to pause and really take stock of the sight before him, he might have thought it odd that there was no pang of jealousy giving a rough edge to the happiness he felt for his friend. But as it stood, all he knew was Kurt tugging him inside the theater and whispering, "I love you, I love you," before all but pushing him through a set of double doors bearing a poster for Artie's film.

The lights were low inside the small theater, two clusters of hanging white globes providing the only illumination save for the single spotlight trained on Artie, seated in his wheelchair at center-stage. As Blaine gazed at the rows of seats stretching away from them in a gradual incline, he saw that the theater was packed to capacity, and pride twisted in his chest.

"Speak of the devil, yo!" Artie's voice rang out around the small theater—packed to capacity, Blaine saw as he gazed around. "Ladies and gentlemen, Blaine Anderson!"

There was applause, and Blaine's face grew hot as an usher appeared at his side and directed him and Kurt down to the only two open seats remaining, right in the front row. At the sudden attention, he had a wild urge to laugh or give a thumbs-up or do a dance—the only thing that kept him in check was Kurt's grip on his elbow.

Once they were seated and the applause had died down, Artie continued, "Now that we're all here, I'd like to officially introduce Kids That I Once Knew, and thank everyone who played a part in getting us here at the Alberta Rose.

"As I was saying before, the idea for this film can be traced back to this guy right here," he said, pointing at Blaine with a smile. "We were emailing over spring break this year, commiserating about how hard it was going to be to find work after graduation, and he said, 'At least we know what we wanna do. How many people do you know that have no idea? Because I know a lot.' So, Blaine, without you I'd probably be up here introducing another Star Wars-themed Christmas special."

The audience laughed, a few people cat-calling from the back, and Blaine grinned up at his friend, nerves dissipating in the wake of Artie's easy, self-deprecating humor. Blaine had missed him.

"Well, now that I've test-driven my Oscar acceptance speech," Artie continued, pausing for more laughter, "Thank you all for coming; enjoy the karaoke afterward, and I present to you all a labor of blood, sweat, tears, and love: Kids That I Once Knew."

With that, Artie nodded to the back of the theater and wheeled himself to the side of the stage, out of the way of the giant projector screen that had been erected. The lights dimmed, and the film began.

Artie had scored the opening with a soft, haunting piano piece that had a false brightness to it, and it flowed perfectly beneath slow motion B-roll shots of students studying in libraries, sitting in lectures, and walking around campus laden with textbooks. The introduction was short, as was Artie's style; he hadn't wasted any time grandstanding, simply provided enough to get his sparse opening credits out of the way.

"Do you know what you're doing after college?" Artie asked on screen, holding out a small mic to a girl holding a thick stack of books that looked like they weighed more than she did.

"Um, I don't—I don't really know... I'm majoring in art history," she offered, the camera zooming in for a close-up of her troubled expression.

That was the way in which the first series of clips progressed—Artie asking students about their plans after college, and the majority unable to give a firm answer. He'd even spoken to one of the college professors, who told him, "So many kids go to college not knowing what they want to do, and even those who do figure it out while they're here... I see too many of them graduating and ending up at Starbucks. We're not preparing them, giving them the tools they need to get jobs that they want. The system is broken."

Blaine grew increasingly uncomfortable as the documentary wore on, Artie revisiting a few of the same students at the beginning of the summer and then again in the fall to see how they were faring out in the 'real world.'

"We all think that we're gonna do better than our parents did, you know?" one guy said as Artie interviewed him in a caf�. He was wearing a Best Buy uniform, and had earlier been shown graduating with a bachelor's degree in business. "We tell ourselves that we're not gonna repeat the same mistakes and wind up in dead-end jobs going nowhere. But when you're left with so little direction and so few opportunities are out there, what can you do except try to survive and hope that 'better' is somewhere around the corner?"

Blaine paused at that, his attention faltering, because right there was the heart of his dilemma: what he thought he should do versus what he wanted to do. They were tangled around one another in such a mess that he could no longer find the end of either thread. What he thought he should do—move to L.A. and work on the movie—meant getting most of what he wanted: a place to be with Kurt; his lifelong passion kick-started into a career; a shitty first apartment and a Saturday trip to IKEA to spend too much money on a couch and bedroom set. But what he wanted was the music, for it to flow out of him in a constant way, rather than in the pockets of down time he got between turns at driving. Kurt had ignited his inspiration in Vegas and had been unwittingly feeding it ever since, unleashing a song that Blaine hadn't known he'd been waiting to write. Universes existed in his head, too, and he wanted the time to explore them until he knew them inside out.

Forced, however, with so many students who had graduated only to be let down by the real world, or who were left with degrees they were unable to use, Blaine felt selfish for even considering it.

The documentary was just under an hour but it was as if Blaine had merely blinked and it was coming to an end, snatches of dialogue from jaded and disillusioned ex-students playing over the song from which Artie had taken the documentary's title: Dead Hearts by Stars.

"They were kids that I once knew; now they're all dead hearts to you," the singers lamented, the final shot a closing door that faded to black, ready for the credits to roll.

As the lights came back up, Blaine swallowed around the lump in his throat and joined in the applause, rising to his feet along with Kurt and those around them. He didn't want to become a 'dead heart;' didn't want to lay to waste all he'd been working for his entire life on a maybe; didn't want to diminish into the perpetual cycle of work, sleep, work, sleep to support a dream that perhaps he'd realize but more than likely would be put on the backburner.

Kurt's eyes were shining with warmth and love as he turned to Blaine and hugged him fiercely. Blaine slowly raised his arms to hug him back, pulling him close and breathing him in, and was struck with a sudden clarity, the threads untangling with no more than a simple embrace and the memory of flickering firelight. He still wanted to create beautiful things with Kurt, and though he wanted the music, who was to say that he couldn't do both? For so long he'd been convincing himself that all of this was transitory, their journey compounding his thoughts into days and miles and drive time rather than the lifetime at his feet.

"Artie!" Kurt exclaimed, cutting through Blaine's thoughts and bending down to hug Artie as he approached. "You've definitely come a long way since Star Wars-themed Christmas specials."

"Well, we thought about featuring some aspiring Jedi, but they've always got Comic Con," Artie joked, and looked up at Blaine. "What'd you think, little bro?"

"It was incredible, Artie. Really," Blaine said, holding Artie's damnably inquisitive gaze. "Honestly, I'd never have thought something like that could come out of an email whining about college."

"All you, my man," Artie said. Smiling slyly up at them with one eyebrow raised, he added, "And I hear congratulations are in order."

"We know, it was a long time coming," Kurt said. "When were you betting on it happening?"

"Actually, I was the last hold-out," Artie said. "I figured you'd be at least twenty-five before one of you cracked. You really had your heads buried."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, man," Blaine said with a laugh, and punched his shoulder for good measure.

"I call 'em like I see 'em," Artie said, holding up his hands before taking a long look at Blaine—too long, and way too inquisitive for his liking. "Since we're on the subject, what do you have planned for after the road trip?"

"Old habits die hard," Blaine said, stalling for time. He only hesitated for a moment, but it was enough; he could see the shift in Artie's expression, the drawing back of his shoulders that only ever meant he was getting ready to hand out life advice. Though the decision was new and he'd barely had time to try it on for size, Blaine announced, "Coop's asked Kurt and I to come out to L.A. and work on a movie his company's producing, so we're set."

From the corner of his eye he saw Kurt's posture become ramrod straight, and when Blaine looked at him, a smile was spreading across his face like rays of sunlight breaking through clouds.

"That's great, man," Artie said, surprise evident in his tone. "God, that's fantastic. I don't know many others who fell almost straight into a job, especially film students."

"I'd be stupid not to take it," Blaine said, "and L.A. is great, so why not?"

"Sounds like you're both following your hearts," Artie said.

Snaking his arm around Kurt's waist, Blaine answered simply, "We are."

"I'm really happy for you. You deserve it," Artie told them sincerely, his eyes sliding past Blaine as someone called his name from the other side of the theater. "Come on. There's a few people I want you to meet."

Over the course of the next hour, Artie introduced them to more people than Blaine could keep track of, including a group of five girls engaged in a heated debate over which versions of the Lord of the Rings movies were better: the theatrical or the extended. Unable to help getting sucked in when he heard one of the girls saying, "The theatrical versions are better because they're shorter," he lost Kurt to the crowd, but looked for him every so often. He noticed that Kurt was standing straighter, smiling more easily, gesturing more freely while he spoke to people whose names Blaine had already forgotten—he looked happy.

Eventually, when most of the girls had agreed to disagree and two had been whisked away by significant others, Blaine caught Kurt's eye from across the theater. He was sitting near the back, jacket removed, sleeves rolled up, and tie loosened. He was looking right at Blaine, smiling softly as his fingers circled around and around the rim of his glass. Blaine climbed the shallow incline without a second thought, gravitating toward Kurt like he was being physically reeled in.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, coming to rest against the back of the seat in front of Kurt's.

"All of us in the A.V. club were pushing so hard to get out of Maine, and look at us now. You, me, Artie," Kurt said, and took a sip of his drink, flicking his eyes toward the guy up on stage, half-drunk and murdering Moves Like Jagger. "We made it."

"Well, Artie was always going to make it. He was gone before the ink on his diploma was dry," Blaine said.

"He had something to prove," Kurt said quietly. "Everyone was telling him his wheelchair would always hold him back."

Blaine nodded, glancing back to the front row; Artie was surrounded by a group of guys and girls, a cute blonde sitting in his lap and idly running her fingers through his hair.

"If New York is where you want to be, I'll go with you," Kurt blurted, catching Blaine off-guard like he always did.

He turned to look at Kurt in disbelief. "What did you just say?"

Kurt sat up straighter in his seat, set his drink on the floor, and cleared his throat. "I said that I'll go with you to New York. If you'll have me."

Blaine blinked and crossed his arms over his chest. "Kurt, of course I would, but... I want to work on this movie, and I want to be with you, wherever you are."

"I don't want you to do this for me, though. I want it to be what's right for you," Kurt said, wrapping his fingers around Blaine's arm.

"You're what's right for me. And you're... You're one reason. Just not the whole reason," Blaine said. "I'm doing this for me; I feel like... L.A. is where I'm supposed to be right now. And I meant what I said to Artie; I'd be stupid to turn down an opportunity like that. First A.D. on my first time out? Come on, Kurt. Even if it turns out to be a movie about killer tomatoes from outer space, that's a dream gig."

"Oh god, I hope it's not killer tomatoes," Kurt said, scrunching his nose before shaking his head and asking, "You're really sure?"

"What, you need me to convince you? Should I sing you that love song, now?"

"Only if you let me sing it with you. We're a team, aren't we?"

Kurt looked as if he was expecting Blaine to roll his eyes and tell him of course they were, they always had been and always would be. Instead, Blaine bent down, wrapped his fingers around Kurt's tie, and pulled him up for a crushing kiss. His lips tingled with the taste of Tequila Sunrise that lingered on Kurt's tongue and at the corners of his mouth.

"Let's do it, then," Kurt said breathlessly, gazing up at him with a playful smirk.

"You wouldn't rather... Get out of here?"

"And pass up the opportunity to serenade each other? It's like you're a different person. Are you feeling okay?"

Blaine intercepted Kurt's hand on its way to his forehead, threading their fingers together and gesturing toward the stage. "After you, good sir."

It was a heady feeling, being able to take a step back and see exactly how moments like this would play out on a big screen—which angles would be used to capture the happiness in Kurt's eyes; exactly which second the lights would catch in the spokes of Artie's wheelchair, drawing Blaine's attention so that he caught Artie's wink; the knowing little glances he and Kurt would exchange as they sang to each other up on the stage. Their song sheet was one that spoke of a new level of love and commitment, of seeing changes in one another that finally cemented what they should have been long ago, and of a relationship that was no longer a fleeting or finite thing. They were in it, now, and as he sang the words, "But I'd be yours if you'd be mine," Blaine wanted to laugh at how scared they'd both been. If he'd known this was waiting for them, he'd have taken Kurt to Dairy Frost when they were fourteen, blushing as he tentatively reached for Kurt's hand over the weathered and worn Formica. He would have slow-danced unironically with him at prom to I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing instead of quietly judging everyone else while nursing a cup of the clich� spiked punch. He wouldn't be living with the regrets of so much time wasted and so many missed opportunities.

But then, he thought, watching Kurt alight as his voice soared over his verse, doesn't it just make all this taste that much sweeter? Doesn't it mean that we've earned it?

By the end of the song, Kurt had an arm wrapped tightly around Blaine's waist, and they looked steadily at each other while moving up a key and singing, "So love the one you hold, and I'll be your gold, to have and to hold—a lover of the light."

No more nerves, no more fear, and no more heartache—all of that was over. Kurt pressed his lips to the corner of Blaine's mouth and, standing on the stage of an old theater in Portland, Blaine came home.



Distance: 14,206 miles