Day 100: Tuesday 25th December, 2012
Stoke the Fires, Start the Engines (Hawaii)

"Crystal Skull, Raiders, Jurassic Park... Anything but 50 First Dates."

"Hmm. Harrison Ford or Sam Neill. Tough one."

"I honestly don't care. You pick."



The moment he'd stepped off the plane at Kahului Airport, the island's warm air wrapping around him in a welcoming embrace, Kurt had finally begun to breathe freely again. Here in Hawaii, the oxygen was somehow far more plentiful than in had been 'on the mainland,' as he'd heard numerous locals referring to it—and when he walked out of the Banana Wind gift shop, he took in a deep lungful of fresh night air.

He drove their rental car back to the hotel at a leisurely speed; his stomach was still full almost to bursting from dinner at Mama's Fish House, a casual yet high-end restaurant in Paia where it seemed that everything on the menu had been caught by a local. Now that he had a little time and space to himself, he felt ready to begin processing everything that had passed between him and Blaine over the course of the last twenty-four hours.

All that he could really remember, however, were flashes: the warm squeeze of Blaine's palm at odds with his cold fingertips as they walked back inside the Tap Root; the strange, unfamiliar sound of his own laugh when Blaine had made a joke about The Cannery, back home in Brunswick; the burn in his cheeks when, in their hastily procured hotel room, Kurt had studied the expressions playing across Blaine's face as he watched Kurt's video diaries.

And the talk, that long overdue talk; hours and hours of speaking until their throats were hoarse and their mouths parched, touching and kissing for bottomless minutes in between just to let their voices rest. Spurts of sharp anger that leapt into the air yet fizzled faster than they had come—barbed fireworks that still lingered in the recesses of Kurt's mind. Long ribbons of apologies and explanations begun with start-and-stop words but soon unfurling, honesty being pulled from them both at long last until everything was laid bare—their secrets, their lies, and their deepest fears.

Then that morning, his heart safely in Blaine's hand and Blaine's hand in his, they had said goodbye to their friends and started walking, the first step feeling to Kurt as if it encompassed all sixteen thousand miles they'd traveled together, and so many more besides.

Living in the aftermath was slightly odd, and very wonderful, but it wasn't until there was an ocean separating them from their most recent history that Kurt could shake off the remnants of the convulsive agony that had had him practically begging a bartender for a Band-Aid. He had come so close—too close—to losing Blaine forever, and he was acutely aware that for a moment, he had.

This was why, after dinner, Kurt had dropped Blaine back at their hotel overlooking Kaanapali Beach and driven into town to pick up something for Blaine, something that Kurt hoped would cement his apologies and promises in a way that, to him, words hadn't seemed to.

When he arrived at the beach where he had asked Blaine to meet him, Kurt took a moment to slip off his shoes and look out at the shoreline. Blaine was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest, silhouetted against the water, the breeze rippling the back of his t-shirt. Even from the back he looked peaceful, and Kurt approached slowly, the soft white sand beneath and between his toes muffling his steps.

"Hey," Kurt said quietly as he dropped onto the sand next to Blaine and leaned his head on Blaine's shoulder. He set down his shoes and the paper bag he was carrying in favor of wrapping his arms around Blaine's waist, and smiled when Blaine shifted to loop an arm around his shoulders. "What are you thinking about?"

"Fifty states in a hundred days," Blaine replied, his tone conveying a certain amount of disbelief. "We really did it."

"Did you think we wouldn't?" Kurt asked.

"Well, the buzz word was 'ambitious' when we were telling people about it," Blaine said. "But we made it."

"Look how far we've come," Kurt said, his words an exhalation. "You patched things up with your dad; I came to terms with—with Mom... We're going to work on a movie together... Everything's different now."

"It is," Blaine agreed. "Especially you and me. Do you...?"

"Do I what?"

"Do you think any of it would have happened if we hadn't come on this trip?"

Kurt mulled it over for a few moments, casting his mind back to the day that Blaine had come back to Brunswick, taller and broader and more worldly—though it had taken next to no time for them to find their groove again, Kurt now knew that there had been a marked difference in their relationship, even though he'd denied it for so long.

"Yes," he finally answered, turning his gaze out to the waves lapping gently at the shore. "There might have been less drama, or... Maybe there might have been even more, I don't know. But it would have happened. It was bound to, one way or another."

"I think you're right," Blaine whispered, inclining his head toward Kurt's and pressing a kiss into his hair.

"Do you think you would have figured out your dream if we'd stayed in Brunswick?" Kurt asked carefully.

"The only reason I have that dream is because of you," Blaine said matter-of-factly. "But like you said, it would have happened, one way or another. Don't get me wrong; I still love film, and I still want to make beautiful things with you like we always talked about, but now it's..."

"You're the music, and I'm the pictures," Kurt finished quietly. "I guess it just... It never really occurred to me that I was worthy of that."

"There's a reason I didn't just turn around and head for Maine, idiot," Blaine said fondly. "Do you really think I would have gotten on a plane for anyone else?"

"I'm sorry for what I put you through," Kurt said quickly—the need to apologize didn't feel like it would ever wane. After the sixth or seventh time Blaine had begun absolving him with kisses and he did the same now, craning his neck and kissing each of Kurt's lips in turn. The warm pressure of his lips was a catch and release that had Kurt intoxicated all over again within seconds.

"I got something for you," he blurted when they pulled apart—he'd been waiting, biding his time for the right moment, and it suddenly hit him that there was no better moment than this. He inched away, sitting up straight and reaching for the paper bag emblazoned with the Banana Wind logo. Biting his lip, he pulled out the floating lantern he'd bought, along with a novelty lighter decorated with glazed seashells, and presented the lantern to Blaine.

Blaine studied it for a moment, and then asked, "What's this?"

"Your birthday and Christmas present," Kurt said. "What I actually got you is still back in the R.V., so really this is just a placeholder."

"You got me a floating lantern?" Blaine asked, looking at Kurt with so much warmth and fondness in his eyes that Kurt couldn't quite hold his gaze, or else he'd never be able to get out the speech he'd been preparing all day.

Gently, he took the lantern back and set about unfolding it. "I heard they do this on Magic Island every year," he began. "Thousands of people show up and light these lanterns. Some people do it to remember people who have passed away, and some pray for their future, and then they float them out on the water. It's—it's silly, but..."

In the moments of fruitless silence that overtook him, Kurt fixated on the lantern's smooth, waxed paper folds, as if he was constructing something far more substantial. And then Blaine's hand found his knee; it was a simple touch, but a tether nonetheless.

"Last night, there was one thing that I didn't tell you about," Kurt said, hands faltering on the lantern. "I actually thought about it just before I fell asleep, and it's been playing on my mind ever since."

"Okay..." Blaine said, shaking his head a little.

"You never asked about what happened in South Carolina, and I was grateful for that, because even after my big drama moment in Santa Fe, I didn't want to talk about it," Kurt admitted. "I was sitting by the fountain thinking about Mom, and this psych professor came over to me... He looked like every stereotypical movie professor, you know? Tweed jacket, mustache, briefcase... The whole nine yards. Anyway, we got to talking, and it turned out that Mom was one of his students."

"Wow."

"I know."

"Tell me the rest?"

Taking a deep breath, Kurt reached for Blaine's hand and linked their fingers. "He asked me to toss a coin into the fountain and make a wish, and I know you're not supposed to tell people your wishes because then they won't come true, but I'm swearing to you right now that I will make this wish come true."

"What did you wish for?" Blaine asked.

"I wished to be what you need me to be," Kurt said, looking deep into Blaine's eyes and willing him to believe. "Blaine, what we have—what I have with you, it's..." he trailed off, searching for a way to convey what he had no idea how to put into words. "It's beyond anything. I've never believed in not having control over what happens to me, but you happened, and I didn't have any control over that at all. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are, and I knew as soon as that plane took off that I was doomed because you're it. You're the end of the movie."

Blaine blinked at him for a moment before turning his gaze skyward and letting out a gruff sigh. Slowly, he scrubbed a hand over his eyes and then, faster than Kurt could register, closed the gap between them and captured Kurt's lips with his own. It was another of those kisses that made Kurt feel like he was drowning in Blaine, seventeen years old all over again with his hands shaking almost uncontrollably as they tangled themselves in Blaine's hair and held on for dear life. How could he have ever even attempted to walk away from this?

Breathing heavily as he pulled away, Blaine said, "Kurt, you are exactly who I need you to be. Because you're it for me, too, you know. Ever since we met."

Though Kurt's eyes still felt raw from all the emotional purging he'd done over the past forty-eight hours, they once more filled with tears and he pitched forward to bury his face in the hollow of Blaine's neck, fingers twisting into his shirt and clutching tightly.

The sound of paper crumpling was what made him pull back, sniffing harshly and laughing at Blaine's amused smile. "Shut up," Kurt chided him, picking up the lantern and straightening it out where it had become creased. As he passed it to Blaine and handed him the lighter, he said, "Make a wish."

Blaine turned the lighter over and over between his fingers, watching Kurt with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, then got to his feet, holding the lantern aloft. In the next instant the lantern was lit, the faint lines etched into the paper suddenly fully distinguishable—all around the outside of the lantern were sophisticated drawings of birds and fish, musical notes and swirls, flowers and flames.

"Get up here," Blaine said, and Kurt got to his feet, taking the side of the lantern that Blaine wasn't holding. They held it between them, taking the time to study the drawings in all their intricacy.

"What are you wishing for?" Kurt asked, quickly adding, "Don't tell me if it won't come true."

Sighing a little, Blaine answered, "I wish this trip didn't have to end. I wish we could just stay here."

"Well, we've got three days," Kurt pointed out. "And maybe one day we can come back."

"One day," Blaine said wistfully. "What about you? What's your wish?"

Kurt waved a hand dismissively and shook his head. "I've wished for enough. Besides, it's your birthday."

"It's also Christmas," Blaine said, stepping closer so that they had to raise the lantern over their heads. It was beginning to strain against them as more and more hot air filled it, and Kurt briefly wondered what it would be like to just float away into the atmosphere, Blaine by his side and the trappings of himself and the world left far behind. "Come on. There's gotta be something."

Kurt looked up at the lantern, at the drawing nearest his fingers—a couple in a close embrace. "I wish you could've been my first," he said, the words tumbling out of his mouth almost before he'd had to time to think them or realize that they were unequivocally true. "We should have been each other's firsts."

Smiling up at him, Blaine raised his eyebrows and pushed the lantern out of Kurt's grip and into the air. They watched it rise together, swaying this way and that, following the breeze on its journey skyward. Blaine's hand found Kurt's, and nudged his leg. "Don't you think it's more important that we're each other's lasts instead?"

"You're way too smooth for your own good, Anderson," Kurt replied.

Blaine hummed as his knuckles drifted back and forth over Kurt's leg, and even though there were thousands of miles between them and Brunswick, the distance didn't matter; it was another of those moments from Kurt's back deck, the kind that made Kurt wish life had a pause button—but only for a fleeting handful of seconds. This time, he was looking ahead, seeing a life laid out before them. It was filled to brimming with the promise of breakfasts spent kissing crumbs from fingertips, long nights devoted to burying themselves between smooth skin and soft sheets, a DVD library that they'd look upon fondly because it would contain every single movie they'd watched this trip. They'd sift through screenplays until Blaine found the right story to tell through his music, and they'd hop on and off planes holding hands until Kurt found the right location in which to tell it.

"Well, I'm not that smooth..." Blaine said, interrupting his thoughts. At Kurt's raised eyebrow, he shifted from one foot to the other and said, "I'd like to know what this present is. The one that's back in the R.V."

"Oh, it's... It's nothing," Kurt said. "Just a DVD."

"What DVD?" Blaine pressed.

"Our movie," Kurt answered quietly. "I got you The Lion King."

"Kurt..."

"Because that's what started it all, right? That's where we began; that's where you changed my life, so I thought..."

"No such thing as history," Blaine murmured, reaching up and cupping his jaw with a little shake of his head. "Who's the smooth one now?"

Kurt didn't have space to reply; Blaine twisted his hand into the collar of Kurt's shirt and gently pulled himself closer. Kurt met his kiss in the middle and sighed into it, letting his hand move along the roughness of Blaine's stubble. Blaine moved to tug him down onto the sand but Kurt stopped him, wanting to give him one last placeholder present, the one inspired by a story he'd been thinking about ever since Santa Fe.

Pulling his iPod from his pocket, he said, "Dad once told me about the night he and Mom got engaged. After he asked her, she blindfolded him and walked him over to their tape deck, told him to pick out a tape, and the first song that came on was going to be their song."

"And what was it?" Blaine asked, looking down at the iPod.

"Car Wash," Kurt said with a chuckle. "He said they did the jitterbug until they fell over laughing."

"Is this going where I think it's going?"

"I was just thinking, even with all the songs we've listened to and sung along to and danced to... There isn't really one that's ours."

"Are you forgetting Anything Could Happen? It was playing the first time you kissed me," Blaine reminded him; Kurt closed his eyes, for that song was now forever tainted by harsh but deserved words and bitterest shame.

"Yeah, but..." he trailed off—the thought was surely still as fresh in Blaine's mind as it was in his own, and this was one moment that he knew could be perfect, however it turned out. "That was April deciding for us. I want us to have one that... That we can dance like idiots to if we have to."

Silently, he unwound the ear buds that he kept wrapped around the iPod, put one into his own ear and gave the other to Blaine. The trembling was back again, everything feeling a little too full, like he might burst out of his own skin if he didn't let Blaine hold not just his hand but all of him once more—so he wrapped one arm around Blaine's waist, hooked his chin over Blaine's shoulder, closed his eyes, and hit shuffle.

Whatever the song was, it began almost too quietly for Kurt to hear, a gradual building of strumming guitars that he barely recognized. Blaine took his hand, sandwiching the iPod between their skin, and started swaying right there on the sand—he picked up the rhythm straight away, a stark contrast to the cold confines of a cave in Virginia. This was all open air and hope, safe and settled, and as he pulled back to look into Blaine's eyes, Kurt realized that it couldn't have been anywhere but here. It couldn't have been one of many teenage runaway nights, riding their bikes up to Coffin Pond. It couldn't have been spring break at Hampton Beach, playing cards on the floor of the pavilion until after sunset. It couldn't even have been being squeezed into one of April's garden loungers on July fourth, watching the fireworks with Blaine's breath tickling the back of his neck.

Everything up until now—the flames and heat of Providence; Kurt's misstep in Philadelphia; their first kiss at land's end in Key West; ceilings crumbling and falling right in front of them in Gary; a music box containing a train ticket that concealed the worst intentions and fears; Blaine giving him air as they sank into the freezing waters of Lake Calhoun; the moment he saw the 'I love you' in Blaine's eyes one starry night in New Orleans; resisting Blaine with everything, with words and snow and fire until nothing else remained but to leap and hope to be caught...

There was no such thing as history, because without what had come before, there would be nothing of the present or the future that lay beyond it. Kurt now knew this better than most. No Z without Y, no Y without X, back and back and back... It all led here, to this moment where the score died out and left two people looking at each other in simple silence, held in a suspended second with everything frozen save for their racing hearts.

"In the car on the way to the city, in the morning it was foggy on the windscreen," the singer broke in. "We talked about the day ahead and shouldn't we just run away instead."

"We started to believe our dreams and I just kept driving right past the exit," Blaine sang along, a grin in his voice and his lips brushing Kurt's ear. "How does that sound?"

Kurt smiled into his shoulder—home, love, future—and told him, "Like the end of the beginning."



Distance: 17,932 miles

Additional Listening: Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros; This Is The New Year by A Great Big World

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THE END