When Blaine awoke the next morning, his sleep-sated limbs aching pleasantly, it was with a start. The bed was half-empty, and his phone was vibrating its way across the nightstand to fall onto the carpet with a soft thump. He ground the heel of his hand against his eyes and, squinting against the pale morning light, shifted himself sideways to grope around the floor, where it was still vibrating softly into the pile. If he had been more awake, he might have made a sound of triumph when his fingers closed around it, but as it was he simply fumbled it upright and swiped his thumb across the screen.

“Mmh.”

“Good morning, sleepy-head.”

“Kurt?”

“It’s time to wake up, honey. You’re going on an adventure today,” Kurt said cryptically, a note of wryness in his voice.

“What kind of adventure?”

“A special twenty-fifth anniversary adventure that I’ve planned out just for you. It’s a treasure hunt.”

“I thought the pirate days were behind us,” Blaine said after a pause, rolling onto his side and scrubbing at his eyes again. He blinked at the clock on Kurt’s nightstand, which was always set ten minutes fast and currently reading 8:04.

“I’ve come to the conclusion that, regrettably, the pirate days will never be behind us,” Kurt said with a sigh. “So instead, I’ve decided to embrace them.”

“I’m sorry, but what have you done with my husband?” Blaine asked, pulling the phone away from his ear just to make sure that it was really Kurt calling. “The last time I checked, Kurt Hummel-Anderson doesn’t concede defeat, and correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that was your way of saying, ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’.”

“Time to get up now, honey,” Kurt said. “Your first clue is right next to you. Catch me if you can.”

The call clicked off, and as Blaine blinked himself further into wakefulness, he noticed a small, plush, stuffed gorilla propped against Kurt’s pillow, the covers pulled up to its furry chin.

He lay still for a few minutes, letting himself adjust to the day and watching the boughs of the oak tree outside their bedroom window sway against a backdrop of brilliant blue as he thought about what he had been doing, twenty-five years earlier, at the very moment in time: heading for the shower after having spent a half hour watching the Weather Channel for Local on the 8s, triple-checking to make sure it was going to be a beautiful day.

As Blaine got dressed, having carefully selected a cobalt blue polo, a pale blue textured bow tie and black, straight-leg jeans, Kurt’s words from the previous night played on his mind, along with snapshots of the hauntingly bereft dreams he’d had throughout the week leading up to the day he had finally dropped his reliance on pomp and circumstance and simply asked Kurt to be his first and last everything for the rest of forever. Would they really have found one another, amongst the crush and heat of New York City? Would they still have had firsts together? Would Blaine’s shoelaces still have unraveled at Kristy’s party, would a beautiful stranger have leaned down over him at the bottom of those steps, concern plain through the dark haze as Blaine fought himself back into consciousness? Would he later have still found himself writing letters and music on a ship in the middle of the ocean, sealing their envelopes and sending them on their way with a lonely kiss? Would he ever have found himself on a stage, or a beach, or in a hospital, someone he knew better than himself looking back at him with a love that brought him to his knees?

With one final tweak at the edges and a pat to the center of his bow tie, Blaine regarded himself critically in the full-length closet mirror, chewing absently at the inside of his mouth and trying to work out why he was suddenly nervous. He turned this way and that, unnecessarily straightening the hem of his shirt, and poked at his hair, ignoring the tiny urge to comb gel through his curls for the first time in three decades.

Stop it, he thought. You look fine. You don’t need to be nervous; he knows where every single line on your face came from. He put most of them there himself. Stop it.

Shaking his head at himself, Blaine grinned and left the closet, retrieving a thin jacket as he went. Shrugging into it, he crossed the room to shut off his iPod, which had just begun playing William Orbit’s reimagining of L’Inverno. It remained in his head as he went downstairs, grabbed his wallet and keys from the end table by the door—which also held a tall, thin vase containing two fresh pink carnations, entwined—and for the entirety of the drive back to Brooklyn. He was humming it as he climbed the stairs up to their room and set the box containing Kurt’s anniversary gifts in the center of the bureau, and he switched to whistling the tune as he left the house again, a light spring in his step, right up until he walked through the doors of Gorilla Coffee.

“Already paid for,” Lena told him a few minutes later, when she placed his steaming to-go cup on the counter in front of him. “That husband of yours is a keeper. He was waiting here when we opened this morning.”

“He was?”

“Yup. Special day?”

“Twenty-fifth anniversary,” Blaine answered, smiling as he shoved his wallet back into his pocket and took his coffee.

“Oh, you’ve got no idea what he’s got planned, do you?” she asked, and when Blaine shook his head, puzzled, she leant over the counter and continued, “he told me to tell you to double back on yourself and go to the playground. He has a car service picking you up in about a half hour, once you’ve had your first clue.”

“Which is…?”

“Waiting for you at the playground,” Lena said with a wink, before shooing him with a wave of her hand. “Now get that cute butt out of here, because trust me, you don’t want to be late.”

Blaine smiled again and nodded, raising his cup in thanks and heading outside. The light breeze was dwindling more and more the higher the sun climbed into the sky, and by the time he reached the playground, Blaine had removed his jacket and folded it over his arm. The playground was quiet for a Sunday, and it didn’t take him long to spot the people he was obviously there to meet, over by the jungle gym.

“Uncle Blaine!” Matthew cried as Blaine approached, and after setting down his coffee on the bench next to Sebastian, he swept the hyperactive four-year-old up to sit on his hip.

“What’s up, little mister?”

“We saw Uncle Kurt today!” Matthew told him, eyes focused on Blaine’s bow tie as he flicked at one of the corners.

“Oh yeah?” Blaine asked, glancing at Sebastian.

“Your charming husband got us up at the crack of dawn this morning,” Sebastian said faux-brightly, pushing his sunglasses up his nose. “Said he was calling in a favor.”

“Oh, you mean from last Friday when we watched Matthew so that you could go on your D-A-T-E?” Blaine asked, bouncing Matthew on his hip and pointedly raising his eyebrows at Sebastian.

“Fine, fine, I owed you guys. He called the next day, by the way.”

“I know. I was the one who told him to,” Blaine said, setting Matthew on the ground when he began struggling. As soon as his feet touched the grass, he zoomed off towards the other end of the playground, scattering the small gathering of pigeons clustered around a discarded croissant.

“Matthew, stay where I can see you!” Sebastian called, sighing heavily and pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his Ray-Bans. “So you told Carter to call me, huh?”

“Well, I knew you wouldn’t pull your head out of your ass within an appropriate amount of time,” Blaine joked.

“Whoever would have thought that you and Kurt would be playing matchmaker for me, given our history?” Sebastian asked.

“That’s what growing up does, I guess,” Blaine mused, sipping his coffee. “Who we are now… eclipses who we were back then. We’ve got more important things to worry about.”

“Never thought I’d see the day that Kurt Hummel would agree to have anything to do with me ever again, though.”

“He’s… softened, over the years,” Blaine mused, fighting the urge to glance around and make sure Kurt wasn’t anywhere close enough to hear, even though he knew that it was highly unlikely. “He learned to let more people in. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have let you help him, that day out at Grand Lake.”

They fell silent, watching Matthew clambering up and down over the jungle gym, smiling and waving at him whenever he turned to make sure they were still looking. Blaine let himself relax into the easiness of the morning—between work and getting the twins ready to go off to college, Blaine hadn’t gotten to see his godson nearly as often as he would have liked as of late, and some part of him had to admit that it was nice to have a little kid around when his own grown children already felt so far away.

“He helped me too, you know,” Sebastian said quietly. When Blaine turned to look at him, he had taken off his sunglasses and his eyes were fixed upon Matthew. “I was telling everyone I didn’t know what to do about the baby, after his dad… Guess I just, I don’t know, needed the reassurance. But Kurt saw right through me. Called Matthew ‘my son’ without even blinking. I think that was what helped… Helped make me see that I wasn’t just some stranger being handed a baby.”

“Matthew’s a lot like his dad,” Blaine observed, and Sebastian huffed a dry laugh.

“You have no idea. I mean, you’ve only seen pictures and you can see the resemblance, but it’s like having a miniature—“

“I meant you, Sebastian,” Blaine intoned gently. “I meant that he’s a lot like you, too.”

Blaine watched Sebastian fiddle with his ring finger, as if still trying to turn the wedding band he’d worn until shortly after Matthew’s second birthday.

“Only the good parts, I hope,” Sebastian said, before once more lowering his sunglasses over his eyes and rubbing his palms over his knees. “Anyway, I’m here to aid in Kurt’s sickeningly adorable and vomit-inducingly cute anniversary plan, so here.”

Sebastian rummaged through the side pocket of the oversized messenger bag resting by his feet and produced a small plaster figurine, handing it to Blaine with a shrug. Blaine turned it over in his hands: a small purple neck tie, overlaid with a gold fleur-de-lis motif.

Blaine bit back the harsh, frustrated cry that had built in his throat as soon as he'd caught the sales assistant out of the corner of his eye. Just like that, the moment was gone.

“Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry. Am I interrupting something?” the sales assistant—Thomas, Blaine read from his name tag—asked, nervously rushing over his words. After a long moment, Kurt turned to him with a tight smile.

“Not at all. Thank you, Thomas,” he said smoothly, accepting the tie of rich purple silk overlaid with a gold fleur-de-lis motif. Thomas leaned forward a few inches, almost looking like he was about to bow as a servant would to his master, before scurrying back out of the changing rooms. Kurt chuckled nervously, eyes lingering on the tie before flickering upwards to meet Blaine's and biting his lip. “What were you saying?”

“He’s making fun of me,” Blaine mumbled, laughing to himself as he pocketed the tie. “Remind me to tell you the story sometime.”

“Oh, I definitely will. Looks like your car service is here, by the way,” Sebastian said, pointing through the fence to where an immaculately-dressed driver was emerging from a sleek black car.

“Thanks, Sebastian,” Blaine said, standing up and signaling to the driver that he’d be along in a moment. “So when are we watching Matthew next? There is a second date, right?”

“Yes, there’s a second date,” Sebastian answered with a roll of his eyes and a soft smirk. “Next Friday?”

“I’ll check with Kurt, but that should work for us.”

“Thanks, killer,” Sebastian said, and Blaine smiled faintly at the old, affectionate nickname as Sebastian stood up, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out, “Matthew, come say goodbye to Uncle Blaine!”

Matthew bolted towards them from where he’d just reached the bottom of the slide, almost tripping over his own feet, and wrapped his arms around Blaine’s leg.

“Bye, Uncle Blaine,” he said, looking up at him with a gap-toothed grin, and Blaine’s heart briefly clenched with the ache of missing the twins. He managed a bright smile, however, and ruffled Matthew’s shaggy brown hair as the boy detached himself. “Don’t be strange.”

“I think he means ‘don’t be a stranger’,” Sebastian clarified when Blaine shot him a puzzled look.

“See you Friday, little mister,” Blaine told him, grinning at Matthew’s cheerful whoop. “Later, Sebastian. And thanks again.”

“Just, next time, make it an afternoon thing?”

“Have you met my husband?”

Sebastian simply waved him off, Matthew copying him after a second, and Blaine jogged out of the playground and around to the car, shielding his eyes against the sun.

“Good morning, sir,” the driver greeted him as he opened the rear passenger side door, his posture so straight that it reminded Blaine of a soldier standing to attention. He was at least six feet tall, with kind, gray eyes and a friendly smile to which Blaine immediately warmed. “I’m Harry, and I’ll be your driver for the day.”

“Morning, Harry. My name’s Blaine,” he said, shaking the driver’s hand. “Do you know where we’re going?”

Harry faltered for a moment, before answering, “yes, but I have very strict instructions from Mister Hummel-Anderson not to proceed until you’ve solved each clue. He was very… Clear on that point.”

“I’m sure he was,” Blaine said, patting him on the arm reassuringly. “Well, you can relax. I know exactly where we’re going.”

*

The visit to Barney’s in SoHo was quick, with Blaine stopping by the men’s department to find his second clue—another plaster figurine, this time a cushion holding two wedding rings—hidden amongst the racks upon racks of ties. He’d smiled upon coming across it, catching the eye of the redheaded clerk who had been watching him since he’d strolled in, and he’d held up the figurine and winked at her, laughing inwardly at her visible sigh of relief that he’d found it.

“Where to next, sir?” Harry asked, pulling slowly away from the curb once Blaine was back inside the car.

“Just ‘Blaine’ is fine. And I’m pretty sure we’re headed to the Lighthouse. Pier Sixty,” he said, adding the last part for clarification.

“Is that where you got married?” Harry asked conversationally.

Blaine nodded. “Twenty-five years ago today.”

“Long time.”

“Yeah. Wow, yeah, it really is. Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You know what they say. The days drag but the years fly by.”

“No kidding,” Blaine agreed, asking after a pause, “are you married?”

“Not yet, but I will be next weekend.”

“Wow, that’s coming up quick. Congratulations!”

“Thanks. I’m glad of this extra shift today, actually. She’s… a little scary right now.”

“Hey,” Blaine murmured, taking advantage of one of Kurt's more lucid moments and bending to wrap his arms around Kurt's shoulders and rock him gently. “You'll get there. You create amazing, beautiful things every day and you can do this. I believe in you.”

“At least someone does,” Kurt muttered under his breath, relaxing back into Blaine for a fleeting moment before inhaling deeply and running a hand through his hair, which was already standing up in approximately forty-nine different directions at once.

“I have an idea,” Blaine whispered.

“Ideas are good,” Kurt said, exhaustion clear in his voice. “Unless they involve drawing more fucking clothes because I swear to God, Blaine, if I ever so much as think about another dinner jacket, I won't be responsible for my actions.”

“I know the feeling,” Blaine said fondly, glancing out of the window. “Just remember that she might seem crazy right now, but next weekend you get back the person you fell in love with.”

It seemed like no time at all later that he was stepping through the grand entrance to the Lighthouse and being greeted by a soft-spoken young woman who introduced herself as Rosalind—“Ros for short, I don’t mind.”—and ushering him down the exquisitely designed hallway towards the Navesink.

Inside, the entire room was set up exactly as it had been on their wedding day. Light spilled in through the floor-to-ceiling terrace windows, back-lighting the sprays of lilac and cherry blossom wound around the silk-draped archway. Rows upon rows of chairs sat empty either side of the petal-strewn aisle, and for a moment, Blaine paused.

What if we were never here? What if I hadn’t felt his hand on my shoulder, or heard his voice over the footsteps on the staircase? Would I have always felt like something was out of place, that there was a hand, just out of reach, that I was meant to be holding?

“Mister Hummel-Anderson?” Ros asked softly, her hand light on his arm. He blinked back the tears that he hadn’t felt welling, almost to the point of spilling over, and offered her a watery smile.

“I think there should be a clue of some kind here for me?” he asked after clearing his throat. Ros nodded, and handed over the notecard she had been holding underneath a small black remote control.

Blaine, it read, I wanted you to experience a little of what I experienced—of what you gave me—all those years ago. When you’re ready, start walking down the aisle. Love always, Kurt.

He had only taken one step when, in his periphery, he saw Ros press a button on the remote and the entire room was filled with the same version of Teenage Dream he had sung so many years earlier, eyes fixed upon Kurt’s.

And there he was. There was only a half-beat between lyrics, yet time seemed to stop as Kurt rounded the corner on Burt's arm and paused mid-step to take everything in. His eyes roamed over the high ceilings, the ornate chairs, the aisle scattered with petals, before finally finding Blaine at the piano through the archway draped in white silk, cherry blossom and lilacs. Just like that, Blaine's every nerve was alight and he was flying. His voice was stronger, his heart was racing (like the song) and Kurt was walking towards him with the most affirming smile Blaine had ever seen.

On the chair closest to the archway, there was a small box waiting atop another small notecard. Picking them up, Blaine sat down heavily, memories threatening to overwhelm him. It had been one thing to look back over photographs of their life together; it was quite another to relive it almost exactly as it had happened, as if Kurt had brought The Book back to life. He half-expected Cooper or Finn to jump out from somewhere and start fussing around him, asking him if he was alright every five minutes, without fail, as the longest morning of his life crawled by at a glacial pace.

He would have done it again, a thousand times over, in a heartbeat.

A single deep and bracing breath later, he opened the box to reveal a small silver key, unmarked save for the number 28. The accompanying note read, you already have the key to my heart, so instead, have a key to the past.

After taking a moment to bask in the midday sunlight and thumb over the metal teeth of the key, Blaine got back to his feet. The song that he had long-since claimed for Kurt wrapped around him, and he had never wished so fervently—even during their numerous physical separations—to be able to hold his husband and sway in time with the first song to score their libretto.

He was already beginning to feel saturated, a thousand images of Kurt cycling through his mind’s eye, and he wondered just how much more his sweetheart had in store for him.

Reluctantly, he left the Navesink, thanking Ros and letting the impulse to hug her take him over, throat thick as he said goodbye.

When Blaine stepped back outside the Lighthouse, tipping his head back to welcome the heat and light beating down upon him, Harry was already holding the car door open for him.

Back on the road, Pier Sixty fading in the rear view, Blaine looked at the notes and figurines gathered in a small pile on top of his jacket, next to him on the backseat. Without prompting, he said, “Schwartz Travel Services, please.”

“Very good, sir.”

It wasn’t until they were stuck in traffic along West 34th that Blaine recalled Kurt’s parting words that morning: Catch me if you can. Harry seemed to pause for a moment when Blaine asked if he thought it was a possibility.

“I’m not sure, sir. Maybe at the stop after this one,” he finally answered, glancing at his watch almost surreptitiously.

The traffic eased somewhat after Dyer Avenue, and Harry was able to park almost right outside Schwartz. Blaine hurried inside, not wanting to waste a single moment. Though he knew Kurt had already revisited all of these places—probably multiple times, considering his proclivity for undertaking dry runs—it felt wrong, somehow, to be without him, to be walking in his footsteps rather than beside them. He needed something more tangible than the small offerings he had picked up along the way so far. Blaine needed his oak tree, steadfast and rooted to the earth.

To Blaine’s surprise, the high-ceilinged locker bank had barely changed since the day he had walked in with Kurt, nursing his bachelor party hangover yet thrumming with excitement to show Kurt what was ahead of them. He wondered if Kurt was now feeling that same sense of excitement as he moved onwards, ten steps in front and disappearing around every corner before Blaine could reach him.

The key slid easily into the lock, and as the door of the locker swung open, he felt some of the tension recede.

Blaine had painstakingly recreated Kurt's locker at McKinley, complete with miniature postcard art, Mardi Gras beads and figurines, and the 'courage' collage (the only difference being that the photograph had changed from Blaine's Dalton picture to the photograph from their first prom together).

“Blaine, how—this is incredible,” Kurt breathed, tracing his fingers over the collage. “What is all this for?”

The vintage microphone; the picture of the two of them from the summer before Kurt left for college, Blaine’s head resting on Kurt’s shoulder as they smiled, easy and carefree; the silver quaver; a New Directions group photo; above it all, a collage of letters torn from magazines to spell out the word ‘love’.

Another notecard was in the locker itself, propped up, Blaine saw, by a small figurine of an apartment building bearing the number 2.

Too much? the note read, and Blaine could almost see the winking face that Kurt’s sense of decorum would have prevented him from adding.

“Always,” he murmured, chuckling, and when he turned the card over and saw Change? he added, “never.”

Pausing to sit on the bench that ran down the center of the room, he took in the figurine. It didn’t look like either of the apartment buildings they had lived in, and neither of those apartments were numbered 2, but Kurt’s clues hadn’t been especially difficult so far, and Blaine quickly came to the conclusion that the figurine could only be urging him to their apartment on West 91st; their second place together.

Keeping hold of the key, he left Schwartz, asking Harry to get him to the apartment as quickly as he could, mindful that there was a possibility Kurt wasn’t too far ahead. Perhaps he would have stopped there for a breather, or for lunch, or even to let Blaine catch up to him. The thought spurred him on to the point of drumming his fingers against his thigh and willing the city to slip by even more quickly, like a child en route to a theme park or family vacation and asking, “are we there, yet?”

Upon arriving, Blaine rolled down his window, and the doorman was nodding to him with a genial smile before he could even ask if Kurt was there. Almost giddy, he gathered his things and retrieved his wallet, taking out a small wad of bills.

“Harry, your fianc�e…”

“Stacey,” Harry supplied, a note of love and fondness in his voice.

“Stacey. Is she in the city today?”

“Yes, sir. Retail therapy with her maid of honor.”

“Go find her, take her to lunch. Let her know you were thinking about her,” Blaine instructed, reaching forward and pressing the money into Harry’s hand. “Don’t come back for at least an hour.”

“I—sir, it’s… Thank you.”

“It’s ‘Blaine’. And thank you,” he said, jumping out of the car and closing the door behind him in one smooth motion.

The lobby was a blur, and Blaine fidgeted for the entirety of the short yet endless elevator ride to his and Kurt’s floor. He was halfway out before the doors had even opened all the way, and he was just in time to see Kurt disappearing through the door to the stairwell at the end of the hall.

Oh, there you are.

Blaine ran, making short work of the hall and bursting through the door, surmising that Kurt must have seen the elevator approaching and thus, just in case, decided to take the stairs. And now he was within the reach of Blaine’s outstretched fingertips, a smile quirking his profile as he kept on walking, and Blaine was close, so close, closer—

“Excuse me,” he said breathlessly, his hand landing on Kurt’s shoulder, “can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already asked me all of the important ones,” Kurt replied, turning and crowding Blaine against the wall.

“Is that so?” Blaine asked, relaxing and unraveling and melting as Kurt’s arms wound around his neck.

“Mmhmm,” Kurt hummed against Blaine’s lips, exhaled breath and the faint smell of cologne as Kurt’s eyes locked on his. “’May I have this dance’, and ‘Will you marry me’, and ‘is that an actual someday’. Enough questions.”

“Yeah, okay,” Blaine agreed articulately, and tilted his head back against the wall as Kurt leant forward to brush his lips over Blaine’s. It was soft yet insistent, a silent promise and a reaffirmation of the past and the future and even that very second. It was a grounding and a homecoming.

“Come on, husband,” Kurt said, mouth resting just to the corner of Blaine’s for a moment before he pulled back. “As much as I love you, and you know that I do, we’re in a stairwell and I made your favorite for lunch.”

“Oh my god, you're my favorite.”

“Too bad I’m only on the dinner menu.”

*

The inside of the apartment was invitingly cool and heavy with the aroma of chicken and chorizo paella, and Blaine collapsed onto the couch with a soft groan, his sense of momentum growing quiet as he palmed the three figurines and Kurt busied himself with reheating a bowl in the kitchen.

“You know, these clues have been pretty easy so far,” he mused, craning his head over the back of the couch.

“I know,” Kurt replied airily. “Maybe I’m just eager to give you your anniversary gift.”

“I know the feeling,” Blaine said, his voice little more than a whisper around a small, private smile as he thought of the discs of ivory adorning the golden necklace that Kurt had yearned for as a boy and still quietly dreamed of as the man he had become; the necklace that at the time, Blaine had only been able to substitute with a gum-wrapper ring. It had taken Blaine months to track down, weekends spent trawling auction listings and collectors’ records, all the way to a grand estate in St Augustine. It now waited—along with a vintage hippo-head brooch to match the one Kurt had lost somewhere during Milan Fashion Week years earlier—at home in Cobble Hill.

Soon, Kurt was placing a tray in Blaine’s lap that contained a steaming bowl of paella and, next to his knife and fork, another figurine: three black concentric circles painted over an ellipse of white.

“You’re not eating?” Blaine asked, his forkful paused halfway to his mouth. Kurt dismissed him with a wave and settled into Blaine’s side, head resting on his shoulder.

“I had some when it was hot the first time,” he explained. “I was so sure that you wouldn’t catch me, you know. I thought the tie or the building might have stumped you at least for a little bit.”

“You underestimate me. And anyway, history repeats itself. You know I always catch up eventually.”

“True.”

“Now that I have caught you, though… You’re gonna need to help me out with this,” Blaine said, holding up the figurine. “Because I have no idea what this is supposed to be.”

“Come on, Blaine. What did we spend all of last night doing?”

“I mean, I figured that it was something from The Book. Which, by the way, I thought we weren’t supposed to look at without each other.”

“I figured you wouldn’t mind so much.”

“Okay, so something from The Book… Circles… Oh. Oh.”

“There it is.”

“Do you think she’ll remember us?”

“I don’t know. It’s been twenty-five years.”

“I always felt bad for not going back when she told us to.”

“Well, she said to go back when our future was our present, right? No real time limit on it,” Kurt reasoned, and took the figurine from Blaine, turning it over between his fingers. “But I think by now, we’ve achieved greatness, love and harmony. Don’t you?”

“Only one way to find out.”

*

As it happened, Nan did remember them.

Seating himself at her workstation, Blaine felt almost like he had gone back in time. He remembered the wooden stools, the cacophony of vendors shouting in a mix of English and Afrikaans, the look of wonder and excitement mixed with slight trepidation on Kurt’s face. And in the midst of it all, he remembered the oasis-like calm that surrounded Nan, the absolute knowledge in her dark eyes that bored into him as if she could see down to the very depths of his soul.

Nan released his arm and held out her hand for Blaine's. Awkwardly, he rolled up his sleeve and hesitantly settled his wrist onto Nan's palm. She didn't start painting straight away, as she had with Kurt; she seemed to be searching out something in his eyes. It took all of his willpower not to break the eye contact.

“You must stop hiding,” Nan said, simply, as he finally felt the wet press of ink against his skin. Inclining her head towards Kurt, she continued, “he sees you. I see you. But no one else. This is a shame.”

She was a vision in butter-yellow, a batik bandana almost concealing the only real difference—her hair, faded into shades of gray and white.

For a long moment after they sat down, Nan did nothing, made no move to pull out her brushes and inks, or even to hold out her hand for one of them to present their arm. She simply held them in her unwavering gaze.

“I knew you would come back someday, but not so long,” she said, finally. “But your future is present, so you come for new future. Yes?”

Kurt nodded, and Nan smiled, looking back and forth between them as if considering something.

“When you come here before, your paths were different,” she said, retrieving two thin brushes from beneath the workstation. “But they crossed, like roads here. Lots of crosses, which tell me you belong. You are his, he is yours. Still, yes?”

“Always,” Blaine answered.

“Yes, always. Now, you have the same path,” Nan continued, gesturing for them both to lay their arms palm up on the wood. She picked up both brushes, one in either hand, and began to paint their symbols simultaneously, both hands working in perfect synchronicity. “Same path is not for everyone. It can change, but with you, I think not. This is not usual.”

To Blaine, it felt like proof.

In the thick August heat, such a contrast to that freezing day in January, the ink of the first symbol was dry on his arm before she had finished the third. When he glanced at Kurt’s arm, Blaine saw that he wore a set of symbols identical to his own, and Kurt’s eyes went just as wide as they both gazed at Nan.

“Past, okodee mmowere, which is bravery,” she said, all business as she pointed to the thick line crossed three times. “You faced bad things, and still belong. But you know this.

“Your present, I see, is nyame nnwu na mawu. This is life after death.” Kurt visibly bristled, his shoulders square as he straightened his back and gazed at the symbol: two perpendicular lines, another cross. “It means life carry on. You cannot stop this, so you cannot waste time trying. You get weak if you hold the past too close for too long.

“And future, this will be your favorite. You will remember a song,” Nan said, her eyes on Blaine while she pointed to the third symbol, which almost looked like a butterfly. “Hye won hye, which will never burn or perish. You will endure, this cannot be doubted. You stay as you are.”

You and I will be young forever…

Before Blaine knew what was happening, Kurt was on his feet and leaning over the workstation, wrapping his arms around this enigmatic, effervescent woman who had now, on two occasions decades apart, somehow shown them everything.

“Thank you,” Kurt whispered as he pulled back, and Blaine saw tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. Kurt reached up to his chest, unpinned the antique brass brooch that offset the chocolate brown of his shirt, and held it out. “May I?”

Nan nodded, her slightly raised eyebrows the only outward sign of surprise, and Blaine watched as Kurt fastened it in place over her heart.

“It’s a turtle,” Kurt explained, tweaking it until it was straight. “It’s for longevity.”

“I have lived a long time already.”

“And I hope you still have a long time left.”

“I would tell you to keep him,” Nan said to Blaine, fingering the brooch, “but I know you will.”

It was as close to a joke as he could imagine Nan getting, and he let out a hearty laugh. “I definitely will.”

“Now you must go. You are almost late to see the man on the hill.”

“How did you…” Kurt trailed off, reaching into his bag and pulling out a figurine. It was indeed a man, wearing a chef’s toque and standing atop a painted green hill.

“I see,” Nan said simply. “Don’t be late.”

Blaine took the figurine and stood, winding his arm around Kurt’s waist and squeezing. “Thank you,” he said, and Nan nodded.

When they were a few paces away, comfortable in their contemplative silence, Blaine looked back. The last he saw of Nan before they walked by a vendor selling tribal-themed wall art was her soft smile as she ran her fingers around and around the turtle brooch.

*

“So, old man,” Kurt said breezily as Harry pulled away, leaving the Harlem Market behind in search of the next leg of the treasure hunt, “where to next?”

“You’re still conveniently forgetting which of us is the older one,” Blaine replied, his thumb rubbing against the figurine’s green hilltop as he bought himself extra seconds that he didn’t really need.

“You’ve never had to talk me out of buying a red sports car, thank you very much. And there I was, always thinking you had better taste.”

“So I had my midlife crisis a little early. At least I was ahead of the curve.”

“One of the few times.”

“Kurt.”

“What, you’re allowed to joke about it and I’m not?” Kurt asked haughtily, before glancing across the back seat.

Blaine could see the very moment that he reluctantly and silently conceded defeat: eyes flicking towards the figurine and an infinitesimal tightening in his fingers, like he was resisting the urge to reach out and grab it, demanding to know their destination as if it was really Blaine holding all the cards, close to his chest, to be revealed one by one.

“Okay, okay, just—“

“Hillman’s, of course,” Blaine interrupted, placing his hand on Kurt’s arm and adding to Harry, “East 82nd, between Casablanca and Sly’s.”

Kurt covered Blaine’s hand with his own, turning sideways in his seat and leaning his cheek against the headrest, and simply looked at him.

“Thank you for today,” he said after a pause, and Blaine grinned.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?”

“Not just yet,” Kurt said cryptically, and then shook his head with a small smile. “I meant thank you as in, look how far we’ve come. Twenty-five years, Blaine. You’ve given me so much to be glad for. The only ones that have us beat are Mike and Tina.”

“And you’ll be forever bitter about that,” Blaine said knowingly, twining their fingers together.

Kurt let out a dramatic sigh. “Doesn’t do the same thing to them as it does to you, though, when I win. It’s not as much fun. Seriously, though—“

“I know, sweetheart. I know,” Blaine said, thinking for a moment. “Come to think of it, look at how far we’ve all come. Mike and Tina are grandparents already, and Finn and Lila’s eldest graduated in May.”

“Wes and Mercedes, Kristy and your brother, Rachel and Dominic…”

“Did I tell you that Jeff and Stuart got back together?”

“Stop,” Kurt said, sitting up. “They did not.”

“They did,” Blaine confirmed brightly.

“I knew it. I always knew they were it,” Kurt said, satisfied, and squeezed Blaine’s hand. “Just like us.”

*

“Guys, the place looks…” Blaine trailed off, staring in wonder as he took in the completely refurbished restaurant interior. He had left Kurt outside talking to Harry, no doubt giving him more instructions, and let himself in through the heavy door of Hillman’s, currently adorned with a sign that read ‘Grand Reopening on Saturday, September 3’. It looked as though the place had been gutted, stripped back to its very frame and rebuilt from scratch. Everything was brand new, never used, still with the shine and scent and novelty lingering even as it all assimilated into place, like it was always meant to be there. The placed somehow managed to be opulent at the same time as not being overly grand, and the d�cor was warm and inviting—cozy even, for such a large space that was empty save for himself, Toby, Andrew, and Kurt just stepping through the door behind him and approaching the bar at which they sat. “It looks like your dream. How did you do this?”

“With a metric fuck-ton of money,” Andrew deadpanned, sipping his Negroni and leaning over the bar to accept Toby’s fleeting kiss. “And him. It’s all him.”

“Please. This is how it was always meant to look, and you’re the one who designed it,” Toby said, passing Kurt a French martini.

“How does it feel to be the most talked-about reopening since The Findlay?” Kurt asked, and Andrew grinned, not even bothering to try and hide it.

“Fucking awesome, actually. Let’s just hope we can still live up to the hype.”

Blaine snorted derisively. “Now you’re just fishing for compliments. You’re a culinary genius, and you know it.”

“Speaking of which,” Toby said, and he reached under the bar, producing two small, white dessert boxes. They both bore the Hillman’s logo on the lid, and one was decorated with crosses, the other with circles. “You two have been our closest friends for a long time, through so much, and so we thought it was only right for you to be the first to sample our two newest desserts on the menu. Andrew created them specially.”

“He did?” Blaine asked, sliding the box with the crosses closer to him and moving to open it, but Kurt’s hand shot across the bar, nearly tipping over his martini glass in the process. He grabbed the box from Blaine and cradled it to his chest, leaving Blaine to stare at him, mouth slightly agape and feeling completely confused. “Am I missing something?”

Kurt seemed to flounder for a moment before he composed himself, setting the box down on the bar and fiddling with it until it was perfectly square to its companion. The only explanation he offered was, “they’re for later.”

“Come on, Blaine. You know Kurt; he just doesn’t want to try them in front of me in case they suck,” Andrew said, one eyebrow raised sardonically. “Remember the sea bass?”

“Oh my god, I’ll never forget that pinched look on his face,” Toby chimed in, failing to stifle a laugh. “What was it he said?”

“’It’s very, um… And how soon is this going on your menu?’ Fucking priceless,” Andrew provided, in a near-perfect impression of Kurt that had Blaine laughing so hard he almost fell off his bar stool, so much so that he didn’t notice that Kurt had downed his drink in one swift gulp and moved to stand beside him until another figurine appeared before him on the bar.

It was a traditional medieval knight, he saw, backed by a banner of the exact orange and blue used in the artwork for his debut album. Instead of a sword, its hands rested upon a guitar, and beneath its feet was a layer of painted snow, shimmering in the lights above the bar.

“Time for you to get going?” Andrew asked, and Blaine nodded silently as he picked up the figurine, knowing exactly where they were heading, and that it must surely be the last stop on the treasure hunt. He turned to look at Kurt just in time to catch him exchanging a meaningful glance with Toby, accompanied by a mouthed thank you, and couldn’t help feeling anticipative at the same time as being on the outside of something.

“Opening night next Saturday,” Toby reminded them.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Blaine murmured, still unable to tear his eyes from Kurt.

“Ready, honey?” Kurt asked, holding out his hand but not quite meeting Blaine’s gaze.

“Let’s go.”

*

Their hand-in-hand walk along the Mall was leisurely; all about the quiet they could share, the things they could point out to one another as they passed artists and musicians and families, and everything else they loved about Central Park. It was a fitting end to the treasure hunt, Blaine knew, as so much had happened there, to both of them—separately and together. It wasn’t their only place in Manhattan, of course, but he held it right next to his heart, and he knew Kurt did too.

Silently, they approached and descended the steps, watching as children giggled and jumped up to pop the giant, lazy bubbles being blown for them on Bethesda Terrace. Blaine felt almost as weightless when he turned his attention to the fountain itself, recalling two people much younger, with so much still ahead of them, and he wondered, could we ever have known?

They walked once around the fountain before coming to a halt right before the angel, Kurt placing their things on the low wall and clasping his hands together almost nervously.

“There are certain times of year when you tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” Kurt began. “Times when it’s more important than ever to say exactly what’s in your heart. And one of those times is today, and what’s in my heart is you, and this:

“I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way than this,” Kurt recited, taking Blaine's hand and holding it to his own chest. Blaine smiled, the sense memory of standing on the stage of the April Rhodes Civic Pavilion six hundred miles away washing through him. “Where I does not exist, nor you, so close that your hand on my chest is my hand, so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

“Now, I know earlier today I told you no more questions. But I do have one question,” Kurt said, stooping to retrieve one of the small, white dessert boxes, and Blaine suddenly saw the X marking the spot, like a mirage that had been swimming before his eyes all day but was only now coming into startling focus.

When they finally reached Bethesda Fountain, Blaine turned to face Kurt. The snow cast an ethereal light all around them; the angel in the center watched over them; footprints lead back the way they'd come and there was nothing ahead of them but a blanket of pure white. This was it.

In one smooth motion, he swung his guitar around his body and settled it across his middle, his sore fingers easily finding the chords of the song that had come tearing out of him that afternoon. It was rough and so far from perfect, but it was him.

“Kurt, I have tried to do this so many ways,” Blaine began, and Kurt wrapped his arms tighter around himself, looking simultaneously guilty and anticipative. “But nothing has worked. And I thought it was me; that there was something wrong and it had me worried, you know, that this wasn't... Wasn't going to work. But now I know that I could only ever have done this here, in this place, on this night.”

“Which is…?”

Slowly, Kurt sank to one knee. He opened the lid of the dessert box to reveal a smaller box within, all dressed up in black velvet, out of which he took a thick platinum band, unmarked save for a single, engraved oak leaf. “Blaine Devon Hummel-Anderson, will you marry me again?”

A hush descended around them, and Blaine glanced around to see passersby stopping in their tracks to watch what was unfolding. He felt a warmth creeping up his neck and blooming on his cheeks at the attention—give him a stage with a microphone in front of a heaving crowd and he could entertain for hours, but his world had been zeroed to the singular sensation of Kurt’s right hand taking his left, the eternity ring held ready.

“You really want me for another fifty years?” he asked, and Kurt slid the ring onto his finger, as if it was confirmation enough.

“On one condition,” Kurt answered with a sly grin. “I get to plan this one.”

“Yes, Kurt, of course I’ll marry you again,” Blaine exclaimed, laughing as he took Kurt by the hand and pulled him to his feet, flush against his own body, and caught his mouth in a kiss that made him tremble. Dimly, he registered cheers and clapping, but all he really knew were Kurt’s hands in his hair, Kurt’s lips on his own, Kurt’s heart right next to his, just like always.

“You make me feel like I’m livin’ a teenage dream,” he whisper-sang next to Kurt’s ear when they broke apart, holding as tightly close as he could, like he’d never get enough. He never wanted to get enough.

Kurt was laughing at the applause, sunlight catching the tears in his eyes as he stepped back and took a slim camera from his back pocket. “Told you we’d have something new to put in The Book today.”

“I love you so much,” Blaine said as Kurt stepped behind him, hooking his chin over Blaine’s shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist as he held the camera aloft.

“I love you, too. Too much?”

“Always.”

“Change?”

“You should know the answer to that by now.”

Click!