Blaine was out of breath.

"Master Blaine? Are you feeling fine?" Henry asked, looking concerned.

"This man. I have to meet this man."

"I'm afraid that will not be possible, sir…" Henry begun but Blaine interrupted him.

"It's a favor, Henry. Please, I have to meet him."

"It's not possible, sir, because Mr. Hummel passed away. Four years ago."

"What?" Blaine was shocked. "How?"

"He died from old age, master Blaine. I'm sorry." Henry apologized "However, I still know where he lived. You could, maybe, do some digging? Why are you so fascinated by him, master Blaine?"

"I feel like… I know him." Blaine sighed "I can't exactly explain… I just have to know more about him."

"I will get you the address, master Blaine. Just one second."

The bell hopper walked the way back to his desk to get Blaine the address while the boy looked at the photo. It was definitely him, Blaine knew his exactly features. The same eyes that Blaine gazed at. And the boy felt strange, but extremely curious. He looked at Kurt's younger years photograph.

"How did you know me?" And unconsciously he touched the gold watch inside his pocket, he even forgot he put it there, but it was becoming a habit. Whenever he felt anxious he would just hold the watch in his hand.

"Master Blaine." Henry softly called him "There you go." He handed Blaine the address in a tiny paper.

"Thank you, Henry. Is there any relative of Mr. Hummel I could get in touch with?"

"Well, he has a grandnephew. You could talk to him."

"Sure, yeah. A phone number… Would be nice."

"Oh, sorry master Blaine. Forgive this old man's mind." Henry wrote the number under the address.

"Thank you, Henry. You were very useful."

"Oh, master Blaine. I think of you as a grandson. Anything you need, just ask and I'll be happy to help."

Blaine thanked Henry again and went upstairs to his bedroom. He looked at the numbers in the paper and tried to figure out whatever he was going to say to this grandnephew of Kurt Hummel. Isaac Hudson. Where would he even begin? He was just plain clueless. He thought about saying the truth but he figured saying that he met Kurt once and out of the blue and just was researching about his life and everything he had ever done and why Kurt has looked for him in the first place, that just seemed something of restraining order matters. He was curious, not a stalker.

The writer thought it was best to just call the grandson and ask about Kurt because he was working on a Broadway essay on neglected – that sounded strong, he scratched that and just preferred to use the word underestimated – musical artists. He even did a quick research on his phone about some aspects of the period; just to sound like he was serious about the paper and not utterly lying to get closer to a man he had never known and felt so close to him.

That same night, Blaine tossed and turned in bed because he was eager to call the grandson. As he couldn't sleep, he got off the bed and walked towards the coat hanger to retrieve the gold watch he put there. As he looked at it, he felt relieved and the worries went away for some minutes. It was enough to make Blaine get back in bed, holding the watch in his hand, and fall asleep.

The morning after Blaine got up at 7 a.m. and debated for half an hour whether it was too soon to call the grandson. Finally he settled by calling at 8 a.m., it was a Wednesday. Blaine figured it would be okay to call somebody at 8 a.m. on a Wednesday. Wasn't it?

The clock stroke 08:01 a.m. and Blaine finally got the nerve to do what he needed to do. He picked up his cellphone and called the number Henry gave to him. On the other side of the line, after three rings, someone picked up.

"Hello?" There was a husky voice on the other side of the line.

"Hello. Good morning. Is this Isaac Hudson's number?"

"Yeah yeah. You're speaking to him. How can I help you?"

"Isaac, I'm Blaine Anderson and I'm a play writer. I've been researching about classic Broadway musical stars for a play that I'm currently working on. And I did some research on Kurt Hummel, and it pointed you as his closest family member."

"Yeah, well, Kurt was the brother of my grandfather. He was always around while I was growing up. He was my father's godfather. But I don't really get why you are calling me?"

"I just um… I would be really grateful if you gave me some material to write about him. Anything like, a family thing. Maybe a trip to his house? If that doesn't bother you of course, I'm just trying to know a little bit more about him."

Isaac took some seconds to answer and Blaine was nervous. He had the suspicion the man would probably think he was a creeper or something like that. And Blaine himself was starting to feel like a creeper. Why the hell did this man meant so much to him when he knew so little about Kurt? Blaine almost felt… attracted to Kurt. Not the Kurt he had known, the Kurt that showed up one day to give him a gold watch and plead him he would come back to him. But the picture Kurt. The classic Broadway performer Kurt. The past night all Blaine could think and dream about was listening to him singing or watching him perform. It was almost like Blaine was being drawn to Kurt's eyes in a black and white picture. Isaac's voice stopped his thoughts.

"Well, I guess there is no problem… Kurt's house is still emptied. We still have to take his' things out and see what we can keep. So I guess it's not a big deal if you wanna visit and maybe keep something with you. I mean, if you really are writing a play, it's okay. Who knows? Maybe you'll find something interesting in his' stuff."

Blaine could feel a smile spreading across his own face.

"Thank you so much, Isaac. It's going to be of great help. When can I meet you?"

"Do you think you could meet me on Friday?"

"Sure I could! Where?"

"Well, do you have Kurt's address?"

"As a matter of fact, yes… I do."

"Wow! Or you're a really good creeper or you are really serious about this play. Okay, then. Meet me at that address on Friday at 3:30 p.m. and I'll show you the house."

"Okay. See you soon, Mr. Hudson. Thank you."

On Friday, as expected, Blaine was incredibly nervous about meeting Isaac. He pulled over by Kurt Hummel's house. The construction was a typical 60's house. Big and with a front yard. And a porch. The yard was carefully mowed and the house didn't seem to be accumulating dust. Blaine assumed that even though Kurt had passed away, there was someone taking care of the house so it wouldn't be damaged.

A red, rusty Chevy pickup truck pulled over on the street and a tall, brown-haired man came out of it. He was young, maybe twenty-seven, twenty-eight years old, Blaine calculated. He was good-looking and seemed to be a pacific guy.

As soon as he saw Blaine he smiled politely and waved at him.

"Hello! Are you Blaine Anderson?"

"Yes. You must be Isaac."

"Hi." Isaac stretched out his arm and Blaine shook his hand "As you can see, this is my granduncle's house."

"It's very pretty."

"Well, it's classical. Anyway, you said you were writing a play and wanted some material to work with. Let's see if anything from Kurt can help."

"Yes. Thank you."

Isaac walked up to the porch and inserted the key on the door lock but before he turned the key so they could enter the house he turned to Blaine and looked at him.

"Listen, Blaine. I truly believe you are a play writer. So, please, don't be a con man, okay? If you are, believe me, Kurt didn't have many prized possessions so you're just wasting your time."

"I'm not a con man. I'm just a play writer. You can trust me."

Isaac looked with a straight face at Blaine and then smiled.

"Okay, come in." He turned the key and opened the front door.

Inside, everything was very minimalistic and simple. It had a few pictures inside of Kurt and his family, Kurt performing and some old playbills framed. Something demanded Blaine's attention immediately, there was an old victrola on top of the fireplace.

"As you can see. Nothing much. Kurt liked to collect the playbills of plays he worked in, others that were his favorites."

"Yes. I see."

"Maybe you can find something interesting, like a journal. Let's go up to his room and look there."

"Okay."

The house was very common, nothing extraordinaire explaining why and how Kurt had found Blaine or whatsoever. They got to the room. It was as simple as the house, it was a big room and there was a dressing table with some personal items on it. Blaine got closer and gave it a look. There were some books, and what seemed to be a music box of some sorts.

"So, why are you researching about Kurt anyway?"

"It's just because someone told me he was an underestimated star and my play is about Broadway in the mid-thirties."

"Hmm, okay. Do you know anything about him at all?"

"Just what the internet tells. And that's not much. Actually, it's probably nothing. I only know in which plays he worked and that he didn't get married or had any kids."

"Well, I'm sure Kurt wasn't alone all of his life but, you know, he wasn't a very traditional person."

"What do you mean?" Blaine asked, and stretched out his hand to grab a book that rested on top of the dressing table "Could I?" He asked looking at Isaac.

"Sure. What I mean is: Kurt was gay. He had to keep it kind of hidden because, well, if people are prejudiced now, imagine on the 1930's. So that's why Kurt didn't have any kids or got married. My grandfather, Finn, was his brother because Kurt's father married my great-grandmother."

"So you're not really related to Kurt?"

"No, but my dad really liked him for being his godfather and stuff… Anyway, Kurt was always involved with his own mysteries and he was extremely reserved. My dad says he loved this man, but he never said anything about him. But in a way, this man was Kurt's only and true love during his whole life."

"That sounds really romantic and such. But are you sure there are no records of this man?"

"Pretty sure there isn't. I believe he only habituated Kurt's mind since he never got to see him again."

"That is sad." Blaine looked at a painting of Kurt that hanged on the wall, just above the dossal of his bed, feeling extremely sorry for Kurt that probably felt lonely all along his life.

"Damn right it is. But he was a cheery person according to my dad. I knew him too, you know. He died really old. Dad said that when he was younger he was the most ironic person. And he was also very smart. Very bright. It is a pity that he didn't make it to be a big name of Broadway."

"Yes. It is. I think Broadway would be much brighter if he had been a household name."

Blaine grabbed the tiny music box in his hand and opened it. From inside of it, a melody he knew very well started to play. It was Liebestraum, a piece by Franz Liszt. It was Blaine's favorite piece. It had been one of the very first pieces he learned how to play on the piano and Blaine subconsciously felt very attached to it. He never had a favorite song, but a favorite piece. And that was it. Blaine couldn't help but think that he and Kurt were intertwined in more than one way.

"So uhm, are you going to take anything or…"

"Sure, I'll be going soon. I'm just…" A book caught Blaine's eye, it had a black cover and the title was Wormholes and Time Travel – The Possibility Of It All, Blaine didn't think twice and grabbed it "Can I take this?"

"Sure." Isaac answered "Come on, let's go."

They were almost leaving the house and Isaac stopped Blaine.

"Here" He handed Blaine a leather notebook "This belonged to Kurt. It is merely a journal, he doesn't say too much, it's just mainly song lyrics and schedules of his plays, but it can help you. It was at my house and my dad told me to give it to you."

"Thank you very much, Isaac. This is very nice of you and your father. It sure will help me a lot."

"Okay then. I guess I'll be going. If you need anything, I will be glad to help you again. You have my number."

"Sure. Thank you."

And Isaac got in the pickup and drove away. Blaine gave a last look to the already locked house, entered the rented car and drove away.

"Wormholes are, essentially, shortcuts in space-time continuum that can link two places, whether they are near or further away from each other only by dislocating matter." Blaine read on the book he grabbed from Kurt's house. Browsing through it, he read on the back cover the writer was this physics teacher Remi Miller; he was a teacher at the University of Chicago.

"It is believed – and researched – that we might, in the future, travel through space only by connecting these holes across the universe. It is basically the very idea of teleporting. And that proposition also brings the possibility of travelling through periods of time, rearranging the time slips."

"That is crazy, I just… What were you reading, Kurt?" Blaine said, incredulous "Is that what you want me to do? To learn advanced physics?" He gave up on the book and opened Kurt's journal, subconsciously, he felt like he was invading Kurt's privacy, but it was a little bit late to feel guilty about it.

As Isaac noted, the journal was mostly composed by music lyrics written across it. Blaine could recognize some, others he had never heard of. Kurt's handwrite was as beautiful as he was. Blaine put the journal aside and rubbed his eyes that were tired from reading and for being deprived of sleep on the past night due to Blaine's anxiety in finally discovering something about Kurt. He opened the journal again in a page with something Kurt drew. It was circular, delicate and very distinct. Blaine knew what it was as well as he knew himself. He took the same object out of his pocket. In the paper it was black and white, but in his hand, the golden watch was alive.

Under the picture, Kurt had scribbled:

"This watch turns backwards if there's where you need to go."

"You were all about enigmas, weren't you? The watch turns backwards…" Blaine wound the watch up so it would work, but it seemed as ordinary as every other watch he had seen. It didn't go backwards at all.

"It's a regular watch, it doesn't go backwards… Do I need to go backwards? But backwards how -"

And then it hit him like a lightning. Why hadn't he realized before? It was crystal clear in front of him.

"You don't want me to study physics. You want me to go backwards. You want me to go back… You told me 'come back to me', but how can I do it?" Blaine looked away and his eyes fell on the book he left open on the tiny coffee table by the bed. He picked up the book and turned to the last page, only to state what he already knew. Kurt had left everything connected, and it was up to Blaine only to put the pieces together.

He contested Kurt had written the address of University of Chicago on the back cover. However, it had been at least four years since that was written. Blaine had to figure if this Miller guy was still teaching at the college.

Blaine laughed at himself for considering the idea of traveling back in time and that he was going completely crazy just by thinking about it. He admitted to himself he wanted to know Kurt, and more than that, young Kurt. He knew he was falling for Kurt. He felt it growing inside of his heart. But he just had to get over it, because there is no such thing as time travel. And yet, all Blaine wished at that moment was to stop being skeptical just for a moment and would believe he would actually achieve his objective. He wanted to meet Kurt, and he would meet Kurt. Even if he had to try and do something crazy like time travel.

"Now kids, this is very important. We are made of energy. We are essentially energy and electrons running through our whole body, sending synapsis through our brain. We are made of electric impulses." Remi Miller conducted his Advanced Physics and Optic class as Blaine entered the huge auditorium. Remi was tall, thin and ginger. He should be in his late thirties or early forties. "And right now I'm gonna make a revelation to you – and this is off the record because they are my thoughts and it isn't really a convention – but we vibrate with the world. We are part of it. And what happens with us, with our body, is nothing but what these electrons 'say' it happens." The bell rung to signal the end of the class "So the next time you are in a field with almost no trees and for some reason a lightning storm begins, lay down and root that the lightening mistake you for grass and not as an electric aerial, 'cause chances are you are screwed" Miller said and the whole class laughed "See you tomorrow, guys."

As the students were leaving, Blaine approached the teacher who was now erasing the board.

"Professor Remi Miller?"

"Yes, that would be me." He turned to face Blaine "And who are you? I don't recall seeing your face around campus. Are you a transferred student? Home-exchange, perhaps?"

"No, sir, I'm not a student here. Or anywhere else for the matter. I just wanted to speak to you, Mr. Miller. I'm Blaine Anderson. I read your book on Wormholes."

"Oh, I see." Miller smiled "I didn't actually think nobody had read that piece of old rag. How did you like it?"

"It's very interesting… But –"

"You want to know if what I wrote is possible, right?"

"Yeah, that's what I came here for."

"Well, Blaine, in Physics lots of things is possible. But not all of them are possible right now, or in a long time, for that matter."

"So I can't travel through wormholes?"

"I'm afraid not, you can't."

"But didn't you write that we can by dislocating our body particles in an organized way?"

"Yes, I seem to have written that. But that is the problem. There is no way that we can organize our particles right now. So I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson, but I can't help you."

"You don't even know what I want."

"You want to travel back in time. That's not difficult to understand. And even if we had that kind of technology, we couldn't let anyone use it. Who knows what any of us were going to do with time if we break the space-time continuum. I mean, the world could not be existent right now if any of us had traveled back in time. Maybe another Great War would have begun with war power that would have potentially killed all of us."

"I don't want to start a nuclear war. I want just to travel in time."

Miller took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses.

"But there are things that could happen just by you being present in past. There are a few theories on what could happen… One of them is that you can't change the past, and people would simply ignore you as you were a ghost. You would simply not be seen. There is this other one that says you could change the past slightly but the space-time continuum would contour whatever you did and the past would stay the same. Do you understand what I mean? They are all theories. And so is travelling with wormholes."

"But is there any way I could travel in time? I read something about self-hypnotizing…" Blaine started.

"No, that's bullshit. It won't work. You'll simply have a conducted dream that will lead you to believe you traveled in time, but it will be nothing but an illusion."

"Okay, but there's gotta be a way…"

"No, there isn't! Why is it so difficult to understand?" The teacher raised his voice and then calmed down, sighed and began another time "Sorry, kid. There is no way you can travel in time right now. Come back in a few millenniums."

"Wow. It must really suck to be a liar, right? Because I recall your book you said it was a possibility and yet you deny everything you say. Thank you very much. This was very helpful." Blaine said and turned on his heels to exit the auditorium.

"Wait." Miller called behind him. "There's this one thing you should see."

Miller guided Blaine further into the Physics and Research department until they were in what Blaine assumed it could be a chamber filled with electronics and a big flat screen. By Blaine's side there was a metal man-sized capsule in vertical position with a transparent door and a hammock inside of it. On top of it, there were some cables attached to a heart monitor and some cables attached to what seemed to be a capacitor of some sorts.

"What is this, exactly?" Blaine asked.

"This" Miller gave an affectionate tap on the side of the capsule "is the first ever built time-machine. It was never tested, but the potency is theoretically enough to make a trip in a wormhole that will lead you to the period of time you wish."

"So that means it is a possibility!" Blaine was exultant.

"Yes, but just a possibility. Let's make that clear."

Blaine opened the door and entered the capsule.

"Wait! What do you think you're doing?!" Miller said.

"Turn it on. Let's give it a spin!"

"No, Blaine, you don't understand. If anything goes wrong with this machine you're going to become nothing but ashes. It will fry you whole!"

"I don't care!"

"You are insane. Get out of there."

"Come on! Come on, Miller! You've always wanted to see if this machine really works. And now you've got yourself a voluntary. Please."

"Even if I did that, when would you like to be transported?"

"At the Grand Hotel, in the mid-thirties of the twentieth century."

"Our Grand Hotel? At Chicago?"

"Precisely."

"You're not properly clothed, Blaine."

"Oh, the hell I'm not. Just look at me." And Blaine wasn't lying. Remi realized he was wearing a cardigan sweater, bow-tie, classic suit pants and canvas shoes. Blaine was quite vintage and it wouldn't be a problem to blend in.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Miller started to plug the cables here and there and glued the cable of the heart monitor to Blaine's neck just above the carotid. "If you turn to ashes, what am I supposed to do?"

"Well, clean them up and send it to my brother. Come on, if this works it's going to be something incredible. Do it for the science."

"Two hours. If you don't turn into dust in front of me, all I'm going to give you is two hours in 1936. And that will be it. I'm going to pull you back." Miller strapped Blaine's head still, closed the door and started to heat the machine. "Now, close your eyes. And remain your arms and legs in the vehicle at all times."

Blaine let out a laugh, and closed his eyes as Miller commanded. Miller turned the machine on and Blaine could hear the noise of the capacitor working.

"Good luck, Blaine!" Miller wished.

Blaine heard a loud noise and felt his body being pulled down. After a minute, Blaine didn't feel the straps around him anymore.

He re-opened his eyes to see a big hall, exactly like the one he just left. But something was different. Blaine looked around and saw people dressed different, the atmosphere was different. He re-opened his eyes to find himself at the Grand Hotel, Chicago, in 1936.