He had always spent a lot of his time dreaming, since he was a kid- playing in the back garden imagining to live in a castle with a prince by his side or, later on, dreaming that one day he would wake up and his mother would be there, beautiful and kind as she had used to be. He had kept on dreaming when he was in middle and high school, dreaming of bright lights and billboards, of fabulous clothes and of loves big enough to overturn the whole world.

Before meeting Blaine, he hadn’t realize how much having to let go of some of those dreams had scarred him, deep down, where he stuffed things which were too precious to see the light, right beside the faded memory of his mother’s smiles. Getting to know him had unveiled those scars and Kurt had been forced to look at them, and accept that they were there but simply couldn’t prevent him from dreaming more and bigger.

Thing was that now the majority, if not the totality, of his dreams seemed to revolve also around Blaine. There were both small things, like fantasizing about romantic walks in Central Park, and bigger ones, like daydreaming about a future together, waking up side by side in the morning and kissing over the kitchen table they would have bought together.

When Blaine had asked him to meet before his flight back home, Kurt couldn’t deny the way his heart had fluttered, like a small and excited bird. Standing on the underground train, he gripped the pole tighter, repeating to himself that he shouldn’t be expecting anything. He shouldn’t be waiting for something to happen, for their friendship to morph into something more. Yet, something inside him kept growing with each morning Blaine reminded him that he knew his coffee order by heart, with each shy smile, with each dream of tanned skin and soft lips that left him aching.

Blaine had told him to meet at the obelisk in Central Park and Kurt hurried along the path; the ground was still covered in snow here and there and it reflected the orange light of the lamp posts, making everything look as though there was something hidden under the surface, burning gently. Kurt thought it looked like a dream, or like one of those fairytales his mother used to read him at night. Kurt’s heart thumped against his ribcage, filled with the desire to see Blaine.

He didn’t like the idea of not seeing for two weeks, as he didn’t like the idea of Blaine spending Christmas back at home without his brother, having to endure hours of his father parading him around, of course being careful not to mention the fact that his son was gay.

The first time Blaine told him about his coming-out about the way his father had treated him since then, Kurt was rinsing strawberries to make a dessert for the two of them and he had squeezed them so hard they had broken, spilling red pulp on his fingers. He had yelped and Blaine had walked over; he hadn’t looked at him but had helped him cleaning his hands. Kurt could still remember the feeling of Blaine’s fingers firm around his.

That day Kurt had told him that there was nothing wrong in being upset or angry sometimes, that forcing himself to be always happy and optimistic would dry him up eventually. Blaine had scooted closer on the couch and had taken his hand. Kurt had squeezed it firmly. With me you’re free to be yourself, to let go when you don’t have the strength to hold on.

Kurt had never had a friendship like that, not even with Mercedes or Rachel back in high school, back then no one had trusted him with so much of himself that he felt truly free to lower barriers forged by years of loneliness.

With a small smile on his lips, he reached the obelisk and stopped dead in his track. Sitting on the fence, guitar in hand, Blaine looked up at him and smiled. Then he started playing and the whole world seemed to fade away.

///

Blaine looked at Kurt, standing perfect in front of him, immersed in the whiteness of the park covered in snow. He looked like an illustration out of a book, he looked like a dream. And Blaine knew that he would regret it through all his life, if he didn’t get this chance and bare his heart completely for Kurt to take it or refuse it.

He had spent the whole day working on the song he had composed; it felt as though it was engraved in his bones, along with his love for the beautiful man standing in front of him, lips slightly parted and cheeks red. The words stirred inside of him and easily and gracefully caressed his heart before slipping past his lips, for the world to hear, for Kurt to understand.

They told me dreams are made of hopes

I hoped and hoped and nothing came

They told me dreams are made of magic

But I soon learned I wasn’t a magician

So I waited and dreamed

Because they say that’s what human beings do better

I didn’t know what dreams were made of

And then I met you

And you were calmness among confusion

You were big and bright skies

And I thought you were it

And I thought you were it

what my dreams were made of

You are the flesh and bones of my hopes

The hidden rhythm of my heart

You are the magic

The magic my dreams are made of

The last note fell on the snow-covered ground and Blaine held his breath, his heart beating out of rhythm, like a broken piano. Kurt stood motionless, his eyes glinting in the orange light and Blaine wished he were closer to understand if he was crying. He was about to stand and apologize, his heart sinking and sinking, when Kurt took a step towards him and then another and another, small white clouds dancing in front of his lips as he breathed.

Blaine instinctively stood up, setting the guitar aside. Kurt didn’t give him the time to say anything before he threw his arms around his neck pulling him close. Everything inside of Blaine shut down the moment Kurt’s lips met his.

There were only warm clouds of breath and fingers sinking in his curls. There was only Kurt’s body pressed so impossibly close and yet not even remotely close enough. There was only his love overflowing, drowning all the rest. Blaine’s breath shook with the force of it, his skin thrummed.

Then, Kurt pulled back, gasping down air; the tips of their noses were still brushing and all that Blaine could see were Kurt’s eyes, vast and azure like the skies of his song.

“Then this is what dreams taste of.”

Kurt’s laugh sounded like fireworks in the small space between their lips.

“You are incorrigible.”

Blaine knew it was no use to keep it inside, not when Kurt was there, so perfect and so important, like oxygen, like happiness itself. Kurt was the one, the one he had always dreamed of, the one he had composed music for even before meeting him, the only one who had come to know all of him and hadn’t walked away. The one Blaine wanted to try to share his future with.

“I love you, Kurt.”

Kurt kissed him, long and deep, with the wind whispering through the branches and the snow glingting, with their hearts beating in sync.

“I love you too, Blaine.”

*

He walked Kurt back home, hands clasped and swinging slightly between their bodies. Kurt talked and smiled and shone like a star. And Blaine couldn’t believe all of it was true and wasn’t going to disappear in the morning like a simple dream. But no, Kurt was no ordinary dream, he was the dream Blaine had been having for so long that it became part of him. He was the only dream that mattered.

Kurt kissed him again and again in front of his door. He kissed like he smiled and like he felt, pure and strong, and Blaine thought he could live on Kurt’s kisses. Time slipped by and they remained there, on the landing, holding each other. After months spent daydreaming about it, Blaine tried to memorize how Kurt felt in his arms, how is lips tasted. He knew he had to let go because Kurt’s flight was early in the morning the following day but he couldn’t bring himself to.

“You know I’m not disappearing, right?”

Blaine lifted his head from Kurt’s shoulder and looked at him.

“I know, it’s just…”

“Why don’t you come to visit me in Lima for a couple of days? I mean…of course if it is alright with you…”

“Kurt, I’d love to.”

Kurt’s arms were strong around him. It surprised Blaine to realize how much he needed their safety and their support when he usually was the one trying to support other people. He hid his face against Kurt’s chest, taking in his cologne and his warmth.

“You make me so happy. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Kurt kissed his temple gently.

“Let’s never stop dreaming, then.”

*

(00:01)

Goodnight, Kurt. I hope you’ll have wonderful dreams. x

Of course I will, after all you are what my dreams are made of