PART III

**** April/May 1895 ****

Chapter 15

Kurt spent his remaining two weeks in St. Augustine resolutely avoiding anywhere Blaine might appear, and since Dr. Anderson had forbidden Blaine from seeing him, it was unlikely they would run into each other anyway. Even so, Kurt spent most of his free time in Felix de Crano's studio, drawing and painting and determinedly trying not to think about Blaine.

"Why are you here, young Mr. Hummel?" Felix inquired on Kurt's fifth day holed up in the studio. "You don't have somewhere more interesting to be?"

"Not anymore," Kurt muttered under his breath. "And anyway, I'd rather paint than go to balls and tennis matches."

Without ceasing his work, Felix nodded to himself as he applied more paint to the canvas in front of him. They worked in silence for a bit, Kurt trying to keep his mind on the sketch he had started. When he couldn't focus on the shading of a magnolia tree, he sighed heavily and threw the charcoal stick down on the table. "This is ridiculous!"

Felix stopped and turned to face him, studying Kurt's posture and unusually unkempt appearance. Raising his eyebrows, his mouth curved into a knowing smile. "Ah, you are lovesick," he said, pointing at Kurt with his paintbrush. "The lovely Miss Berry or another special someone?"

Kurt was silent for a moment, considering his next words very carefully. Leaning over the drawing table on his elbows, he ran his index finger through a stray drop of paint and watched as the crimson pigment spread and thinned, coating his finger and the wood surface in the blood red of creativity. "You know it's not Rachel," he said finally, deciding if Felix were to judge him, he'd be gone soon enough and none of it would matter anyway.

"Know what?" he replied, a delighted smirk on his face.

"Felix," Kurt said, wiping his finger clean on a rag. "Stop playing coy. I need someone I can talk to about this."

Felix turned to face Kurt, his hat slipping with the rapid movement. Raising his eyebrows, he said, "And you think I am that someone?"

"I trust you," Kurt said with a shrug.

Mr. de Crano smiled warmly, his blue eyes twinkling as he held Kurt's gaze. "You are a good man, Kurt Hummel. You shouldn't worry about what people think of you."

Kurt snorted. "That's easy to say when one is a beloved artist such as yourself."

"I wasn't always this," de Crano said, gesturing to his paint-covered smock and scraggly beard.

Kurt couldn't help but laugh. "I'm going to miss you," he said.

"Ah, but you are not gone yet. Let's enjoy each other's company while we still can, and you tell me what has you so lovesick on such a beautiful spring day."

Kurt looked down at the landscape he'd been sketching — a peaceful waterfront scene with boats in the harbor and the sun in the sky. He was supposed to be distracting himself from thinking about Blaine, but even this simple drawing was about him. It was the bayfront as he remembered it that first day they went sailing, a brisk chill in the air, but the sun bright and warm on his skin as he let himself fall under Blaine's spell. He missed the man more than he could say, but his wounded pride and his stubborn streak wouldn't let him admit it. Something about Felix's warm smile and kind words cracked the fragile shell Kurt had built around his heart, and suddenly he needed to let it all go.

"You remember my charcoal man?" Kurt asked, referencing the sketch he had done of Blaine all those weeks ago.

"Mr. Problem?" Felix inquired.

"That's him," Kurt said. "His name is Blaine."

"Ah, yes... young Mr. Anderson. I remember he was quite a good friend to you."

Kurt took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "We were more than friends... lovers, actually."

When Felix didn't immediately reply, Kurt opened one eye, squinting up at him as he braced himself for the painter's reaction. But Felix was beaming from ear to ear and barely containing a chuckle that shook his upper body with its force.

"You knew," Kurt said. "All this time, and you knew."

"I knew you boys had something special, yes. But I didn't think too much about it. I knew if you wanted to tell me, you would. It was none of my business."

"I wish everyone thought like you."

"So you are no longer lovers?" Felix asked.

"No," Kurt said sadly. "Not anymore."

"What happened?"

As Kurt relayed the story to Mr. de Crano, he felt a weight begin to lift from his shoulders. The ache in his chest was far from gone, but at least he could breathe again without the crushing press of his secret weighing him down.

"Mr. de Crano, would it be alright if I wrote to you from time to time?" Kurt asked shyly. "I don't have many friends, and it would mean a lot to me."

"Of course, my boy. I am not much of a writer myself, but I will do my best and I can sketch for you."

"That would be wonderful," Kurt said with a genuine smile.

Several weeks later, Kurt found himself back in New York planning a wedding he didn't want to a woman he loved more like a sister than a lover. His heart weighed heavier than he ever could have imagined, and yet it continued beating resolutely in his chest as if it hadn't been shattered into a million pieces.

Rachel said she noticed a change in Kurt but didn't press him for details, even though she kept her keen eye locked on him, studying his expressions and asking questions with her eyes. Kurt caught himself pretending more often than not, smiling at Rachel when he felt like crying, or worse, confessing. He laughed at her jokes and praised her singing; he even began work on her wedding gown, all as if nothing were amiss.

The only thing keeping him going, apart from his daily visits to the local saloon, was his father's upcoming wedding to Mrs. Hudson. Burt had been happier than Kurt had seen him in a long while, and no matter how heartbroken he was personally, nothing could keep Kurt from basking in the glow of his father's happiness.

The morning of their wedding was the first warm day of the spring, and Carole looked radiant in the gown Kurt had designed for her. He still missed his own mother terribly, but in the short time that he had known Mrs. Hudson, Kurt had genuinely grown to care for her. He'd put expert care into the design of her wedding gown, adding personal touches and using the finest silk they could afford. She was going to be a beautiful bride, and it would be delightful to see her in a color other than black.

Kurt had yet to meet her son, who had been traveling abroad for the past year, but he was meant to arrive the morning of the wedding to walk his mother down the aisle and give her away. Kurt decided that a young man who would do that for his widowed mother must be a special kind of gentleman, but other than that, he honestly didn't know what to expect. He was just wondering what Mr. Hudson was like when a giant of a man walked up to him where he stood guard at the back of the church and clapped him soundly on the back.

"You must be Kurt," the man said, holding out his hand. "I'm Finn Hudson. Looks like after today we'll be brothers."

Kurt craned his neck up; he'd never seen someone so tall before. At just under six feet himself, it was rare that he was the smaller man in any situation, but Finn towered over him by at least five inches.

"Hello," Kurt said, reaching out to shake Finn's hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Finn's handshake was firm, but unthreatening, and Kurt was already at ease thanks to the man's friendly smile. His stomach fluttered with a feeling reminiscent of what he had felt when he first met Blaine. Considering the circumstances, it was a terrifying thought.

"Mom tells me you designed her gown," Finn said, grinning. "I can't wait to see it."

"Uh, yeah..." Kurt squeaked before clearing his throat and trying again. "She's uh, in the minister's office if you want to see her. She looks beautiful."

"Thanks, Kurt," he said, clapping him on the shoulder again before leaving him alone.

"Who was that?" Rachel asked, suddenly appearing at Kurt's side.

"Mrs. Hudson's son, Finn."

"He's so... tall," she said.

Kurt glanced down at her, stunning in the pale green gown he'd designed for the occasion, and saw her dark eyes sparkling with interest.

"And quite handsome," Kurt said, unable to resist the opportunity to tease his best friend.

"Well, yes... I suppose. If you like that sort of thing," she said. "Personally I think he's too tall. And his crooked little smile... It's absolutely boyish."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh at Rachel getting flustered and trying to conceal her attraction. She was the worst liar imaginable and it was quite obvious she found Finn appealing.

"Some might find that sort of thing charming," Kurt said.

"Not me," Rachel said haughtily. "I've got all the man I need right here." She pressed a chaste kiss to Kurt's cheek before glancing around to make sure no one had seen. It was so typically Rachel to flout the rules and then concern herself with public opinion after the fact. As always, Kurt found it difficult not to adore Rachel, even if he was not in love with her. So much of her personality reminded Kurt of himself, but with a more brash way of expressing it. He admired her for her boldness and wished he could be more like her.

As he escorted Rachel to her seat at the front of the church, Kurt caught sight of his father's face, a beaming smile cemented firmly on it for what seemed like the first time in ages. He hadn't smiled like that since before Kurt's mother got sick. Kurt wished she could be there to see it.

The ceremony was brief but beautiful. Carole's chestnut hair caught the light through the stained-glass windows of the church beautifully, and when she smiled after the minister pronounced her and Burt man and wife, she looked ten years younger. It was a good day.

After the ceremony, Mrs. Berry held a reception in her home for the new Mr. and Mrs. Hummel. The spread was nowhere near as lavish as the one Dr. Anderson had hosted back in St. Augustine, but the celebration was much more relaxed and filled with laughter.

"I've been thinking, darling," Rachel said, her third glass of wine in her hand. "We should sing something for the happy couple."

"I think the drink has gone to your head," Kurt said.

"Miss Berry, I think that's a wonderful idea," Finn interjected. "What did you have in mind?"

"See, not everyone is a stick in the mud, Kurt." In a very unladylike way, Rachel stuck her tongue out at him before turning a bright smile in Finn's direction. "I knew you were a kindred spirit, Mr. Hudson."

"Please, we're practically family. Call me Finn." His brown eyes crinkled at the edges with his smile as he gazed down on Rachel. She looked so tiny next to him.

"Finn," Rachel said, dropping her gaze demurely before looking back up at him through her long lashes. "Then you may call me Rachel."

Kurt watched as the pair huddled on a settee in the corner of the sitting room, plotting their performance for the bride and groom. It should have bothered him how closely they sat, or the way Rachel giggled and flirted with Finn, but he was actually content to watch them interact, enjoying the moment alone.

"Looks like someone is swooping in on your lady," a familiar voice warned.

Kurt turned to find a small, bespectacled man who propped himself up on a thick wooden cane. "Mr. Abrams, so nice to see you," Kurt beamed.

"Kurt, we're the same age," the man said. "I've told you to call me Artie."

"Not until you give Rachel her first big break," Kurt replied. "Until then you're Mr. Arthur Abrams, renowned stage director and playwright."

"Stuff and nonsense, man," Artie chided, reaching out to shake Kurt's hand. "It's good to see you again."

"Likewise. Although, perhaps you should steer clear of Rachel for the time being. You know she is still put out that you and Miss Motta are to be married before us."

"Well, take heart, Mr. Hummel. Sugar will likely land me in the poor house with this wedding. She's spent twice our budget already."

"I don't envy you that," Kurt said.

The two stood in awkward silence for a moment, Kurt fiddling with the edge of his glass as Artie adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat. "Have you and Rachel set a date?" he asked finally, much to Kurt's gratitude.

"We're thinking July," Kurt said. "Mrs. Berry is trying to persuade their Rabbi to let us get married in the synagogue, but I would have to convert."

Artie nodded. Despite running in the same circles as the Berrys, most people tried to ignore the fact that Rachel's family was Jewish. Kurt found it laughable, as if they thought not talking about it would make it go away – as if it mattered at all.

"I heard you spent the winter in Florida," Artie said after a moment. "How did you find it?"

Kurt drew back, tension creeping into his shoulders and settling along his spine like an unwelcome guest. "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind," he spat.

"High society too much for you, Hummel?" Artie teased.

"Something like that," Kurt replied. "I should check on my father. Good to see you, Mr. Abrams."

He set off toward the kitchen, hoping to find it empty, but instead ran into his new stepmother.

"Kurt, you must come let me show you off. The ladies were all gushing over my gown earlier and I told them all my new son made it. They're dying to meet you."

"Actually, I was just going to—"

"Nonsense," Carole interrupted. "It's my wedding day, and you must indulge me."

Kurt let himself be pulled along like a nag, smiling at the ladies Carole introduced him to, and answering questions about the type of fabric he used and how he got his stitching so precise.

"You're so lucky to have him for a son," one lady cooed.

"You'll be the best dressed lady in New York," another gushed.

Their faces blurred together in a sea of endless chatter. Like the gentle lull of a train cruising down the tracks, it numbed Kurt's senses until he was all but sleepwalking.

"Are you alright?" Carole asked, after a plump old woman in a dress that had been out of fashion for at least eight years asked Kurt if he'd learned how to sew from his mother.

"I'm sorry," Kurt rasped. "I think I need some air."

Without waiting for Carole to excuse him, Kurt bolted for the kitchen and ran out of the house through the back door. His freshly shined shoes sank into the mud, causing it to seep into his socks, but he kept running until he no longer recognized the houses on the street.

When he stopped, he was panting heavily and mud had splattered up his pant legs to his knees. He shook his right leg to dislodge the heavier chunks, but his pants were likely ruined. He sighed and sat down on the stoop of the nearest building. Dropping his head into his hands, he blinked back bitter tears. He wasn't even sure why he was crying because, rather than sadness, anger seethed through him, burning like a fire and spreading like a plague that coated his aching and broken heart in the blackened, charred remains of his love.

Eventually his breathing calmed, and he pulled out his handkerchief to wipe his eyes. A small card fell from his pocket and landed on the step next to him. Kurt picked it up and fingered the edge of the thick paper, remembering the day spent in Atlanta when Chandler had given it to him.

He turned it over and ran his fingers across the raised type, its familiarity a small comfort to him. Perhaps all hope was not lost after all.

Kurt stood in front of the looming, three-story building on Cooper Square, craning his neck to see the windows above his head. For all intents and purposes, it was an unassuming brick structure, no different or more sinister than any of the other buildings on the street, but Kurt knew the sort that frequented Columbia Hall, or Paresis Hall as it had come to be known by its patrons.

Several effeminate looking young boys walked past Kurt, leering suggestively at him and calling out in voices even higher than Kurt's own. He swallowed heavily and tried to ignore them as he worked up the courage to go inside.

"Can I help you?" a gruff voice asked. It belonged to a man about Kurt's height with a thick black mustache and heavily pomaded hair. He wore an immaculately tailored dark suit, a caped overcoat, shiny top hat and gloves. He carried a walking stick and had bright white spats covering his shiny black shoes. He looked completely out of place in this part of the Bowery. But then again, Kurt probably did too.

"I was, uh... looking for someone," Kurt stammered.

The man looked him up and down, narrowing his eyes as he examined Kurt bodily. "If you're wanting something more discreet, I know a place that's more careful about who they let in." He held out a small card to Kurt, much like the one Chandler had given Kurt, but this one was a pale pink and read: "Miss Lopez's Ladies Seminary, 123 West 27th Street, 8 Lady Boarders."

"Thank you," Kurt said, attempting to hand the card back to its owner, "but I'm not really—"

The man leaned in and lowered his voice. "They serve your kind there too," he said. "But only Miss Lopez needs to know."

Kurt gaped at him in shock.

"Like I said," the man added with a grin. "Discreet."

He tipped his hat to Kurt and then disappeared inside the building. Apparently discretion mattered little to him.

Eventually, Kurt worked up the courage to go in, nearly getting struck by the heavy oak door when it swung shut behind him. He might have gotten out of the way faster, but what he saw took his very breath away.

More than thirty men filled the parlor of the club, all of them in the company of men dressed entirely in women's clothing. The fairies draped themselves all over their gentleman callers, flirting and wriggling about like loose women. Kurt had never seen such behavior in all of his life. He was equal parts disgusted and intrigued.

He stood frozen in the entryway of the establishment for a few moments before a man approached him. Well, Kurt assumed he was a man; it was hard to tell under all the rouge and powder, not to mention the bright yellow afternoon dress he wore. He had no whiskers on his face, and his hair was a long, loose mess of auburn curls.

"May I help you, handsome?" the fairy asked.

"I'm uh... looking for someone," Kurt managed to eek out.

"Aren't we all?"

Kurt ignored the coquettish way the man smiled at him, clearing his throat loudly to mask his nerves. "Chandler Kiehl," he said. "Do you know if he is on the premises?"

"Damn, you're a stiff one," the fairy replied. "I could use a stiff one... if you know what I mean." He winked at him, and to Kurt's horror, pinched his backside.

Kurt jumped and felt a flush of heat rush to his cheeks.

"Relax, mister. I'll go get him," the fairy replied. He turned to leave, and Kurt was about to let out a relieved exhale when he turned around. "You might want to get yourself a drink. He's with a client; it could be a while." He gestured toward a dingy bar in the next room before heading up the stairs in a flurry of yellow silk and auburn curls.

Trying to blend in as best he could, Kurt made his way to the bar and ordered himself a whiskey. He leaned against the oak surface and let his eyes rove the room.

Despite the raucous nature of the club, Kurt found most of the men there looked like gentlemen he had often seen on the streets: well-groomed beards and perfectly fitted suits, heavy watch chains attached to silk waistcoats. He could hardly believe his eyes. He wondered if Blaine had ever been to a place like this. Without really thinking about it, he scanned the room for a familiar head of dark pomaded hair and eyes the color of whiskey. Instead, he was greeted with long sandy hair and bright blue eyes.

"Kurt!" Chandler shrieked. "It's so good to see you." He gripped Kurt in a crushing hug, the scent of bergamot wafting up from his clothing to tickle Kurt's nose. "What brings you to Columbia Hall?"

"I found your card the other day and thought we should catch up," Kurt said, smoothing down his hair and clothing now that Chandler had released him. He shuffled on his feet a little, trying to figure out what to say. "You're busy... I should go."

"Nonsense," Chandler said. "I can take a few hours off for an old friend. "Can I freshen your drink?"

"Sure," Kurt said timidly as Chandler took his empty glass and signaled the bartender.

"How long have you been back in New York?"

"Only a few weeks," Kurt replied. "My father just got married."

"That's exciting," Chandler cooed. "I love weddings."

"You do?"

"Sure... all that love and ceremony... and promise," he said as the bartender refilled their glasses. "It's uplifting. Gives me hope and all that."

"You're a hopeless romantic in spite of yourself, Mr. Kiehl," Kurt said, taking a sip of the whiskey and letting it burn his throat. It was a welcome feeling after the numbness that had consumed him of late. He knew whiskey wasn't the answer to his problems, but it dulled the sharper edges and made him forget.

"Just because I don't believe in love doesn't mean I don't believe it exists," Chandler replied. "What about you? Where's your fella?"

He craned his neck as if he expected to see Blaine walking in at any moment. His long hair flopped in his eyes as he turned his head to look.

As Chandler's eyes surveyed the room, Kurt swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid change color with the light.

It reminded him too much of Blaine's eyes.

He set the glass down with a thunk, reaching up to scrub his hand across his face. A callus on his thumb scratched his chin roughly as it drug across his face. Kurt bit the spot where it had formed near the knuckle and worried the rough skin between his teeth. Since he returned to New York, he had been sewing more frequently and when he worked on embroidery, he would brace the stitch with his thumb, causing the needle to strike it from time to time. He hated the coarse feeling of the skin there and when he was nervous he would often pick at it. It was a nasty habit.

"He's not my fella anymore," Kurt mumbled into his own hand.

"What happened?" Chandler asked, genuine sympathy on his face as he reached out and laid a hand on Kurt's arm.

"Just what you said. He went home to the missus," Kurt scoffed, referencing their first conversation in Atlanta. He dropped his head in his hands and sighed. Feeling a hand on his back, running a soothing line from shoulder to waist, Kurt instinctively leaned into the touch.

"It was inevitable," Chandler said. "Doesn't make it hurt any less, though."

Kurt looked up at Chandler, the familiar sting of tears burning his eyes. "I just feel so damned stupid," he said. "And the worst part is, I'm still madly in love with the idiot."

"I could find you a 'friend,' " Chandler offered.

Kurt shook his head and laughed. As if that were the answer to his problems. No, another lover would only make things worse. "No, thank you," he said. "That's not really why I'm here."

"Then why are you here?" Chandler asked, looking intrigued.

"I was hoping you'd help me," Kurt replied. "To come out of my shell. Embrace the aesthetic lifestyle."

"Of course," Chandler said with a gracious half bow. "I'm at your service."

"You can't escort me to the theatre wearing that brooch," Rachel said. "You'll take someone's eye out."

Kurt looked down at the dragonfly pin that he had used to secure his tie. It went perfectly with the turquoise waistcoat he had made and the new lemon-colored kid gloves he had just bought.

Since he'd begun to run in the same circles as Chandler, frequenting the clubs in the Bowery, he had also begun dressing more flamboyantly, much to Rachel's dismay. She missed no chance to tell him how much she disliked his brightly colored suits and the bold accessories he had taken to wearing.

"Rachel, I can't take it off now. I'd have to change my entire ensemble."

Rolling her eyes at him like she had been fond of when they were children, Rachel said, "It's a woman's hat pin."

"Oh, nonsense," Kurt said with a stern look. "Why should that matter? Women are wearing pants now."

"Those are bloomers, Kurt, and they're for bicycling. We're going to the theatre," Rachel whined. "Why do you insist on embarrassing me?"

"Oh, I don't know," Kurt said. "Probably the same reason you like to embarrass me."

"What on earth are you going on about?" Rachel asked, laughing a little as she checked her hair in the hall mirror.

"You and Finn after the wedding," Kurt said. "You think I didn't see the way you were looking at him?"

"You're being ridiculous," Rachel said, brushing off his anger with the smile she used when she wanted her way.

Kurt raised his eyebrow in challenge. "Am I?"

"Of course you are, darling." She reached up and cupped his cheek in her gloved hand. "Now come along or we'll be late for the play."

Following her out into the warm night, Kurt felt uneasy, as if this thing between them were unsettled. Usually he and Rachel could argue and everything would go back to normal, but this time there was an underlying unease that made Kurt's skin burn with the uncomfortable itch of resentment. Something was altogether wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He grew more and more sullen around Rachel the more time he spent exploring his newfound lifestyle among the fairies of the Bowery. He was careful to only frequent the clubs Chandler had told him were safe and always stuck to rent boys he knew to be friends of Chandler. But all the companionship in the world could not make up for what he was really missing, and it wounded him to his core.

Rachel spent more and more time going to auditions and trying to get a theatre to take her on as a resident artist in a company, so Kurt rarely saw her apart from when she needed an escort for some such outing.

Even as they drifted, Rachel continued to plan their wedding, choosing colors and flowers that she knew would infuriate Kurt. For his part, Kurt responded to every distasteful change to their wedding arrangements by dressing more outlandishly and boldly, which was why on another particular evening, he was wearing a purple brocade waistcoat with his pale cream suit and a purple gillyflower on his left breast. Rachel's jaw dropped when she descended the stairs and saw Kurt standing in her parlor, leaning on a silver tipped walking stick and adjusting his hair in the hall mirror. He could just make out her reflection over his shoulder, her hands balled into tiny fists at her side as her eyes widened at the sight.

"You like it?" Kurt asked mock innocently. "I made it myself."

"How dare you," Rachel fumed. "You know we're going to meet Artie and Sugar for dinner and you're wearing that?! You know how important this is for me."

"Darling–"

"Don't try to placate me, Kurt. You're deliberately trying to ruin this." Rachel looked on the verge of tears. Even in the midst of their current battle, Kurt hated to see her cry.

"I swear to you, I'm not," Kurt said gently. "I'm just trying to be true to myself."

"What about me?" Rachel pleaded. "All I've ever wanted is to be on stage. You know that."

"I know," Kurt said, lowering his gaze, unable to look at her pained expression. He couldn't stand disappointing her.

"I'll never be an actress now," Rachel sobbed. "Not with you on my arm. People won't want anything to do with me."

In a flash, all of his concern for Rachel left his mind as his pride took over.

"Then maybe we shouldn't get married!" Kurt shouted.

"I was thinking the very same thing," Rachel spat, her face growing flushed as she talked. "You're not my Kurt. I don't know what you've done with him, but you're not him. You're... You're..."

"I'm what, Rachel? Just say it." He pinched the bridge of his nose, bracing himself for what was to come. His anger ebbed and began to wane almost as quickly as it had come. The words were forming in his mind just as they were in hers. He knew what she was going to say before he heard it, and yet it still pained him to know she was thinking it.

Tears welled up in Rachel's brown eyes. She didn't want to hurt him, even in his anger Kurt could see that. Her words came out in a choked whisper, but they were unmistakable. "A fairy, Kurt. You look like a fairy."

Nodding slowly, Kurt tilted his head as he considered her. Could he really spend the rest of his life hiding his true self, even for Rachel's sake? "Is that what you think, Rachel? Truly?"

"I'm not the only one," she defended. "Even Finn says so."

Kurt reeled back, his fury rising anew. "You've been talking to Finn about me?"

"Well, he is your brother..." Rachel trailed off, taking in Kurt's heated expression. She cast her gaze downward and picked at the fingers of her gloves.

"How often do you see Finn?" Kurt hissed.

"N-not often," Rachel stammered. "He escorts me to auditions sometimes, and we went on a picnic... but his mother invited me. I swear I haven't done anything to make you look a fool."

"You love him, don't you?"

Rachel gaped like a fish for a few seconds. "N-no, of course not.... No, I love you," she stammered breathlessly. But it was too late, Kurt had already seen the truth in her eyes, and heard it in the nervous laughter that followed.

"Rachel, you really are a terrible liar," Kurt laughed through his tears.

"I never could fool you," she said, her eyes as watery as Kurt's. She smiled at him, and he pulled her into a warm embrace.

Rachel relaxed into Kurt's arms and they were quiet for a moment. Perhaps, like Kurt, she was remembering the childhood they had shared and reflecting on their shared grief when they both lost parents scant months apart.

"Whatever shall we do now?" Rachel asked, her words muffled in the thick fabric around Kurt's middle.

Inhaling deeply, he caught the scent of Rachel's jasmine perfume and felt suddenly at ease. "Well, you don't have to marry me if you don't want to," he offered.

Pulling back sharply, Rachel looked up at Kurt, her brown eyes wide with shock. "You can't mean that," she said. "What would people say?"

"Tell them it was me," Kurt said, reaching up to stroke a stray curl that had escaped from its coif. "That I broke it off because I wanted to..." He trailed off, unsure of what could possibly be a good enough reason for him to dishonor Rachel in such a way.

"Wanted to what, Kurt?" Rachel asked. Her hands pressed firmly into Kurt's chest as they still clung to each other. "I know something has been up with you since you returned from St. Augustine. Please tell me what it is."

Kurt swallowed around a heavy lump in his throat. "I can't," he rasped, unable to meet Rachel's gaze.

"Well, you can't break off our engagement for no reason," Rachel reasoned.

"No, I suppose not."

Rachel's fingers wrapped around the petals of the flower on Kurt's chest, her eyes following the movement. "Do you want to marry me?" she asked.

Kurt pulled back from their embrace, and sat on the stairs, leaning a little on his walking stick as his posture faltered. He finally allowed himself to be really and truly seen by his oldest and dearest friend. No longer able to hide his anguish, Kurt met Rachel's concerned gaze.

"I'm not sure I ever want to marry," he said.

The shock only read on her face for a moment before she composed herself and came to sit by Kurt on the stairs. She looped her arm through his as they had done since they were children and she laid her head on his shoulder.

"I won't force you to do something you don't wish to," she said. "I love you too much for that."

"And I you," Kurt replied.

Pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, Rachel said softly, "We'll figure something out, Kurt. I promise."

That night, Kurt penned a letter to Blaine. He chose to not tell him of his broken engagement, deciding that if Blaine were to return to him, it must be because of his own making, not because he thought he could rescue Kurt from his loneliness.

Dearest Blaine,

I hate that we're so far apart, but I have to come to terms with the fact that this is our fate. This is what we are, and this is all we will ever have, and this is what I have to live with. But I'll never regret finding you... for as long as I live, I will cherish every moment we were together and regret every moment we are apart. I need you to know that I am forever a better man because you approached me under that gold-leafed ceiling, and for that I will forever be grateful. I wish you all the best in your marriage to Quinn and hope you will forgive me for my harsh words the last time we spoke.

Forever yours,
K

In the following weeks, Kurt fell deeper into despair. He may not have wanted to marry Rachel, but without the predictable comfort and structure of planning a future with her, he felt as if he were floating aimlessly in a stormy sea. The uncertainty of what the future would bring terrified him to his very core, and he wished Blaine would reply to his letter — if only to tell him he never wanted to hear from him again. Anything would be better than the waiting; the silence was deafening.

In the end, Kurt waited eight weeks for a response, and when none came, he resolved to make the most of what he had.

Chandler had helped him to secure a small shop near the Bowery that had a room upstairs he could rent. He sent Kurt all of his patrons and friends who needed clothes mended thanks to their rowdy nights. Assuring them Kurt would be discreet, Chandler had created a niche market of sorts for him among the Bowery boys. Kurt worked unusual hours and kept to himself. His clients needn't fear their wives or mothers finding out they were keeping company with prostitutes or getting in bar fights. It wasn't exactly his dream scenario, but Kurt was happy to be his own man, and the work distracted him from thinking about Blaine... mostly.

It helped that his father still dropped by periodically, even if it was only to try to convince him to come home and work at Edison.

"All I'm saying is, you'd be able to afford proper heat if you had steadier income," Burt said, rubbing his arms to stay warm. "It's freezing in here."

"If I'm ever going to become a dressmaker, I can't be wasting away in some machine shop," Kurt said.

"You'd rather freeze your limbs off in this place?" he challenged, gesturing at the fraying wallpaper and the exposed plaster on the walls, looking down with disgust at the dirty, creaking floorboards.

"It's not that bad," Kurt said, pulling his scarf tighter around his neck as he moved to stoke the fire in the tiny stove that barely heated the corner it stood in.

Burt sighed and raked his hand over his bald head. "Are you at least happy, Kurt?"

"I will be," he replied with honesty.

His father nodded slowly, as if he knew that were the answer before he had asked the question. Kurt could hardly stand the look of anguish in his eyes.

"How's Rachel?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Same as ever," Burt replied. "You know her."

Kurt laughed. "Indeed I do. I'm glad to hear she's faring well, though. I feel positively awful about breaking our engagement."

"She knows," Burt said, placing his hand on Kurt's forearm.

Kurt knew the touch was meant to be a comfort, but it felt unusually heavy to him. He pulled away, but covered the action by crossing his arms as if he were trying to keep warm.

His father's reaction was subtle but obvious. The skin around his mouth tightened and he pulled his hand back, glancing at it for a fraction of a second before returning it to his own lap.

"I know what I did was unforgivable," Kurt said, "but she is far better off without being saddled with marrying a man who could never love her in the way she wants... or deserves."

"I'm glad you feel that way," Burt said, pausing for a moment. "Because Finn has been courting her."

Despite the fact that he wasn't at all surprised, Kurt's eyebrows shot up at the news. "How long?"

"Only a couple weeks, but Carole says they are quite serious. It's for the best after a broken engagement. You know how Mrs. Berry worried no one would have her."

Kurt nodded. "He'll be good for her."

"And what about you?"

"I'll manage," Kurt said. "I always have."