Chapter 6

Blaine opened his eyes to find Kurt's blue-green depths staring back at him. They grinned shyly at each other, an expression that was at odds with their present state of undress. Under the soft scrutiny Blaine felt suddenly exposed, yet he didn't know what to do to feel more covered up, fearing any movement he made would make Kurt uncomfortable too. But he could already see Kurt beginning to fidget, so he leaned forward and kissed him again.

It seemed as though the whole situation made more sense if they were touching in some way. Blaine threaded his hand through Kurt's thick hair and let Kurt's elegant fingers stroke his jawline. There was so much sensation to savor, and he felt nearly drunk with it.

"Blaine," Kurt said, the name sounding sinful on his lips.

"Yes?"

"What happens now?"

With reluctance, Blaine pulled back and took in Kurt's expression, a warring mix of desire and confusion. It had to be puzzling for Kurt, not knowing just moments before that he was attracted to men at all, and suddenly here he was kissing Blaine, half naked in a steam room.

"What would you like to happen?" Blaine asked, taking Kurt's hands in his own, turning them over and kissing his palms. Blaine knew what he wished to happen, but he needed to know where Kurt stood.

"I... well, I hadn't given that much thought, really," Kurt said. "But I like kissing you."

Blaine couldn't help his smile. "And I, you."

"But how do we do... this?" Kurt said. "I mean us. How does this work?"

The question was surprisingly direct, and not for the first time, Blaine found himself admiring how Kurt seemed so able to keep his feet under him even as the ground had to be shaking beneath them. He took a deep breath and let it out with a short laugh. "You think I do this every day?" he asked, realizing Kurt probably believed some of the rumors, some of which, in all honesty, were true.

Kurt shook his head in disagreement. "You know how to be discreet, though."

"Indeed I do." He paused briefly, taking in Kurt's determined expression. As much as he wanted Kurt, as much as the very thought made his heart race, he needed Kurt to know what this type of lifestyle entailed. So many secrets and rarely, if ever, being able to be himself. "Is that what you want, Kurt? A clandestine love affair that you can never speak of?"

Kurt's expression turned colder then, his face dark and worried as he mulled over Blaine's question. In truth, Blaine expected him to say no, assuming Kurt would never be able to commit to someone like him, not when the commitment was to heartbreak. But perhaps Kurt was naïve enough that he didn't fully understand that yet.

The response came slowly, every agonizing second pumping fresh anxiety through Blaine's veins, but finally Kurt raised his gaze to meet Blaine's, his expression sure and steady. "It wouldn't be my first choice, no. But if it's all I can have... then, yes. I want that with you."

Blaine exhaled a ragged breath in relief, at Kurt's reply, but he still needed Kurt to understand exactly what they were about to do. "It won't be easy to find time together," Blaine said. "My grandfather is practically in my pocket these days about finding a wife."

"So you'll continue to court Miss Fabray," Kurt said matter-of-factly.

"And you'll stay betrothed to Miss Berry."

Kurt nodded, a smile breaking through the solemn expression that mirrored Blaine's own. Suddenly, he ducked his head shyly, looking completely innocent and thoroughly enticing at the same time.

"Will you teach me?" he asked, the words barely a whisper and practically lost in the thick steam.

"Teach you?" Blaine asked. "You mean..."

"About 'Greek' love," Kurt said, using Oscar Wilde's term and finally putting to rest Blaine's doubts as to whether Kurt knew the writer's true meaning.

"You assume I know all about it."

"Don't you?"

Blaine laughed, a deep, hearty belly laugh. It felt good, better than he'd felt in weeks. Kurt shoved at his arm playfully.

"I might have some experience in that area, yes," Blaine said, trying to calm his laughter as he took in Kurt's irritated expression.

"So share your experiences with me," Kurt said, pleading with stormy blue eyes. "I only just learned that it's something I'd like to try."

Blaine cleared his throat as Kurt inched closer to him again. "I think you have learned quite a bit already," he said, swallowing heavily.

Looking the very picture of innocent seduction, Kurt replied, "I don't know. I think there's more you can teach me." He leaned in and brushed his lips lightly against Blaine's, a brief, soft caress that aroused Blaine in ways he hadn't felt in some time. He leaned his forehead against Kurt's and closed his eyes.

"We'll simply have to spend as much time as we can between now and the end of the season on your education then, Mr. Hummel."

"Indeed we shall," Kurt replied, again pressing soft kisses to Blaine's lips as Blaine happily let himself drown in Kurt's presence.

After that night, everything seemed to burn with more color, texture and light. It was as if something inside him had cracked wide open and was finally shining through him, illuminating the world around him and beating the shadows back from his life. The very air around him seemed perfumed with anticipation — and the rich scent of curry.

"You're going to choke if you keep shoveling it in like that," Kurt teased.

Blaine glanced down at his plate and realized his appetite had also returned in full force. The plateful of crab Creole that he was devouring in a most ungentlemanly manner was more than half gone, leaving a small pool of pinkish-yellow sauce in its wake. He looked up at Kurt and winked, savoring the bright smile he got in return. He could eat slower if that was what Kurt wanted.

Blaine had agreed to join Kurt in the Ponce's dining room for lunch that Friday afternoon, content to steal glances across the table while they pretended to the world that they were nothing more than acquaintances with nowhere else to be. And for the moment, they didn't.

"It's a shame your father couldn't join us," he said, setting down his fork and not meaning a word of what he'd said.

"Indeed," Kurt replied. "I would have also liked to dine with the Fabrays."

"Or my grandfather."

"Well, now I know we're both lying," Kurt said with a laugh that Blaine freely joined in.

"You've found me out, Mr. Hummel."

Kurt's father had accepted an invitation from the widow Hudson to join her and some friends for lunch at the San Marco Hotel and Blaine's grandfather was caught up in wedding preparations. The Fabrays had gone to visit Quinn's aunt in Savannah for the weekend, leaving Blaine free to enjoy Kurt's company.

But even if their usual companions hadn't been occupied, they still might have tried to find a way to spend more time in each other's company.

Blaine had spent the past few days feeling as if he were floating on a cloud, his elation at Kurt's affections for him being confirmed an ever-present brightness shining on him. Kurt's easy smile was just a reminder of that.

"Do you ever wonder why they put that last line on the menu?" Kurt asked, gesturing to where it read "The water used in Hotel Ponce de Leon for drinking and culinary purposes, is Distilled and absolutely Pure."

"Perhaps it's that sulfur smell," Blaine replied. "I'm sure some stuffy old widow complained that her tea smelled like sulfur and insisted it had aggravated her allergies or some such nonsense."

Kurt giggled as Blaine rambled. He looked beautiful laughing like that.

Blaine had also spent the past few days studying Kurt's every movement, each hitch of his breath, the subtle affection in his smile, the bright lilt of his laughter that was only present when they were alone. All of it took on new meaning in the wake of their confessions; lately, even his grandfather's criticisms couldn't sour his mood.

"I like making you laugh," Blaine said, trying to look nonchalant as he sipped his tea. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Kurt's face had gone nearly scarlet from embarrassment, and just loud enough for Kurt to hear, he added, "I also like making you blush."

"Stop," Kurt said, nudging his knee under the table. "People can hear you."

He glanced around them furtively, but everyone was engrossed in their own conversations, typically self-absorbed and unable to see what was right before them. It was just as it had been since Blaine was a boy.

"We have nothing to worry about, Kurt."

"All the same, I think we should stick to more suitable topics."

"You sound like Quinn," Blaine said.

"She might be smarter than I thought."

"Be nice," Blaine said. "She's a lovely young woman."

"Who's being courted by my..."

"Your what?"

"Nevermind," Kurt said, waving a hand in his direction.

"Your lover?" Blaine whispered, causing Kurt's face to flush again. With a soft chuckle, Blaine chuckled softly and took a bite of potatoes, chewing carefully and swallowing before dabbing at his mouth and changing the subject. "Fine," he said, "we can talk about something else. My grandfather's wedding, perhaps? It's in less than two weeks."

"So soon? I heard he and Miss Smethurst only got engaged last August."

"Yes, well, what grandfather wants, grandfather gets," Blaine said with a nonchalant shrug. "I don't think the Smethursts were in any position to refuse Dr. Andrew Anderson."

"You sound so pompous, Blaine."

Blaine shook his head with some vehemence. "Not me... him."

"Will you escort Quinn?" Kurt asked.

All according to plan, Blaine had continued to court Quinn Fabray even after he'd pledged himself to Kurt — afternoon tea, dinners with her family, escorting her to events around town — and Kurt was fully aware it was the way it had to be. Even so, Blaine spent the rest of his time with Kurt. They went sailing again and bicycling; they read books together and went on long walks and shared their dreams and fears... and they kissed. Oh, how they kissed.

They spent untold hours wrapped in each other's arms, jumping at every loud noise as they hid in darkened rooms or stole away to secluded spots in the city. They visited the baths during the daytime and borrowed the Smethurst's tiny sailboat twice, all without rousing suspicion. So he had to keep up the charade.

"Most likely," Blaine said, feeling less than thrilled at the prospect. "You and your father should come."

"Don't you think your grandfather would mind?"

"Only if you show up at the church. But you can come to the party afterwards. He might rent out the ballroom in the Alcazar's casino. Can you imagine waltzing around that pool under the glow of all those lights?"

Kurt closed his eyes. "It would be heaven," he said, "if only I could dance with you."

Blaine understood Kurt's lament. He longed to tell the world how he felt about Kurt Hummel, and even more lovely, that Kurt felt the same. He tried to focus on that and leave the painful longing for another day. How they felt was all that mattered, and theirs was an all-consuming passion that left Blaine yearning to find a way to show Kurt just how much passion they could share. Unfortunately, finding time to truly be alone was rare, and he knew he wanted hours to spend worshipping Kurt's body.

"Don't be sad, my sweet," he said for himself almost as much as for Kurt. "We'll still get to talk, and afterward, my grandfather will be gone for nearly a month. We'll have the entire house to ourselves after Jenkins leaves each night."

Kurt's blush looked as if it extended all the way to his toes, leaving no doubt that Kurt understood the intent behind Blaine's words.

"You expect me to just come to your bed?" Kurt whispered, looking only a little scandalized. "I'm not a rent boy, you know."

Blaine set down his fork and looked Kurt squarely in the eye. He fought the temptation to take Kurt's hand, flexing his own against his thigh even as he watched Kurt's fingers curl around nothing before settling beside his plate and rapping out a haphazard rhythm on the table.

"Kurt, nothing will happen that you're not completely comfortable with. I promise."

Kurt stilled his movements, his index finger raised in the air midway through its most recent beat, and smiled sweetly.

"Thank you," he said and picked up his fork.

As they continued their meal in companionable silence, Blaine couldn't recall feeling this content in all of his 25 years, and he never wanted it to end.

"What time are you meeting with Mr. Flagler?"

Blaine pulled out his watch and opened it, glancing down at the crystal face.

"I have about twenty minutes," he said.

Kurt sighed. "It's never going to be enough, is it?"

Blaine knew what he meant. There weren't enough hours in the day to spend together, especially not with his ever-growing list of obligations. Even so, Blaine had hoped that when they returned to New York at the end of March that Kurt would want to continue their affair, but he'd been afraid to ask.

"I don't see how it could be," he said, growing wistful and almost daring to beg Kurt to be with him always. But he couldn't do it here, not now.

So it remained unspoken, as it had since their first profession in the baths, and they switched to discussion of Oscar Wilde's upcoming play in London and whether Walt Whitman's poetry was one giant reference to Greek love.

When they had finished their dessert and tea — served with the sweetest fresh oranges Blaine had ever tasted — Kurt sat back in his chair and took the cigarette Blaine offered.

He suddenly realized that Kurt was beginning to look more and more relaxed around the high society crowd, and it warmed Blaine's heart that he might have had something to do with that. Then again, Kurt was so determined to be a part of their world, he'd likely do so with or without their acceptance. Blaine wished he could eschew opinions as easily.

"I really should go," he said, stubbing out his cigarette and placing his napkin on the table.

"When will I see you next?" Kurt asked as he did the same.

Blaine didn't know. He had his appointment with the hotel's owner and then he'd promised his grandfather he'd be home for afternoon tea, and then there was dinner.

As Blaine made his way across the dining room toward the exit, he could hear Kurt's solid footfalls behind him. He wanted to turn around and look, but he didn't want to draw attention. When he stopped in the doorway to let a trio of women pass, he felt Kurt's body nearly pressed against his back.

"Meet me after dinner," Kurt said, his breath tickling the nape of Blaine's neck.

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments and let the sensation wash over him, savoring it as if it might never come again. When he opened his eyes, Kurt was three steps in front of him, but he replied anyway.

"Always."

Kurt didn't turn around or otherwise acknowledge that he had heard, but Blaine could tell simply by the set of his shoulders that he was smiling.

As luck would have it, he and Kurt found themselves alone in the Parlor that night after all the ladies had retired and the men were gathered in the smoking room.

Kurt was standing next to the fireplace, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the embers flicker and fade into charred ash. Blaine crossed to him and reached out to graze Kurt's left hand where it rested on his right arm. With a warm smile, Kurt turned to meet his gaze, leaning ever so slightly into the touch.

In light of that silent welcome, Blaine took the liberty of entwining his fingers with Kurt's. "Come sit with me," he invited, and Kurt complied without hesitation.

Blaine sat down on the piano bench, his fingers itching to tickle the keys and make them sing out a dozen melodies he'd felt bubbling under the surface since he'd met Kurt.

"Do you play?" Kurt asked as he seated himself next to Blaine.

"When the mood strikes."

Kurt's resolute gaze pierced through Blaine. "Play for me now," he commanded, soft and low, and Blaine could only obey.

He stretched his fingers and adjusted himself on the piano bench so his feet could reach the pedals. As he began to play, he could feel the melody burning through him like a fire and rolling off him like ocean waves. He was a man possessed, the haunting music echoing through the empty, cavernous room. The onyx clock over the fireplace chimed once to indicate the half hour, but Blaine kept playing, unable to stop the force from within him.

Kurt watched him intently as if he were trying to solve a puzzle in Blaine's eyes. As the tune came to a close, Blaine itched to kiss him, but he couldn't risk it in a public room. He settled for the next best thing.

"Sing with me," Blaine implored. His fingers played a few soft chords of a popular tune and Kurt smiled.

"Bright lights were flashing in the grand ballroom, softly the music playing sweet tunes. There came my sweetheart, my love, my own, 'I wish some water; leave me alone.' When I returned, dear, there stood a man, kissing my sweetheart as lovers can. Down fell the glass, pet, broken, that's all—Just as my heart was after the ball."

When the final notes trailed off, Blaine sat frozen, his hands hovering idly over the keys. He could not will his body to move. Kurt's voice had him feeling as if he were cast in iron and bolted to the floor beneath them. His vision blurred from tears that had begun to form; he was stunned, incredulous at the beauty what he had just heard.

"Blaine, are you alright?" Kurt asked, a comforting hand on Blaine's shoulder.

"Your voice is like a violin," Blaine said. "All taut and gorgeous and soaring over everything else like you can't be bothered to fit into the orchestra like an ordinary clarinet or horn."

Kurt lowered his head in shyness at Blaine's praise. "You flatter me needlessly," he teased. "I already know how you feel about me."

Blaine reached out and lifted Kurt's chin, turning his head to face him. "It's beautiful," he said. "If I could, I'd have you sing for me always." He leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss to the tip of Kurt's nose.

Kurt closed his eyes, and Blaine wished to carry the kiss further, but they were too exposed in the parlor, especially because the sound of the piano would have carried out into the hallway. Someone could come along any moment. They stayed as close as they dared for little more than a few seconds, willing the quiet moment to endure infinitely.

"I just adore that song," Kurt said as he opened his eyes to reveal a wistful expression. "My mother used to sing it to me."

"Oh darling," Blaine said, wishing he could hold Kurt in his arms and quash every last bit of sadness from his life.

"It's all right; I don't mind it," Kurt said. "It's a good memory."

Blaine smiled at his sincerity, glad they could talk about something so close to Kurt's heart. He laid his hand over Kurt's where it rested on the piano bench, stroking Kurt's fingers with his thumb. "Tell me more about her," he said, with a small squeeze of Kurt's hand.

"She would have liked you," Kurt said, glancing down at their joined hands. "She would have wanted to read your writing. My father would have told her to mind her own business and she would have said, 'Burt, let the boy make up his own mind.' "

Blaine laughed.

"How do you know she would have said that?"

"Because it's what she always said to him about me."

Kurt's eyes were deep pools of blue when he looked at Blaine. Everything Kurt felt was laid bare before him in that moment. It was pure, unadorned trust, which Blaine knew didn't come lightly or without a price. There was always a debt to be paid for letting someone so close to your heart, and he hoped there was never a need to collect because he knew it would break him. But in that moment at least, Kurt carried the light of summer in his eyes, and Blaine always wanted to be under its spell. He was convinced there was never a more beautiful sight than the man before him.

"I wish I could have met her," Blaine said sincerely.

"Me too."

Kurt was quiet after that, probably lost in memories of his mother. Blaine wanted to help him remember somehow, so he began to ask questions.

"What was her favorite book?"

"Alice in Wonderland," Kurt said without hesitation. "She read it to me at least once a year until she became ill. I haven't read it since."

"Why not?"

Kurt shrugged. "It didn't seem right without her," he said.

Kurt's lifted his free hand to the piano, his fingers dancing over the keys in a tuneless pattern. Blaine watched as his eyes filled with tears and he blinked them back.

"Personally, I always preferred Through the Looking Glass," he said after a moment, redirecting the conversation with the hope of keeping Kurt's melancholy at bay. "The chess theme made more sense to me."

Kurt reached up to brush away a single tear, a tiny laugh bubbling up in its wake. "It's not supposed to make sense," he chuckled. "And anyway, you understood that Jabberwocky poem?"

"What's to understand? It's utter nonsense," Blaine said with a grin. "That's what makes it so fun."

"You're impossible."

"And yet you continue to find yourself in my company. What does that say about you?"

Kurt tossed his head back and grinned. "It says I'm a lunatic who should be locked up for his own good."

"I like this idea," Blaine said. "I'll lock you up and throw away the key, and then I can have you all to myself until the end of time."

"What shall I do to keep busy?"

"I have ideas," Blaine said with a leer that made Kurt blush. "And I've always wanted a personal tailor."

"Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh no, Kurt," Blaine said earnestly. "You're a great deal more. You're... well..."

"What?" Kurt asked expectantly.

"Everything."

Kurt gaped at him then, looking unsure of what to say. His face was a bemused combination of joy and adoration. It suited him.

"Why must there be public places?" Kurt said, his voice a deep whisper. "I really want to kiss you right now."

Blaine nearly groaned with the effort it took not to fulfill Kurt's wish — one that so desperately matched his own.

"Oh, how I know that desire," he said. "Believe me, I do, but we must be careful. Should we get caught–"

"I know," Kurt said, not allowing him to finish his thought.

"In the meantime," Blaine said, smiling through his pained thoughts, "will you sing me another song?"

His fingers glided over the piano keys, and Kurt smiled as he recognized the melody. Blaine nudged his knee against Kurt's and allowed himself to get lost in his lover's voice as it enveloped him in its warmth, making him feel safe and cherished.

The following week, Blaine's grandfather became an absolute tyrant as his wedding rapidly approached. He seemed quicker to anger and directed all of his ire at Blaine, criticizing everything from his manner of dress to his choice of whiskey over brandy after dinner.

But the impending wedding meant Dr. Anderson would be gone for nearly a month, giving Blaine free rein over Markland and more time to spend with Kurt. So he endured the repeated assaults on his character, if only to get through to the wedding and blissful weeks alone with Kurt.

"What are your intentions with Lucy?" he asked Blaine one morning at breakfast.

"I intend to keep courting her," Blaine replied obstinately, now angry at his grandfather for the simple act of reminding him that he would have to continue that ridiculous charade for the duration of his stay. He'd rather spend his time with Kurt.

"Good. You need to make time for her while I'm gone," he said, sipping his coffee and returning to his morning paper. "And marriage?"

"It's a possibility," Blaine muttered.

"You need to quit dilly dallying," he said, without looking up. "Or someone else will get to it before you do."

"You say that like I'm bidding on a tract of land. She's a person, grandfather."

"Yes, and an attractive, single woman," Dr. Anderson said, flinging his paper down next to his plate. "Do you think she doesn't have other prospects? Russell told me there's a young man in the city who has asked for her hand, but she's waiting on you before she responds."

"I have no claim on her," Blaine muttered into his coffee.

"And whose fault is that?"

"I'm just not sure I want to be married."

Blaine's grandfather slammed his fist down on the mahogany dining table, rattling the dishes and causing the cream to slosh from its container onto the lace doily lining the teatray.

"You don't get a choice!" he boomed. "It's either Lucy Fabray or someone else, but you will be married before this year is out."

"So I've been told," Blaine said. "You and mother remind me every chance you get. I'm well aware of my responsibilities."

"Then act like it, and quit running around with that Hummel boy."

"Kurt is my friend."

"He's a dandy and a goddamned embarrassment to his father."

"He's engaged to be married."

"And yet you can't seem to manage it," his grandfather sneered. His mustache twitched with a chuckle.

"I fail to see what's so humorous."

"A prissy fairy like that, and you are the bachelor of the two."

"You don't know anything about Kurt."

"I know everything I need to."

Blaine couldn't bear the bickering anymore or the insults levied at his lover. He pushed his chair from the table. "I think I'll excuse myself before one of us says something he regrets."

"I meant every word," his grandfather replied.

"I was referring to myself," Blaine retorted. "I'll see you this evening for dinner."

He threw his napkin down on the table and walked out the front door of the house, not even pausing it to close it behind him. He didn't know where he was even headed until he ended up on the grounds of the Ponce, pacing angrily between the orange trees. It seemed colder than it had the previous two weeks, and he wondered if this was the true Florida "winter" the locals had talked about. It was still infinitely better than the winds that whipped through the streets of New York.

His strides got wider and his path longer as he paced, eventually leading him to the northern edge of the groves near the artists' studios. The sight of the building reminded him that Kurt was taking lessons in Felix de Crano's studio, and he set off for the painter's tiny alcove in the row of studios along Valencia Street.

Blaine rapped sharply on the door to studio number one. A voice from inside called out, "enter." Blaine stepped into the room to find it brightly lit, despite its lack of windows, and a glance upward revealed that the source of light was a multi-paned skylight in the ceiling, letting in washes of light from the crisp, January morning.

The smell of the paints and chemicals burned his nose a little, a smell he hadn't noticed before when he had remained just outside the doorway to eavesdrop on Kurt. He wondered how the artists could stand to breathe in the fumes all day. Then again, very few of them seemed to have their wits about themselves all the time. Perhaps it had all gone to their heads.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked de Crano, his voice emerging as if from nowhere.

"Good morning, Mr. de Crano," Blaine said, bowing his head to the other gentleman. "My name is Blaine Anderson. I am looking for my friend Kurt Hummel. Have you seen him?"

The artist wiped his brush on a rag draped over his shoulder and turned to face his canvas. "Not today," he said, "but he usually stops by after lunch. Shall I tell him you dropped in?"

"No, that won't be necessary. I will try to catch up with him later. Thank you."

"I thought that might be your response," he said, dipping a brush in a jar full of what looked like murky, green water. "But I will tell him you were here all the same."

Blaine stared at the old man incredulously. "That's really not necessary," he said.

"Necessity is a funny thing," de Crano said. "What one man needs another sees as window dressing and disregards it, but it is nonetheless important to that first man."

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

The painter set his brush down and crossed to where Blaine was standing.

"You think it unnecessary to tell Kurt you were here. I think it quite important for him to know his dear friend was trying to locate him in his hour of need."

"I don't need anything from Kurt."

The old man studied Blaine's face for a moment, even reaching up to grip his chin and tilt it left and then right. When he looked satisfied, he spoke again. "I can see you think that is true, but soon you will understand."

"Mr. de Crano, do you always speak in riddles?"

"Only for those who are too scared to see the truth."

"And you think I am scared?" Blaine asked, scoffing at the notion.

"No," he said, and Blaine sighed in short-lived relief. "I think you are terrified. So much so that you don't even know how scared you are. But don't you worry. Kurt? He's scared too."

Blaine couldn't believe this man, the audacity of him to presume that he knew anything about Blaine or, even more infuriating, his relationship with Kurt. But his curiosity got the better of him.

"Of what?"

De Crano resumed painting. "Of what, what?"

"What is Kurt so scared of?"

"Same as you."

Blaine huffed. What could this ridiculous artist know about Blaine's life? They'd only just met.

"You're a crazy old man."

"I'm just telling you what I see," he said with a shrug. "The sun itself sees not until heaven clears."

"And now you're quoting Shakespeare. Is that supposed to convince me of your sanity?"

"You will think what you want. Doesn't change the truth."

Blaine sighed heavily, knowing he wasn't going to get anywhere with the painter. "Good day to you, Mr. de Crano."

"It will be," he replied.

Blaine was still unsure of what the old man meant by his words. He stood there staring after him, willing the other man to acknowledge him once more, but de Crano had returned to his canvas, disregarding Blaine's presence as if they had never spoken. Blaine shook his head and exited the studio, confounded by the entire exchange.

The morning sunlight warmed his face, even though the air held a sharp chill. Blaine still couldn't believe the difference in the climate from what he was used to in New York. It should have cheered him to be in the sunshine, but instead he felt the cheery day mocking him. The very world he knew was forcing him into a cocoon of lies, and he was struggling to get out. Meanwhile, the sun shone on and the earth continued to spin.

Blaine headed east without care for where he was going, but soon realized he was still seeking Kurt out and smiled to himself. Kurt would be on his side about the argument he had with his grandfather. Blaine turned south on Cordova Street and followed the expanse of the Ponce for the length of the block. He noticed a familiar figure seated beneath a small oak tree on the plaza and crossed the street to find his "dear friend" reading yet again. Simply seeing him again made Blaine's heart swell with affection and it lightened his mood ever so slightly.

"Greetings, White Rabbit," Blaine said as he approached.

Kurt looked up at him quizzically. "How did you know I was reading Alice in Wonderland?" Kurt asked, placing his finger between the book's pages and resting it in his lap.

"I didn't," Blaine replied. "Lucky coincidence."

He crossed his legs and seated himself beside Kurt. The ground was cooler than the air and he shivered as the chill reached his skin through his thin trousers.

"Our conversation made me think of how much I loved it," Kurt said without prompting. "I thought maybe it was time to give it a try again. Maybe this time it wouldn't make me sad."

"And are you?" Blaine asked, tilting his head to catch Kurt's gaze. He wanted to trace his fingers over Kurt's face, over the fine bones and clear skin, but refrained. "Sad, I mean."

Kurt looked thoughtful for a moment. "No," he said finally. "A bit nostalgic, I suppose. But it's a good memory now." He smiled softly and bumped Blaine's knee with his own.

"What changed?" Blaine asked, his anger still simmering below the surface, even as he smiled at Kurt.

"You."

"Me?"

"You made it a good memory."

Blaine smiled at him, but he was ill at ease from his earlier argument with his grandfather. How could anyone think Kurt was someone to be looked down upon? It made him so angry; he wanted to beg Kurt to run away with him.

"Is something wrong?" Kurt asked, closing his book and turning his full attention to Blaine.

Trying to buy time to think, Blaine picked at the dry grass that intercut the dusty ground they were sitting on. Its blades were thick and stiff, and it grew in heavy patches, choking out the gray-brown sand like it was trying to be noticed while still blending in. It reminded Blaine of why he was so angry. He yanked a thick chunk of the grass out of the ground with a sharp jerk and tossed it, but it only went a few paltry feet and was mostly swept away in the morning breeze. It was nowhere near as satisfying as he had hoped.

"I have to get married," he said as he dusted his hand off on his leg.

Kurt huffed out a laugh that only served to irritate Blaine more. "So do I," Kurt said. "Remember?"

"That's different," Blaine replied. "I'm being forced into something I don't want."

"I'm marrying Rachel," Kurt said. "Do you think she's my first choice?"

"At least you got to choose!"

For a long moment, Kurt was silent. "Why are you getting cross with me?" he finally asked, and Blaine felt a small pang of guilt at the thread of hurt so clearly audible in that beloved voice.

"I'm not," he said, picking at the grass again. His shoulders hunched as he curled in on himself, gentlemanly posture be damned.

"Then what is the problem?" Kurt ran a comforting hand discreetly along Blaine's thigh, using the book to mask his movements. "You've known all along you have to marry. What changed?"

"Everything," Blaine answered, tearing more savagely at the grass. "My grandfather is my problem. This entire place is my problem. Always being judged or held back because of who I am. It isn't fair."

"I don't understand."

Blaine stood up, shoving Kurt's hand roughly away.

"No, you wouldn't, would you?"

Kurt looked up at him, hurt, but this time Blaine's resentment shoved aside the pang of guilt he felt.

"Blaine-"

"You're so naïve, Kurt. You don't know what it's like for me."

"I'm trying to," Kurt replied tightly, rising to his own feet. "But you're shutting me out. Just like everyone else."

"When have I ever treated you like you they do?"

"You're doing it now," Kurt said, fuming. "You think because I don't have money or status that I don't understand what you're going through? I do. I know better than anyone. Of course, I don't want to marry Rachel. Not now. Not after-"

"You think I have it any better?" Blaine snapped.

"I think you have it easier, yes," Kurt bit out.

"Yes, it's so easy not being able to be myself because of who my parents are and where I was born. You have no idea the freedom you have!"

"Freedom? For what? To choose between a handful of professions that will help me survive when I'd rather be designing gowns for people like your mother?"

"You could be a tailor," Blaine insisted.

"But that's still only on the periphery of my dream," Kurt said.

"It's a place to start," Blaine said. "I know one day you'll do better for yourself."

"Well, I think you were born better, and that's just not fair." Kurt was quiet then, his heavy breathing the only sound Blaine could hear for the moment.

"So where does that leave us?" Blaine asked when the silence became too much to endure.

Kurt's gaze fell over Blaine's shoulder to the looming presence of the Ponce in the distance. "Right here, trapped in our separate cages, at war with each other, I suppose," he said.

Blaine sighed and dropped down where Kurt had been sitting in the grass when he first found him. "Kurt, I can't deal with this right now. Not with my grandfather condemning my every action. I need you on my side."

"I am on your side," Kurt said, sitting down beside him and reaching out a hand to rest it on Blaine's forearm. "Always."

"I'm just so tired," Blaine said, dropping his head in his hands and resting his elbows on his knees.

"I know," Kurt said, resignation weighing down his voice. "But I'm going to marry Rachel, and you're going to have to marry someone too. That's just the way the world is."

"Don't you ever want to change it?"

"Every day." Kurt ducked down to catch Blaine's eye. "But today, it doesn't seem so bad. Want to know why?"

Blaine didn't understand what could possibly be good about this day. "Enlighten me," he said.

"You're here," Kurt said, "and right now, that's all I want to think about. Not Rachel, not Quinn, and certainly not your arrogant snob of a grandfather."

Kurt stood up and dusted off his trousers, standing with his hands on his hips and smiling down at Blaine.

"Would you care to join me for a concert this evening?" he asked.

The concert hall in the Alcazar's Casino was absolutely packed. Chairs were set out in every corner of the room, and there were several men standing in the back. Kurt craned his neck and could see that he recognized most of the crowd from the Ponce, and the few he wasn't familiar with, he suspected were staying at other hotels. He doubted any were locals by their dress and lack of drawling southern speech.

The singer scheduled to appear was Ellen Beach Yaw, a renowned soprano with a four-octave range, whom Rachel adored, but also said she could out sing any day. Kurt had yet to see Miss Yaw perform in person, and had been on tenterhooks about it since Rachel had written him about her appearance in St. Augustine. Of course, she would know about it before Kurt. Rachel's propensity for staying abreast of all the goings on of the stage was one of Kurt's favorite things about her. In fact, their mutual love of theatre was one of the first things he and Rachel had bonded over.

"Can you believe this crowd?" Kurt said, not even needing to lean in to speak to Blaine. They were already sitting so close together, their bodies were touching from shoulder to hip. Ordinarily, such tight quarters would have Kurt fidgeting like a small child, but he found he didn't mind so much with Blaine as his companion for the evening.

"She's quite famous," Blaine said.

"Indeed," Kurt replied. "I heard her trills are the highlight of her performances. Well, that and her high notes."

"I can't wait," Blaine said. "I missed her last performance in New York thanks to family obligations." His voice sounded pinched on the last few words. The encounter with his grandfather must still be sore spot, Kurt decided. He was about to say something else to change the subject when a dark-haired man took the stage and gestured for the crowd to quiet down.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he boomed. "On this very night; on this very stage, we have a soloist so unique, she's been called the California Nightingale. A talent so pure, Kings and Queens have asked for her by name. Ladies and gentlemen, prepare to be astounded as you never have before by the Lark herself, Miss Ellen Beach Yaw."

A hearty round of applause erupted around them, sending chills down Kurt's spine. The anticipation in the room was thick and he could feel Blaine's eyes on him. Kurt glanced sideways at him and could see a flirtatious grin on his face.

"Stop that," Kurt said as quietly as he could and still be heard over the applause. "People can see you."

"I can't help it," Blaine said. "I love seeing you smile like that. You have no idea how your face lights up."

With the slightest of droll winks, Blaine returned his gaze to the stage, leaving Kurt bewildered for the moment. He still couldn't believe how Blaine liked to compliment him, nor could he believe it to be true. He'd always felt awkward and feminine compared to other boys — it seemed the height of unreality to think that anyone would find him attractive. Kurt knew, of course, that he wasn't ugly and he was far from plain, but the idea that someone as handsome and well-mannered as Blaine might find him attractive... well that was quite enough to come to terms with.

Kurt realized he was staring, though, and forced himself to look away. Thankfully the singer was now standing center stage — a small woman with long, wavy brown hair in which she wore a crown of flowers and beads. She looked quite nondescript apart from that adornment and her impeccable posture. But then she turned, the electric lights glinting off the fine silk of her dress, and she gestured for the man at the piano to begin playing.

When she opened her mouth to sing, she held Kurt captive with her voice.

He had never heard anything so divine in all his life. Even Rachel's powerful soprano paled in comparison to this young woman's gift. Her trills were divine, yes, but Kurt nearly gasped aloud when she hit a high note so pure, it made gooseflesh form on his arms.

When the show finally ended, Kurt felt glued to his seat, rapt and unable to breathe, let alone move. Blaine nudged him gently with his shoulder or he might have stayed that way until morning.

"Are you alive over there?"

Kurt shook his head to clear it, feeling as though the last notes of the singer's performance were still rattling about in his head. He could sense the people around them leaving their chairs and he could hear the murmur of voices, but he still didn't move. "She was simply outstanding," Kurt said. "Rachel would have fainted."

"She was alright," Blaine said with a shrug.

Kurt swiveled his head and gaped at him. "How can you be so calm about it?" Kurt asked, shocked at Blaine's lack of enthusiasm. "She was magnificent!"

Blaine pulled out his cigarette case and opened it, taking one for himself before offering it to Kurt. Kurt shook his head, still incredulous at Blaine's indifference and find himself unable to focus.

"I've heard better," Blaine said at last, placing his cigarette in his mouth and striking a match. He cupped his hand around the flame and inhaled deeply.

Kurt scoffed at the notion. "Who?"

Blaine paused, pulling the cigarette from his lips and exhaling a long puff of smoke that he directed away from Kurt's face.

"You," he said.

Kurt couldn't be sure, but he would have sworn he saw Blaine's eyes actually twinkle as he spoke, the deep golden hue of his irises teasing Kurt and taking his breath away.

"Oh stop," Kurt said. "I'm good, but she..."

"She's very good," Blaine said. "But I'd still rather hear you sing."

Kurt gasped. After a moment, he collected himself, though, and

"You're incorrigible."

A warm smile lit up Blaine's face and he shrugged. "I'm honest. There's something true about your voice, a quality she could only hope to mimic and never will."

"But..."

"You need to learn to take a compliment, Kurt," Blaine said as he rose to standing.

Kurt looked up at him for a moment, eyes wide, unsure of what to say or do. To be compared to a talent such as Lark Ellen —even Rachel couldn't compare—it took his breath away. Blaine took his breath away.

They walked back to the Ponce slowly, the cool January evening brisk but not too sharp. Blaine seemed content but still a little distant.

"What are you thinking?" Kurt asked.

Their steps echoed on the brick as Blaine seemed to mull the simple question in his mind. Then he smiled. "I was wondering if I could stop time, keep the world at bay a little while longer while I get lost in this dark night with you."

"Always the poet," Kurt teased.

"I mean it," Blaine said. "I don't want my life to move forward. I'm happy now."

But Kurt knew they couldn't really afford to allow themselves to think in such fancies. "Who's to say you won't be happy later too?"

"Who's to say I will?"

Kurt chanced a sidelong glance and took in the set of Blaine's jaw. "You can't live your life like that."

"But see, there's the rub," Blaine said, stopping alongside a gas lamp that cast deep shadows across them both. "I'm not living my life. My parents are, dictating how I should be."

"So don't let them."

"Kurt, you don't understand."

"I do," he said. "Better than you know." He paused, tilted his head back and inhaling deeply. Everything was so complicated. And unfair. Still, if they went on talking like this... "But we're talking in circles, and I really don't want to ruin this evening by arguing."

"As you wish," Blaine said. His smile looked forced, but at least he was smiling.

The urge to link arms with Blaine, like he had so many times with Rachel, was overwhelming. It made his heart ache to think he'd never have that with Blaine, the simple gesture of declaring to the world that they belonged to each other. And worse still, they'd have to spend their lives declaring that they both belonged to another. The thought alone was enough to send Kurt wallowing in his own despair, but instead he shoved it to a corner of his mind and looked over at the wonderful man beside him. He would enjoy the time he had with Blaine and try to forget the rest. He needn't worry about things he could not control and the future was uncertain anyway.

All that mattered for now was that they were here and they were together in the moment. The rest would sort itself out in due course.