Im tired. Way too tired to wake up yet; my limbs feel like theyve melted into the soft surface of the mattress. But I can hear someone breathing noisily next to the bed, and when I crack an eyelid blearily, I see a pair of big blue eyes peering back at me.

"Who are you?" he asks. "Why are you sleeping on the sofa bed?"

I sit up reluctantly, stretching my back and yawning. "My names Blaine. You must be Will."

His eyes open even wider. "Howd you know my name?"

"Im a friend of your dads."

Theres a faint creak from the hallway as soft footsteps draw nearer to the guest room. Its a struggle not to panic. Marco Castellano and I may have made a deal, but decade-old terrors dont just go away in a day. The door cracks open slowly, and I let out a sigh of relief as Scott sticks his head in. "Oh, youve got to be kidding," he groans when he catches sight of Will.

"Dad, theres a guy in here!" Will tells him unnecessarily. "He says hes your friend!"

"This is Blaine; he is my friend." Scott pauses. "Sort of. Anyway, I told you not to go in the spare room, buddy."

"You didnt say why. I thought maybe you had a surprise for me."

I rub my palm against the back of my neck, stifling another yawn. "Its okay. I should get up anyway. What time is it?"

"Just after four. You were only asleep for a couple of hours. Sorry Will woke you—he just got home from school."

"Sfine." I get up and stretch again, my muscles feeling tight and sore. "So whats the plan now?"

"Now we stay here for a few days, lay low," he says. Theres a somber expression on his face, but when I look at him questioningly, he shakes his head and flickers his eyes over to Will. "What would you like for dinner tonight, Blaine?"

"Im fine with anything."

"We could have pizza, or Chinese, or tacos, or—"

"Ooh, say tacos, Blaine," Will implores, and I smile.

"Tacos would be great."

Scott nods and disappears, while Will studies me curiously. "So how do you know my dad?"

"Oh, thats kind of a boring story. Hey, do you have a Playstation or something?"

"Nah, Dad doesnt let me play video games. He says theyre too violent. We have a ton of board games, though. Want to play one?"

"Sure, sounds like fun." Will bounds off, and I get up to follow.

Scott and his family live in a nice little house in a suburb of Denver. Its homey, with careworn furniture and walls covered with Wills artwork and framed school photos. We head into the living room, where Will opens a cabinet and starts calling out the names of the board games they have inside. "Okay, theres Apples to Apples, and Monopoly, and Clue, and Cranium, and checkers, and Bananagrams, and Scrabble, and—"

Its weird, being here. Scott has always been this mysterious, aloof, somewhat obnoxious presence in my life. Its surreal to see him in his home, out of his suit and tie, with his son, pushing a Swiffer down the hallway to pick up cat hair.

Hes a person, and I think Ive forgotten that sometimes.

"Blaine?"

I blink, looking down at Will. "Sorry, what?"

"Which one did you want to play?"

"Oh, uh... how about Clue?"

He swivels his head to look over at Scott. "Dad, were gonna play Clue. You want to play too?"

Scott shifts uncomfortably. "Clue?"

"Yeah, its that game where you have to figure out who murdered the dead guy and you gather evidence and then you have to decide who did it, and whether they strangled him or shot him or—"

"Scrabble," I interrupt quickly. "I meant Scrabble. Lets play that."

Scotts wife Hannah arrives home from work around six. Her eyes light up when she sees that Scott is here, and they kiss in the foyer for a bit while Will and I clean up the board game tiles. Eventually she wanders in and ruffles Wills hair affectionately before turning to me. "You must be Perf—"

"Im Blaine," I interrupt, smiling apologetically as I reach out my hand. "Its a pleasure to finally meet you."

She shakes my hand, studying me. "Youre not what I expected."

Im not sure how to interpret that, so I just nod awkwardly and finish picking up the little tiles.

Dinner is a lively affair. They have a tradition, Scott explains, called Highs and Lows. Each person at the table takes turns talking about the best and worst thing that happened to them that day. Will goes first, telling us in great detail how his friend Matt accidentally spilled spaghetti in the lunchroom and Will slid on it, bumping into Mackenzie, who fell into Phoebe, who went flying into Mrs. Winters, who ended up on the floor with a big rip in the seat of her pants. Were all howling with laughter, despite the look of horror on Wills face.

"She was wearing purple underwear," he says, shaking his head. "Purple. It was awful."

"Im sure everyone will have forgotten by this time next week," Hannah assures him. "So if that was your Low, what was your High for the day?"

"I came home from school and Dad was here," he says, beaming. "Best day ever."

After dinner comes a Pixar movie and steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Will lies down on the couch with his head on Scotts lap, and has nearly fallen asleep by the time nine oclock rolls around. He still protests going to bed, though, until Scott agrees to read him some chapters from one of his Harry Potter books. They shuffle off down the hall side by side, Will scratching absently at his blond hair, and Im reminded suddenly of my old friend Jeff. A lump is rising in my throat, and I excuse myself politely, telling Hannah Im tired.

Once Im in bed, though, under the sheets with nothing but my thoughts surrounding me, I start to think about all the people Ive lost during my years on the run. My dad, my mom. All of my friends in the Warblers. The New Directions kids whod welcomed me as one of their own. Rachel, and Eddie, and all the guys at Dooleys. Burt and Carole in their safehouse, and Finn in Lima, and Kurt—

I squeeze my eyes shut hard, willing the tears away. I cant lose him too. I wont. Ill grovel and apologize until he forgives me for leaving him behind. Ill spend the rest of my life making it up to him.

Once the deal with Castellano has been settled, Kurt and I will get another little apartment together, I decide. Well move to some city where two men living together will blend into the scenery. And we can just live. We might even decide to start a family of our own; I know Kurt would make an amazing father.

I lie in the dark, listening as Scott reads to Will on the other side of the wall. Hes a good storyteller, and as he recounts the story of a brave little boy fighting against evil, I finally succumb to sleep.

Its early. Way too early to wake up yet. But I can hear someone breathing softly next to the bed, and when I crack an eyelid blearily, I see a pair of big blue eyes peering back at me.

"Hi," he whispers, and I launch myself at him. "Easy there," Kurt chuckles breathlessly. "Im still mad at you, remember?"

I just squeeze him tighter. Hes here. Solid, and real, and here, and instantly Scotts house feels like home. "Are you really here?"

"Yeah, honey, Im really here."

The tension of the past week finally starts to ease from my muscles. I breathe in his scent slowly, burrowing my face against his neck. "Im so sorry I left you behind. It was wrong of me, and I promise Ill never do it again."

"Really," he says drily. "Youll never leave me in a safehouse while you drive across the country to a maximum security prison to negotiate with a convicted criminal mastermind? Am I supposed to be impressed by that?"

I cant help the broad smile spreading across my face. "I love you."

"Youre not getting off that easy."

"I do, though," I murmur. "I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone."

Kurt hums a little. "Blaine—"

"It never matters how low my Low is, because youre always my High. Every day."

"What are you talking about?"

I pull back to gaze at him earnestly. "Its okay if youre mad at me, as long as youre mine. Are you still mine?"

He sighs, running a palm up my back, making me shiver. "Im always yours."

We fall asleep together, lying on top of the covers fully clothed. I know Im probably clutching him too tightly, but he doesnt complain. Its late morning when I hear a knock at the bedroom door.

"Boys? You decent?"

"Yeah, come on in," I call, and smile tiredly as Scott enters. "You didnt tell me Kurt was coming."

"It wasnt a definite until late last night. I didnt want to get your hopes up." Hes wearing the same somber expression I glimpsed yesterday. "Listen, Blaine, theres something I need to show you. Can you come with me?"

"Sure." Kurt is still sleeping, so I extricate myself from his arms carefully before following Scott out into the hall. He leads me to the living room, where a large manila folder is sitting on the coffee table. "What is that?" I ask.

He gestures to the couch. "I think youll want to be sitting down for this."

We sit side by side, and he gingerly picks up the folder. He starts to hand it to me before taking it back. "Look... I need you to understand that what youre about to see isnt your fault."

"Okay."

"I know you. I know youll want to blame yourself." He shakes his head. "You cant, though. Or itll eat you alive. Trust me on this."

Oh god. Someones dead. Someones dead because of me. I made a deal with the devil and thought Id walk away unscathed. My breathing starts to come faster, shallower. Who did they get to? Was it my parents? Kurts parents? Finn? Eddie? "Just show me," I say weakly, and he finally gives me the folder.

I pull it open quickly, revealing a faxed page with two grainy photographs.

"Its not your fault," Scott says again, and I draw a shaky breath.

"Jesus."

There are two dead bodies in the photos. Both have their hands and feet bound, and both have had their throats slit and their eyes gouged out. The younger man is overweight, with curly dark hair and tanned skin. The older man has thinning gray hair with a big bald spot in the back.

Its not hard to recognize them. They look like the original age-progression hit orders on me and my dad, come to life.

"Who are they?" I ask hoarsely.

"We dont know." Scott leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We cant tell their location based on the background in the photos, and wherever the mafia dumped the bodies afterwards, theyre well hidden. My team went through the missing persons database, and no one matching either description has been reported missing."

I can feel bile rising in my throat as I stare at the younger man, his bloody eye sockets and slit throat conveying the message perfectly: You saw nothing, and youll say nothing. "How could they find people who looked like us so quickly?"

"Dont forget there was a million-dollar hit order out on you," he reminds me. "They must have had calls coming in all the time about people who matched your description. Castellano probably just had to open up a file and point." He slides the fax back into the folder before looking at me intently. "Youre not responsible for this, Blaine."

"No," I shoot back sarcastically. "No, Im sure the West Coast Mafia totally would have murdered these guys whether or not Id just made a deal with Marco Castellano to call off the hit."

"Hes insane. You couldnt have predicted hed do something like this."

"I should have—"

"Blaine." He leans toward me, his eyes pleading. "Believe me. Its not your fault."

All of a sudden, I get whats really happening here. Its a little overwhelming, realizing the power that Scott is inadvertently giving me, but I owe him this much. "Youre right," I tell him. "Castellano doesnt use logic, and he has no regard for human life. Its not my fault if he decides its in his best interest to kill two innocent strangers. Or my family. Or even a little boy."

He looks away, swallowing thickly. "This isnt about that."

"Scott, it wasnt your fault when his men killed Billy Rice. You were the only Marshal with the Rices that day, and your first duty was to protect his father — the witness." I can see his gaze sweeping across the row of Wills school pictures on the wall. "You didnt think theyd murder a kid, and I didnt think theyd murder perfect strangers. Its not either of our faults."

He raises a shaky hand to his face, swiping at his eyes. "Hannah wants me to go talk to someone," he admits. "She says its not good for Will to be around me when Im like this."

"Do they have counselors at work? Someone you can be really candid with?"

He nods. "Yeah."

"And?"

"I dont know. Ill think about it."

"It might help."

"Maybe after we settle you and Kurt into your new home."

"And where will that be?" comes a voice from the doorway. We both look up to see Kurt standing there, watching us. I extend an arm, and he comes over to sit beside me, nestling against me as my arm winds around him.

"Wherever you want to go," Scott says. "Continental United States has the least red tape, but I can pull some strings if you want to go overseas."

Kurt looks at me speculatively, and I shrug. "Anywhere is fine with me. Its your call."

"Are we allowed to see our family again?" Kurt asks. "Our friends?"

"Yup. Now that the hit order has been filled, youll be free to go anywhere and see anyone. Youll need to keep a low profile, of course, and come up with a cover story to explain where youve been."

"How soon?"

"How soon... what?"

"How soon can we see our family?" Kurt presses. "Its Thanksgiving in two days."

Scott smiles at him. "Im sure I can arrange something."

Life always seems to move too fast after youve spent time living in a safehouse. Even it was just for a few weeks, you get used to the darkened rooms, the quiet days, the interminable solitude. Ive moved in and out of safehouses so often, the transition doesnt bother me much anymore.

Kurt is not so lucky.

Hes clearly overwhelmed by the noise level as we enter his parents house on Thanksgiving. There are whoops and shrieks of excitement before were both caught up in one of Burts bone-crushing hugs. Then Finn and Carole reach us, and Rachel and Mercedes and Eddie, and there are tears and more hugs, and too many people talking at once, and Kurt looks sick to his stomach.

It only gets worse once my parents arrive. Theyre crying, and Im crying, and then Carole and Burt start in too, and before I know it, Kurt has disappeared completely.

I look around for him, and Mercedes leans over to murmur, "I saw him go upstairs a couple of minutes ago."

"Thanks."

I climb halfway up the stairs before peeking back down into the living room. My dad and Burt are deep in conversation, and Rachel is talking animatedly to my mom and Mercedes, and Eddie and Finn are laughing at something Carole just said.

I think my heart may burst.

Kurt is lying on the bed in his old room. He looks up a little guiltily when I come in, but I just smile at him fondly, curling up beside him.

"Its a weird adjustment," I say, and he huffs out a breath of disbelief.

"Everythings so normal."

"Isnt that a good thing?"

He lays his cheek against my shoulder. "I guess I didnt think wed ever have normal again."

"I know the feeling."

"Do we have to go back down there?" he asks. "Its so loud. Everyone keeps asking where were going to end up living, and what were going to do for jobs, and what names were going to choose, and whether were going to adopt a bunch of kids... All I want to do right now is lie here with you. Thats all."

"Then lets lie here. Theyll understand."

And miraculously, they do. Carole sticks his head in at one point to check that were all right, but other than that, our families go about the Thanksgiving festivities without us. We finally venture downstairs in time for pie and ice cream. My parents keep calling me Perfecto, and Finn and Eddie keep calling me Andrew, and Rachel announces that she has the perfect song picked out for the occasion as she sets up her portable amp.

Later, after the house has fallen quiet and dark, we spoon under the covers in Kurts bed together, giggling as we trade memories of past nights spent in here. Kurt falls asleep before I do. Still, I wake before him, and take the opportunity to watch him sleep for a while. Im warm with contentment.

He finally wakes up around seven, smiling drowsily at me. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Thought you werent a morning person."

"Yeah, well. Its a new day."

The End