Kurt kept his word.

He didnt tell anyone about Blaine (Perfecto, he kept reminding himself) or his familys secret. He lied to his father, to Carole, to Mercedes. To any and all who asked him where Blaine had gone, he feigned complete ignorance.

That his father eventually did figure out the truth, well, it wasnt Kurts fault.

Right around the time when the Andersons disappeared, Kurt had developed a sudden and inexplicable fascination with crime news channels. It seemed as though every time Burt came into the room, his son was fixated on the trial of the West Coast Mafia boss, Marco Castellano. Curious, Burt read up on the trial himself. Once he read the age of the young witness, he knew.

From then on, they watched the trial coverage together, every night after dinner. Sometimes, Kurt would take his fathers hand and grip it tightly, grateful for the answering squeeze hed receive. They never, ever talked about it.

Life went on, of course. There was school, and glee club, and so many things that had once seemed so important. Kurt had become impervious to bullying; no matter how many times he was shoved into lockers, he just kept walking, seeming not to notice. After a few months, the bullies gave up on him altogether.

His grades began to slip. He didnt audition for solos anymore, and he started coming to school dressed in jeans and old tee shirts. His dad and Carole tried talking to him about it. Mercedes, Rachel, and Miss Pillsbury staged an intervention.

"Its not that I dont care about anything anymore," he told them.

In actuality, thats exactly what it was.

In the end, everything was turned around by four simple words. Kurt and his dad were watching CNNs nightly coverage of the trial. A reporter was discussing expert witness testimony, when Kurt said, "I think Im going to quit glee club. I dont really like it anymore."

He waited.

Burt watched him, and Kurt watched the screen. His vision was growing blurry with the effort of not looking at his father, and after several minutes, he gave up, turning to face Burt. And Burt offered him just one question:

"What would Blaine say?"

It was the ultimate mystery, and yet not.

What would Blaine say about Kurt quitting the glee club? What would Blaine say if he found out that Kurt was failing out of Home Ec, a class he was more than qualified to teach himself? What would Blaine say about the fact that hed given up his own life for the sake of justice, while Kurt had given up his own life out of self-pity?

That night was a turning point. The next morning, Kurt sashayed into school wearing red skinny jeans, a transparent shirt, a fitted sequined vest, and a fedora.

Mercedes started to cry when she caught sight of him. The two of them caused quite a scene as she clutched him and sobbed, but he just smiled benignly and told passers-by that good fashion can really be quite moving.

The time came to pick a college. Hed been waitlisted at Parsons – Miss Pillsbury privately suspected that his senior slump was to blame – but was accepted to NYU. He filled out the NYU paperwork and stared at it.

Theyd had a plan.

It felt like treachery, going to New York City without Blaine. Rachel was going, of course, and it did feel vaguely reassuring that, however irritating she might be, he would have a friend in the city. But he thought of their plan – with the burgundy-and-white striped apartment, and the cozy coffee shops, and the drunken karaoke nights – and it was all supposed to be them. Together.

He blinked at the paperwork, and asked himself, What would Blaine say?

He sealed the paperwork in an envelope and mailed it. If Blaine couldnt live out their dream, well, Kurt would live it for both of them.

Kurt moved into the dorms, where he met his roommate, a quiet boy named Eddie who by some stroke of luck could fit all of his clothes into the small set of standard-issue drawers. He offered Kurt the use of his armoire, and in doing so made a friend for life.

They bickered sometimes – like when Eddies late-night gaming interrupted Kurts beauty sleep, or when Kurts incessant viewing of trial coverage on his laptop got annoying – but by and large, they were well-suited to each other.

"Are you gay?" Eddie asked him one day, while Kurt was in the midst of giving himself a spectacular pedicure.

"Yes," Kurt said, tensed, waiting.

"Because theres a guy on my soccer team who I think would be perfect for you."

Sometimes, he had to be reminded that he really had left Ohio behind.

The guy on Eddies soccer team was perfectly nice. So was the guy in his History of Couture class, and the guy he met at an off-Broadway audition. There were plenty of perfectly nice guys in New York City. He wasnt interested in dating any of them.

"At some point you have to move on," Rachel told him, as they shared a falafel sandwich on a bench in Riverside Park.

"I know," Kurt agreed amiably. "But not today."

In April of his freshman year, the trial drew to a close, and the jury reached a verdict. Most people found out via the internet, or TV news coverage, or the ticker tape in Times Square.

Eddie Coles found out when he came home from class and found Kurt sobbing into his pillow.

For two full days, he lay in bed, crying a year and a halfs worth of pent-up tears. He didnt talk to anyone, and he didnt answer his fathers many phone calls. Eventually a sharp knock sounded from the door, and Rachel barged in, holding out her cell phone. "Its your dad," she said, before turning on her heel and leaving the room to give him some privacy.

New York had revealed many miracles to Kurt, chief among them its ability to make Rachel Berry act almost human.

"Dad?"

"Hey champ. You heard the news?"

"Yeah." A fresh round of tears started, and he couldnt help the gasping, sniffling noises that escaped him.

"They did it," Burt pressed. They got the guilty verdict. Why are you upset?"

"Because now I have no idea where he is," he said, before breaking down completely.

He leaned on Rachel and he leaned on Eddie, and he made it through the semester. Summer vacation rolled around, and then it was three months of eating Caroles cooking, fighting Finn for the remote, helping his dad out at the auto shop, having get-togethers with the old glee club crew...

It felt normal.

Life without Blaine was starting to feel normal.

He started taking long solitary walks, listening to Pink songs on his iPod and daydreaming of stolen coffee-flavored kisses.

As much as he liked Eddie, living in a dormitory had never been part of the plan. And if he were really to honor Blaine by living out the dream theyd had, he needed to get an apartment. So, with Burts reluctant blessing, he began to scour Craigslist.

It was depressing, how little he could afford.

Soon enough, he realized that he would have to share an apartment. Rachel offered right away, but he was reasonably sure theyd kill each other inside a month. There were a lot of choices once he resigned himself to shared living, and online tours made the process a bit easier.

In the end, he narrowed it down to three options: a Chelsea flat with gorgeous hardwood floors, a Brooklyn brownstone with amazing natural light, and for sentimental reasons, a run-down two-bedroom flat in the Village, whose living room was painted in burgundy stripes.

He emailed all of the tenants through Craigslist and scheduled walk-throughs. The burgundy stripe tenant was named Andrew McCarthy, which made Kurt laugh. And then feel very, very wistful.

The Chelsea flat was the clear winner. Its online photos didnt do it justice – the windows bathed the place in warm natural light, the appliances and fixtures were all newly refurbished, and there was even a claw-foot bathtub. The other tenant was a fellow fashion major, and they gleefully spent two hours discussing their favorite designers. Kurt missed his appointment at the Brooklyn place altogether so they could keep talking.

"It was great meeting you," Courtney said, walking him out with a smile. "I really hope this works out."

Kurt nearly danced down the sidewalk. His dad had all of his stuff packed and ready to ship once Kurt knew his new address. He looked around at the neighborhood outside, grinning in satisfaction. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to read a new text:

Hi, Kurt, its Andrew. Are we still on for your 6:00 tour? I made dinner, hope you like spaghetti.

Frowning at the display, Kurt sighed. What would Blaine do?

Blaine would be a gentleman.

Greenwich Village was a great area, but the apartment building was a dump. Kurt pressed the button for 3G, resisting the urge to use hand sanitizer afterwards. Andrew buzzed him in, and he climbed three dingy sets of stairs before finding the apartment. He knocked on the door, and it opened in seconds.

Andrew had startlingly red hair, which was a bit too long and looked flat-ironed. His right ear was pierced, as was his left eyebrow.

His thick, almost triangular left eyebrow.

"Hi," Andrew said softly.

Kurt couldnt move. He couldnt breathe. He just stared.

Andrews hand flew up to his hair. "I know," he said bashfully. "Its bad. And from a bottle. It wont be necessary forever, I dont think. Just till the media circus dies down." His eyes raked over Kurt almost hungrily. "You look good. You look so good."

Kurt still didnt respond, so Andrew rushed onward. "I made us some dinner. If youre hungry. I never did really learn how to cook, but spaghetti bolognese is pretty hard to mess up."

Kurt struggled to form words, finally whispering brokenly, "Youre here."

"Yes."

"Youre here?"

"We had a plan," Andrew said. "Remember?"

"I remember." He was trembling. They both were. "Why... why didnt..."

"I was confused. You told Scott to tell me goodbye, and I didnt want you to be held down indefinitely, waiting for me. Its been almost two years, Kurt. You could have found someone else, and I didnt want to ruin that for you." Andrew paused, swallowing. "Then last month, I remembered what you used to say all the time, that youd never say goodbye to me. And I thought maybe... maybe that had been your real message to me."

Kurt drew in a breath.

"So I moved to the city, rented this apartment," Andrew continued, gesturing around them. "It was the nicest place I could find that fit your stipulations but would allow tenants to paint the walls, too." He looked back at Kurt, his expression a stormy, desperate mix of fear and hope. "I know I did a lousy job with the painting."

"Its not bad," Kurt lied.

They stood and looked at one another. Andrew stroked his dyed hair again, self-consciously. "So? What do you think?"

Andrews hair was too long, and too red, and too straight. The piercings were unattractive, and hed lost too much weight. The apartment was a dive, and the painting job was uneven–

"Perfecto," he said, and Andrew burst into tears.