The music in the loud club booms, making the walls shake. Blaine pulls her closer, twirling her against his body daringly. She grins at him, ducking her head.

"This band is shit," she complains, dancing close to him. Santana decides to savor the moment; for all she knows, it could be their last. He's leaving in the morning, and she knows right well he could never come back. And if he did, it sure as hell wouldn't be for her. Girls in America were different. The magazines she got in the mail made it clear- they were blonde, with pale cream skin, the exact opposite of her. Instead of dwelling on it, she wanted to remember her last experience with Blaine Anderson.

"No, they're pretty good. See, this song's about us. They wrote it for us." He replies, a little bit drunker than he'd care to admit.

 "Close your eyes and I'll miss you, tomorrow I'll miss you, remember I'll always be true." Blaine sings, scattering sloppy kisses against her neck. Santana laughs, and Blaine grins.

Gripping his hands, the girl leads him out of the club, and onto the street. Through the darkness in the sky, she can see that he's tired, and that they should probably call it a night.

"We're going," Santana finalizes, keeping her hold on his hand tight.

 "Okay." Blaine replies. He follows her down the road.

"You're leaving me tomorrow," the girl drawls, her hot breath beating down on his cheek in a near disgusting way. She wraps her arm around his back, as they stumble through the dimly lit neighborhood. The boy leans against a fence, pulling her closer. He chuckles, throwing his head back at the feel of her skin against his.       

 "It's not forever, baby. I'll be back soon." Blaine whispers, pulling his girlfriend closer, in for a kiss. Their lips brush gently, and she pushes him against the cold brick wall. Blaine stares at her: thick black hair, beautiful brown eyes, a near perfect body, and thinks to himself: What am I missing? He's been dating Santana for nearly a year, if it could be called that. He wasn't interested in her at all. For the most part, he was more interested in her older brother whom worked in the shipyard with him. Blaine could practically feel his heart jump out of his chest, watching the way his tanned muscles flexed through his thin shirt. Not that anyone could know that, of course. So he had stayed with Santana, trying so hard to love her, to be attracted to her like he was to him.

"And if you're not?" She replies, her voice suddenly low. Santana thinks back to all the days they had spent fighting over Blaine's decision to join the merchant navy. Of course, she hadn't won any of them.

 "Don't think like that. I just- I just have to go." Blaine replies, silencing her with a kiss to the lips. He opens his eyes, to see the sun rising, and the sky turning a sickly shade of pink. He grabs her hands, and sees a tear fall from her eye.

"Santana, hey, it's not forever. It's just a goodbye." Blaine whispers, wiping the tear away with his thumb. A thin smile forms on her lips, and he knows it'll be okay. Escaping into his house, he sighs deeply. Standing at the window, he watches her walk through her back door, wondering what she's thinking. He sees Santana, this girl who he's been with for a year, who he's leaving tomorrow, and to be honest, he doesn't know if he'll come back for her.

Santana sits on her bed, her mind replaying the evening. Everything down to the terrible band, it was perfect in her eyes. Softly, she opens her mouth and begins to sing.
-
And then while I'm away
I'll write home every day
And I'll send all my loving to you
-
She sings those words into his ear, but he knows it's a lie. Brittany, the girl who can barely spell her name, writing to him? It's improbable, almost as improbable as Brittany, the girl who barely graduated high school, being accepted into the military's nursing program. She leaves tomorrow, and part of Kurt is sad- he knows she may not make it back.  She could be killed the second she steps onto the Vietnamese turf, and that makes him sad. It's a shame, Brittany's a nice girl. Too bad he's not in love with her.

 Kurt had thought that by now, he'd have a nice boyfriend, or something. He'd hoped that by now, people would be indifferent to love, and that he wouldn't be stuck pretending to be in love with her. Kurt was stupid, bluntly put. He was stupid for faking himself into falling for her, then he was stupid for attaching himself to her, and now he's stupid for dancing with her on prom night, a feeling inside him that almost hints of love. But he knows that it's not love, it's care. He cares about her enough to be worried for her. And that, he thinks, is the worst part of everything.

"I'll miss you, Kurt." She says, brushing a stray piece of hair away from his forehead gently. Kurt thinks that she'll make a great nurse, because she genuinely cares about people.

"I'll miss you too, Britt. I really will. When you get there, you should sing to your patients. Your voice is lovely." Kurt replied softly.

"I'll keep that in mind." She says, mock-saluting him. Gently, she presses a kiss to his lips, and Kurt feels the sudden need to reciprocate, so he leans in to her. Tomorrow, she'll be gone, maybe forever, and Kurt just wants to remember his best friend, even if he's not in love with her like he's supposed to be.

A few hours later, the dance is over, and Kurt's driving her home. He brings the windows down, and the radio is humming softly in the background. Brittany's staring out the window, so he grabs for her hand. She turns to him, and smiles faintly.

He pulls up to her house, unlocking the doors. When Brittany gets out, he frantically pulls her back into the car.

"I'll pretend that I'm kissing, the lips that I'm missing, and hope that my dreams will come true." He sings softly, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Go. I'll see you off tomorrow, okay? I love you." Kurt orders, as his girlfriend nods. He pulls his car away, and starts home. Under his breath, he begins to sing.

"All my loving, I will send to you. All my loving, I will send to you."
-
Blaine stares at his ceiling, unable to sleep. His mind is full of doubt. He's done his research: somewhere in Princeton, New Jersey, lives a man by the name of John Anderson. John Anderson, the father he's never met. Blaine quickly recounts the plan he's had for years: join the navy, skip out when he makes it to America, and find his father. After that, he doesn't know what to do. Sure, there were plenty of possibilities, but he had to remember his mother, alone and thousands of miles away. Pushing every thought in his head away, Blaine finally falls asleep.

"I've ironed some of your nicer shirts." His mother says.

"Thanks, but I'll be shoveling coal. Doubt I'll need them." Blaine replies, taking that stack of stiff, starched oxfords from his mother, whose eyes are red rimmed. He shoves them into his suitcase, and zips it up. After parting with her, he heads to the shipyard.

"When I was your age, I thought I'd be long out of here by the time I was sixty four, and here I am." The man says, as he hands Blaine his ticket. Smiling and nodding awkwardly, he steps onto the boat.

Blaine doesn't look back for a while. He keeps his eyes trained on what he's supposed to be doing, and doesn't think about the risks, or the consequences, or anything.
-
A few days later-he isn't sure how many-Blaine is in America. Princeton, New Jersey, to be exact, and he likes it. It's big, and a lot different than Liverpool, but he likes it well enough.

"Excuse me; you wouldn't happen to know a Professor Anderson? John Anderson?" He asks a bumbling, tall boy. He shakes his head no.

"I've pissed off every professor, but there's not a single John Anderson in the place. Maybe you're looking for Jack Anderson?" He replies, pointing to a stout man in a green coverall, tending to a garden before running off.

 "Thank you!" Blaine calls after the boy, as he walks towards the man. Standing a few feet away from him, he begins to speak.

"Hello sir, I'd like to have a word with you." Blaine mumbles, his palms sweating and heart racing. He steps closer to him, taking a close look. His green eyes and thick, dark hair that nearly covered his face turned up, as he squinted.

"Yeah?" He replies, setting down the shovel in his hands with a thud.

"I'm- I'm Blaine Anderson, sir. I've got good reason to believe that I'm your son."