Chapter 3: Silly Love Songs

Just as Kurt predicted, Rachel is practically desperate to show off their new performance space.

Hazel is just the sort of painfully pretty blonde that's always set Rachel's teeth on edge – the kind who was practically designed to make other girls feel insecure about their bone structure, but whose accomplishments tend to end at being voted Prom Queen and/or marrying rich. She also happens to be a Tisch graduate, Rachel's co-worker, and one of her main sources of competition on the audition circuit, so of course Rachel wants to shove the evidence of her success in Hazel's face.

"It's an amazing space," she gushes, just toeing the line between excited and smug.

"I'm sure it is, sweetie. I'm just so happy for you!" squeals Hazel in return. Her display of teeth is quite dazzling, but Kurt isn't buying what she's selling. "I can't wait to see your little show!"

If Kurt believed in such things, this is the point at which he would start praying for patience.

He manages to convince Rachel – via much under-the-breath hissing and behind-the-back gesturing and maybe a minor dose of none-too-gentle elbowing – that actually going inside The Moulin Rouge is a terrible idea, but she won't let go of it entirely.

"I just want to show her, Kurt," she grits out. "What's the harm?"

Kurt rolls his eyes and lets her drag him down the street and doesn't butt in as she talks Hazel's ear off about the space's many charms and its endless potential, and he doesn't even sigh when she plays up her own role in the deal to the point where she's got Sue literally begging on her knees for Rachel to take the part. When they get there, he allows her to preen in front of the flashing neon windmill sign for approximately ten seconds without comment, and then he takes her elbow and is officially done indulging her crazy for the night.

Hazel seems more confused than impressed.

They end up at a bar called Absinthe, chosen for its proximity and its karaoke machine. Inside, the scheme of décor seems to be 19th century France meets Peter Pan, art nouveau posters intermixed with stylized fairies, rendered in all shades of green. The lighting is low and tinted in greens and blues. A little strange, perhaps, but not without its own charm.

Rachel and Hazel sign up for karaoke right away, which leaves Kurt conflicted: sit back and watch what will surely be an epic musical cat fight or put his name down for some Whitney and show them how it's done? He decides to wait and see where the night and his blood-alcohol level take him.

Things start to blur together a little bit from there, a swirl of cosmos and tequila shots and dueling pop divas, until Kurt and Hazel are bonding loudly over their deep and abiding love for The Golden Girls and Rachel is throwing her arms around him and rubbing her face against his shoulder in a way that would make him uncomfortable if he had less liquor floating around in his brain.

"We should sing something together," says Rachel, eyes wide like it's the best idea she's ever had. "Like, the two of you can be my duet partners. Together."

Kurt laughs, because this is funny, and Hazel squeals, "Totally!" in a way that's less fake and more squeaky, and Kurt laughs again because that is hilarious.

Rachel is in charge of song-choosing because Kurt is too busy telling Hazel about his idea for a Golden Girls musical, starring Betty White, of course, because Betty White is a goddess who doesn't age, and it would be wrong to stage something like that without her.

Rachel tugs them up on stage when it's their turn, and Kurt still doesn't know what song she's picked until the music starts.

"Hey sister, go sister, soul sister, go sister..."

He'd kill Rachel a little bit, but he's loose, and happy, and Blaine feels so far away right now, even though the thought of him sends tingles of thrill tripping down his spine. And he's singing, which is fun.

"He met Marmalade down in old New Orleans

Struttin' her stuff on the street

She said, "Hello, hey Joe

You wanna give it a go?"

The audience is into it, and his inhibitions have been shredded to bits, so it's possible that he gets a little carried away acting out the lyrics and shaking his ass like an idiot. But then, so do Rachel and definitely Hazel, who's got the worst sexy faces that Kurt's ever seen, like, ever, so he doesn't worry about it.

It's not like Blaine is here to see him. He might even be on stage himself, though he probably looks a lot more actually-sexy and not at all fake-sexy.

Kurt's not going to think about that. He's got his adoring fans to worry about, and a song to sell. He's going to leave them begging for more.

It's right around the third or fourth "Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?" that Kurt realizes his thoughts may actually have some sort of summoning power. One moment, he's scanning the crowd with his best sex-kitten pout, and the next – there he is, looking up at Kurt from a table of freshly-arrived Moulin Rouge dancers. Blaine, with faint traces of eye makeup still smudged at the edges, hair loosened up, and an outfit that could have been pulled directly from the Brooks Brothers catalogue and does wonders for the natural shape of his body. His expression is amused but guarded, and he raises his glass in a toast when Kurt meets his eye.

Suddenly, Kurt feels much more sober. Or at least more aware of how not-sober he is. It's hard to tell, with the way the world spins at the edges when he moves his head from side to side.

He doesn't go say hello when the music is over, even though he really, really wants to, because he doesn't trust himself not to babble, and Blaine might not want to see him at all, considering the way they left things earlier this evening. If he's even real, which Kurt is starting to doubt – the bar is called Absinthe, so who knows what they put in their drinks? Either way, better not to risk it.

Kurt slumps into his chair and decides to put himself on a strict diet of water and French fries for the rest of the night, starting as soon as he downs that one last swallow of cosmo, because it would be a shame to waste good vodka. He forces himself to keep his gaze on Rachel and Hazel, who are hugging and jumping up and down and kind of squealing overly-effusive compliments at each other, and to ignore the rat-a-tat drumming of his pulse.

It's only moments before Blaine is ambling over to their table, polite smile firmly in place.

"Blaine!" says Kurt, although it's really more of a blurt, bypassing Kurt's filters in favor of leaping out his mouth.

"Hi, Kurt. I, uh, didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah, I didn't expect to see me here, either. Or you."

Blaine glances uncomfortably back at his table.

"Sue let some of us off early. It's kind of our regular spot."

"I made him come out so we could celebrate!" puts in Rachel, raising her empty glass in a wavering toast.

Blaine turns to her with a pleasant smile.

"You must be Rachel. Kurt's told me a lot about you."

Rachel smiles prettily at this, fluffing up her feathers at what she assumes is a compliment, but Kurt can't hold back a snicker. He remembers exactly the kinds of things he told Blaine.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she says slowly, careful not to slur, flipping her hair back in a flirt that she must have forgotten would be completely useless.

"Likewise. Your performance was excellent. All of you."

He's smiling kindly, but he's gearing up to go, to leave them, Kurt can tell by the tone in his voice and the way he keeps glancing back at his table. Sam is there, glancing too, expression written all over with something that could be worry or exasperation or both.

Kurt has a sudden, horrible thought. Are they...? Is that why...?

"You should have a drink with us!" says Rachel, and it's a good thing, too, because Kurt knows he was about to do the same thing, and he'd really like to save some of his dignity.

"Oh, um, thank you, but I should really be getting back. We're celebrating, too."

Rachel's eyes light up.

"We should celebrate together!"

Blaine looks hesitant, but Rachel is already gathering her things, and Hazel is staring dreamily at the table of perfectly-muscled Moulin Rouge dancers, and Kurt knows this is inevitable.

"As long as you don't mind," he adds, softly as he can above the noise, just for Blaine.

Blaine hesitates again, then smiles his perfectly polite smile.

"Not at all."

Introductions go around once they've all settled at their crowded little table, but the names fly out of Kurt's head the second they enter. He can't concentrate right now on anything but sipping his water and trying to read the body language between Blaine and Sam, who are pressed tightly together, thigh to shoulder, and look at each other as though they're telepathic.

People talk to him, and he talks back, but it's the kind of small talk that requires very little brain, and he knows he won't remember it in the morning, not like he'll remember the way Blaine throws his head back when he laughs at Sam's jokes, unguarded and lovely, exposing the strong line of his throat and the shift of his Adam's apple.

Sam seems like a nice enough guy. An affable, silly sort who does Darth Vader impressions and calls people "dude." Kurt will never be like that. He's never had that sort of ease with people. And it's not that he's jealous or something, but it doesn't help that Sam keeps reaching up to ruffle Blaine's hair, or that Blaine lets him. There's real affection between them when they look at each other. It's almost tangible.

Not that Kurt's jealous.

"Are you two...together?" asks Rachel, suddenly, voice loud next to Kurt's ear. It startles him enough that he jolts, but he's never been more grateful for Rachel's ability to speak aloud the thoughts that Kurt holds back. He glances at her, difficult though it is with her chin resting heavily on his shoulder. She's staring at them in wide-eyed fascination.

Blaine's eyebrows shoot up, and Sam guffaws. They look at each other, amused.

"Sam is straight," explains Blaine.

"And Blaine doesn't 'do' relationships."

Blaine shoots Sam a warning look and glances fleetingly at Kurt.

"It's not exactly practical, given our line of work," he says carefully.

Sam is clearly holding something back. Blaine elbows him lightly, subtly enough that Kurt is pretty sure he's the only one who sees.

Rachel brightens and sits up straight, jostling Kurt and almost knocking him into his glass.

"Your old line of work, you mean. Once our show is a raging success, you'll be a star, and you'll never have to resort to sex work ever again! And I'll finally be able to get the smell of coffee beans out of my hair."

She sniffs at it mournfully, but Kurt is too busy panicking at the fact that Hazel is right there to laugh at her plight. Fortunately, Hazel is so drunk that her laughter is really just a series of inelegant snorts, and she isn't paying attention to anyone beyond the beefy dancer at her side.

Blaine smiles tightly.

"True."

Sam claps him on the shoulder.

"Dude, let's get our karaoke on."

Blaine perks up, and Sam grabs the song catalogue, and Kurt contents himself with half-listening to Rachel's conversation with some guy across the table – Bruce, maybe? – about the horrors of working in customer service. His mind is still stuck on Blaine doesn't 'do' relationships.

He hadn't really thought about it like that before, the difficulties inherent in a relationship with somebody whose job is to have sex with strangers. His thoughts on the matter hadn't really extended beyond BlaineBlaineBlaineBlaineBlaine, to be honest.

He can see, now, why someone like Blaine might shy away from romance, because it isn't like monogamy would even be an option for him. But Rachel is right – Sue is closing the club for renovations at the end of the week. It shouldn't be an issue anymore.

Kurt has a feeling that there's more to it than that, but his brain is still foggy, and he can't think beyond the new hope that's started to bloom inside him.

They'll talk, he decides. They'll talk, and they'll figure it out, because he can already tell that this thing between them is worth fighting for.

Sam is up first, with a tongue-in-cheek version of "Billionaire." His voice is nice, if a little bland, and his moves charmingly boyband. He has the room eating out of the palm of his hand by the end of it. He takes a bow and hands the microphone over to Blaine, thumping his shoulder in the international sign for bro-dom.

"Let's give it up one more time for Sam," says Blaine with a grin, as Sam takes his leave. He waits for the cheers to die down once more before continuing. "My name is Blaine, and this goes out to everyone who's as fed up with love songs as I am."

Kurt feels himself simultaneously bristle and sit up to attention. He recognizes the song right away. Blaine doesn't look in his direction, but he can feel it anyway, the way the song is directed at him.

"I'm at a payphone trying to call home,

All of my change I spent on you..."

It's different, watching him perform here. It's stripped down – no dancers, no costumes, just Blaine's voice and a backing track. It isn't meant to make the audience want him so bad they'll pay for the privilege and thank him for it after. And yet, he's no less magnetic.

Kurt is as sober as he's been all night, watching Blaine pour his heart into the song, communicating something that he doesn't have the words to say.

"If Happy Ever After did exist,

I would still be holding you like this.

All those fairy tales are full of it,

One more stupid love song, I'll be sick..."

And Kurt gets it, he really does, but Blaine is wrong, and Kurt is going to show him. He signs up for a slot and doesn't need to check the catalogues to know what he's going to sing.

Blaine finishes the song to well-deserved applause. Kurt smiles at him and doesn't comment when he returns to the table and takes his seat. It can wait.

He's up like a shot when his turn is called. He introduces himself and lets the music do the rest of his talking.

"You'd think that people would have had enough of silly love songs,

But I look around me and I see it isn't so.

Some people wanna fill the world with silly love songs,

And what's wrong with that?

I'd like to know, 'cause here I go again..."

He's careful to play it to the whole room, but he's fairly sure his point lands. Blaine is narrow-eyed and guarded when Kurt gets back to the table.

"Interesting song choice," he comments.

"I've always loved Paul McCartney," says Kurt, with what he hopes is an appropriately casual airiness.

Blaine presses his lips together, clenches his jaw, and doesn't say another word. Until –

It's a song that Kurt doesn't know, quick-paced and almost robotic, with heavy synth and a driving beat. The message quickly becomes clear.

"Love, love will tear us apart again..."

There could be no mistaking, this time, that the song is for him. A warning, maybe, or an explanation, but Blaine is looking right into his eyes without the slightest hint of a flinch.

"Do you cry out in your sleep?

All my failings exposed...

Gets a taste in my mouth

As desperation takes hold.

Why is it something so good

Just can't function no more?

Love, love will tear us apart again..."

And Kurt knows exactly how to follow it up.

He sang it for an audience, once, when he auditioned for NYADA the second time, but he's stayed away from it since. Madam Tibideaux told him then that it was clear he didn't have the depth for that kind of song, that his take on it was technically proficient but lacked the emotional power to make it truly great. He knew she was right, despite his defensive sputtering at the time, because it was a song about being in love, and the pain it can bring, and how it's worth every last drop. Kurt believed in the sentiment so very desperately, but he'd never felt it.

He's starting to feel it now.

He closes his eyes and lets the opening strains of the piano wash over him and sink in through his skin. He opens them.

"Someone to hold you too close,

Someone to hurt you too deep..."

The words feel new, like it's the first time his tongue has formed the shape of them instead of the thousandth. His voice teeters a little on the power notes, and his vibrato is shot to hell, but it doesn't matter. He just wants Blaine to listen – he has to understand, has to know what he's closing himself off to.

"Somebody, hold me too close,

Somebody, hurt me too deep,

Somebody, sit in my chair

And ruin my sleep

And make me aware

Of being alive

Being alive..."

That feeling is worth everything.

Blaine's eyes are fixed to him, now, and the weight of it is almost too much to bear.

"Somebody, crowd me with love,
Somebody, force me to care,
Somebody, make me come through,
I'll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive
Being alive..."

There's a moment of suspended silence when the song is over, before the applause begin. Kurt would be thrilled, but there's only one opinion he cares about tonight, and Blaine's expression is unreadable in the dark, colored light.

He returns to his seat. Rachel pounces on him, but he's quick to tune her out. Blaine swallows, hard, and won't meet his eyes.

"That was...really beautiful, Kurt."

"Thanks."

Blaine looks up then, and stares at Kurt like he can't help it, like he's at an utter loss. Kurt can hardly breathe. Blaine opens his mouth as if to say something more, but Sam nudges at his shoulder before he has the chance.

"So, what'll it be next?" he asks, dry and teasing. "Let me guess, 'Love Stinks'?"

Blaine rolls his eyes and mutters, "Shut up," but the mood has been broken, and Kurt may never forgive Sam for that. Even if he does toss Kurt a conspiratorial wink.

Blaine goes...strange, after that. He's fidgeting and quiet, eyes darting over to Kurt with a frequency that has Kurt's heart doing double time. It isn't five minutes before Blaine is clearing his throat and announcing that he's had enough for the night. He says something in Sam's ear and quells the table's light-hearted protests with a tight smile, while Kurt's insides attempt to sink down to his toes in disappointment.

Blaine leans in close, before he leaves, for a goodbye hug. His lips brush the shell of Kurt's ear as he speaks.

"Meet me outside, okay? Ten minutes."

"Okay," Kurt breathes.

The next ten minutes drag on and on, while Kurt's thoughts race to keep time with his heart. He tunes out of the conversations around him and focuses on breathing, in and out.

Finally, the time is up. He fakes a huge yawn and makes his excuses to Rachel, who, thankfully, isn't ready to go or in any kind of state of mind to question him.

The night seems so quiet, after the noise of the bar.

Blaine is leaning against the wall, looking up at the sky, lost in thought. Kurt goes to him.

"Blaine."

He starts, then gives a tentative smile.

"Hi."

"Can we talk?"

He looks at Kurt for a moment. He sighs, like he's giving in, and nods.

"Yeah. Let's go back to my place, okay?"

"Okay."

The silence between them is comfortable as they walk side by side. Neither of them breaks it, not for the entire ten-block and nine-story walk back to Blaine's apartment.

Blaine pauses once they reach his door and turns to Kurt.

"Do you want to go up to the roof? The view is amazing at night."

Kurt agrees, and they trudge up yet another flight of stairs. It's no wonder Blaine's thigh muscles are so beautifully formed.

He's right. Manhattan stretches in front of them, lit up like the stars themselves have become unpinned from the sky and fallen to the buildings below. They lean side by side on the ledge and look on in silence.

Blaine is the one to break it.

"I can't fall in love with you," he says, abruptly. "I can't fall in love with anyone."

Kurt tears his eyes away from the city lights to look at Blaine.

"Why not?"

Blaine laughs, shortly, and looks away.

"It's bad for business."

"Come on, Blaine, don't do that. Talk to me."

"Look, Kurt, love is a luxury that I can't afford. I've made my peace with that."

"That's ridiculous. Love is...like oxygen."

"'You get too much, you get too high'?"

His voice is dry, a smirk twisting up the corner of one lip.

"No. Love is the point, isn't it? It's what makes life worth anything at all."

"Have you ever actually been in love?"

"Well, no, but – "

"Then how do you know?"

"Because this, what I feel when I'm with you – it's the most alive I've ever felt, Blaine. You can't tell me you don't feel it, too."

Blaine softens immediately, and his eyes go painfully vulnerable for a moment before the shutters come back down.

"It doesn't matter. I've told you, I can't."

"But why?"

Blaine closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he's looking out at the city. Kurt watches his profile.

"Do you remember last night, with Sebastian, when I brought up the exclusivity contract?"

Kurt didn't, until now.

"Yes. What does that – ?"

"Most people can't afford one, but Sebastian...he's funding the entire cost of the renovation and a good chunk of the production itself. Your fee, for example, costumes, sets...none of it would be possible without him. It's more than enough to pay for a contract."

"Okay, but what – ?"

"It gives him exclusive rights over...me, I suppose. He's my only client until the contract terminates."

"Wait, but Sue is shutting down that side of things, isn't she? That's kind of the point of this project, isn't it?"

"It was the only way to get him to commit."

Kurt lets this sink in. It's kind of making him feel sick.

"How long is the contract?"

"A year. Starting from opening night."

"A year? You're telling me that you've basically agreed to be that smirky little meerkat's sex slave for an entire year?"

Blaine goes cold as ice, staring out, unseeing, at the busy world beyond.

"It's not slavery if I'm getting paid."

"It's a pretty fine line!"

"No, it's not! This is my choice! This is a way out, Kurt, for all of us. We need this. It's no different from what I've been doing to put food in my mouth and a roof over my head since you were still in high school. The stakes are higher, sure, but the pay-off is my freedom, Kurt. You can't possibly understand what that means to me. It's worth everything."

Kurt bites back what was sure to be a sharp reply.

Because he's right, is the thing. Kurt doesn't understand that kind of desperation. There were times in high school when Kurt swore he would do anything to get out – he thought in his darkest moments that he might even have it in him to kill if it meant he could get to a place where people wouldn't hate him just for existing – but he's never even imagined a situation in which he would consider using his own body as bargaining chip. It's hard for him to even touch the thought of it.

"Okay. You're right. I don't understand, but I shouldn't judge you. I'm just...worried."

"Don't be. I know how to take care of myself."

"I know. But what if he...hurts you or something? What would happen if you wanted to terminate the contract?"

Blaine bites his lip.

"He would pull funding, obviously. And he – he's a powerful man. I don't particularly want to know what else he's capable of. It wouldn't be pleasant."

"Blaine."

"It's already done. The contracts are signed, he's written his check. It's only a year, in any case."

The look on his face is diamond-hard – not to be swayed. Kurt's heart sinks.

"What about your personal life?"

"What about it?"

"Are you allowed to have one?"

"Technically, I suppose. The contract is strictly business."

"Then what's stopping you from...?" He trails off, because he doesn't know how to define this thing that's started between them without their bidding. Blaine turns to meet his gaze, startled and wide-eyed, and Kurt knows he understands.

"You can't mean you still want to pursue...whatever this is."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You said it yourself, I'll be having sex with another man on a regular basis for a year."

"Starting in about three months' time. And besides, like you said – that's just business. It wouldn't have anything to do with us."

Blaine is searching him, almost frantically, his eyes darting back and forth and up and down until he breathes in shakily and says, "We would have to keep it hidden. Sebastian could never find out."

"We'll be careful. He won't."

"And I can't make any promises, Kurt. That's not how my life works."

"I know. That's not how life works."

Blaine smiles at that, small and so achingly sweet. He bites his lip, like he's holding himself back, while Kurt's heart tries to beat right out of his chest and into Blaine's. He reaches out and takes Blaine's hand gently in his. He laces their fingers together and marvels for a moment at the sight of it. When he looks up, Blaine's eyes have gone soft and warm.

"Okay," he says, softly.

"Okay," echoes Kurt.

It's not clear who leans in first, but this – the fit of Blaine's lips with his, and the tender give of them as they move, the heat of his body beneath Kurt's hands and the slight angle of his head tilted back to reach Kurt's mouth – it's the most right Kurt has ever felt in his own body. This must be what it's meant for.