Chapter 5: The Lovers Are Discovered

Rachel is on top of him the second he walks through the door the next day.

"And where exactly have you been, Kurt Hummel?"

She's got her hands planted on her hips in a way that completely fails to be intimidating, considering that her hair is in twin braids and she's wearing her favorite Snoopy slippers.

"I don't suppose you'll buy the early morning coffee run excuse?"

"Not unless you brought some back for me. Come on, Kurt, there's nothing wrong with a good, old-fashioned walk of shame. I won't even make fun of your hair if you spill the details."

Kurt reaches up, reflexively, and is dismayed once again to feel the droop of his poor, wilting bangs. He sighs. He and Blaine talked about it not an hour ago, but he still isn't looking forward to this conversation.

"Coffee first."

Rachel practically squeals at what she must perceive as her victory and busies herself with the coffeemaker. Kurt takes advantage of her distraction to go behind his privacy curtains and change into an outfit more appropriate for apartment-lounging. By the time he comes back out, Rachel has set up a tray complete with two mugs of coffee, cream and sugar on the side, and two perfectly-browned slices of toast. She clears a space for it on the coffee table and turns to him with a grin.

He slumps into his designated corner of the couch and leans forward to doctor his coffee the way he likes it.

"Well?" she demands impatiently, once he's taken his first sip.

"It's a little strong."

"Kurt!"

"Okay, fine. What do you want to know?"

"Well, let's start with 'who,' shall we?"

"You have to promise me first that you won't tell anybody. I mean it – not your dads, not Finn, and especially nobody at The Moulin Rouge. Okay?"

Eyes wide to telegraph her utter sincerity, Rachel nods and holds out her pinky. Kurt huffs out a laugh and hooks his own pinky through hers.

"I promise."

"Okay." He pauses. This is the point of no return. "It's Blaine."

Rachel blinks once. Twice.

"Wait, what? Blaine Blaine? Our Blaine? The one who..." She grabs at Kurt's elbow. "Kurt, you know about Sebastian, right?"

He rolls his eyes and shakes her gently off.

"Of course I do."

"And you're...okay with it?"

"I don't love it, but there's not much I can do, is there?"

Rachel watches him a moment, like she's biting her tongue, for once. She smiles at him tentatively.

"How long have you been seeing each other?"

"Since the beginning – about five weeks, now. I was lying to you about all those blind dates."

"Kurt! I can't believe you didn't – why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"We haven't told anyone yet. The fewer people know about this, the less likely it will get back to Sebastian. Which is why you can't act any differently around either of us, and you definitely can't say anything to anybody."

"I won't, I swear. Just – why now?"

"Well, I figured you'd start asking questions if I started doing the 'walk of shame,' as you so delicately put it, on a regular basis."

"Oh," she says knowingly. She bites her lip against a sly smile. "Was it wonderful? He's a really good kisser, so I can only imagine – "

"No, no, no, definitely no. I am not discussing this with you. Not happening."

Her expression softens.

"Do you love him?"

Kurt can't look at her when he says this. It's hard enough to get it around the lump in his throat.

"Yes."

"Oh, Kurt, I'm so happy for you!"

She flings herself at him without warning, throwing her arms around his neck for a tight, happy hug. He hears her sniffle by his ear and squeezes back. She pulls away after a long moment, blinking the tears out of her eyes, mouth stretched wide in Kurt's favorite of her grins.

"You know," she says thoughtfully, "I've always thought there were sparks between you. I just figured you'd tell me if anything happened."

"I wanted to. Really, I did. I hate lying to you."

"I know."

They share a smile.

"Have you told your dad?"

"I told him I was seeing someone, but I've been avoiding the details. I think he's starting to suspect that I'm making the whole thing up."

"Well, vague is probably better anyway, considering. I can't imagine that Blaine's, um, history would go over well."

Something about her tone sends Kurt bristling.

"I'm not ashamed of him, if that's what you're trying to imply. I would tell my father, if the circumstances were different. It's killing me not to."

"Kurt, he lives 600 miles away."

"Yeah, but he'll tell Carole, because I couldn't ask him to lie to her, and then what if Finn overhears them talking about it? He can't keep a secret to save his life, and we're not exactly the only people he knows in New York. I know you think I sound paranoid, but this isn't something I'm willing to risk."

She nods, expression gone serious.

"You have a point. Thank you for trusting me, Kurt."

"Well, it's your career on the line, too."

She smiles, so he knows she understands.

They spend the rest of the morning together, like they haven't for a long time, just laughing and teasing and enjoying each other's company until it's time to get ready for rehearsal.

It's nice to have an ally, again. He has a feeling he'll need one if he's going to survive the coming months.

Rachel's really grown into herself as an actress, so it shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is that she's able to keep her cool when she sees Blaine that afternoon. Kurt is relieved to see it, and he can tell Blaine is, too.

Honestly, Kurt himself is more of a danger to their secret than she is, at this point. He's so moony over Blaine that he's shocked when no one calls him out on it. Thank God Sebastian doesn't make an appearance, because Kurt is sure he knows exactly how badly that would go.

They spend the weekend holed up in Blaine's apartment, living off of take-out and each other. Kurt has never felt this way, so, just, hungry for another person. He feels like a vampire. And not the sparkly kind, either, but the horror-movie monsters that give him nightmares, the ones that bite your neck and suck your blood until you run dry. He finds himself almost wishing he could be one, sometimes, when the need to be close is so strong it's not enough to be buried deep and attached at the mouth – he wants everything from Blaine, wants to suck him dry, and wants to bleed himself out in return.

It's overwhelming, and scary, but Blaine is so safe. The way he looks at Kurt, and listens to him, and lets him in. He's everything.

When they're not having sex all over the apartment, Kurt feels like he's entered domestic heaven. He pulls on Blaine's clothes, which don't fit him quite right but smell so amazing that it doesn't bother him, uses Blaine's skin-care products, gets served breakfast in bed and ignores it in favor of pulling Blaine back down into the sheets. The food is cold when they get to it, but that's nothing a microwave can't fix. He lets Blaine play with his hair while they marathon Project Runway, and Blaine lets him bury his toes beneath Blaine's thigh while he jots down the lyrics to a song that just won't wait to be written.

Kurt spends a great deal of time learning Blaine's body. The way it moves, yes, and especially the way it moves with his, but also the specific shape of it, the curves and dips and secret soft places. He gets to know the birthmark at the base of Blaine's neck and the long, thin scar just under his ribs. He asks about it, once, tracing a finger over its elegant, silvery curve, but Blaine will only tell him that it happened during a "bad experience" with a client when he was 16. Kurt wants to press for more, but he listens to the tense set of Blaine's muscles and contents himself to rest his head against Blaine's chest and let the past stay where it is.

He learns to read it, too, when Blaine goes quiet but for the hitch of his breath and won't tell Kurt what his body needs.

Kurt expected – in fact, imagined – that Blaine would be something of a talker in bed, but the opposite is actually true. He doesn't notice right away, because the soft noises Blaine does make are so much hotter than any porn star's loudest moans. But then, well...there comes a time when a guy would like a little direction.

He asks about it once, when the cover of dark is on them and their fingers are skimming over each other's skin.

Blaine stills. He blinks, and Kurt can feel the brush of his lashes against his chest. He curls his arm around Blaine just that much tighter.

"It was never about what I wanted," says Blaine, flatly. "Before you, I mean. I don't know – I just...I don't want it to be a performance with you."

Kurt leans down to kiss the top of his head.

"What you want will always matter to me."

Blaine doesn't say anything to that, just slides up until he's holding Kurt's face in his hands and kissing him so tenderly that Kurt feels he might just melt away.

Kurt learns to ask, and he learns to read the answers, and Blaine starts to find his voice.

The weekend, like all things, must end sooner or later. Monday comes and, with it, the outside world and their separate apartments. Kurt would spend the night at Blaine's every night, would, in fact, move in if Blaine asked him, but he knows they can't risk it. It would only be so long before the cast started to notice. So, they spend evenings together, and weekends, and Kurt is so in love he could burst with it.

Blaine ends up telling Sam about their relationship before long, due to the best friend precedent and the distinct advantage of having another trustworthy ally at the studio to help confirm alibis and create diversions. Blaine is relieved that he can stop lying to Sam about mysterious "plans" whenever he wants to bring over his Star Wars DVDs for a marathon or hit the gym with his work-out buddy.

Kurt feels bad about monopolizing Blaine, but not enough to stop doing it. Sam's had him all this time, after all, and the clock is ticking on them every day – Kurt is under no delusions that it will be easy to get time alone together once the contract kicks in. Sam understands their predicament, but he firmly subscribes to the "bros before hos" philosophy of interpersonal relationships and tells Blaine in no uncertain terms that he has to stop blowing him off. It sounds more like a lovers' quarrel than Kurt is entirely comfortable with, but Blaine ends up caving in pretty quickly. He sets up a weekly dinner for the three of them and Rachel and carves out some weekend time for best friend bonding.

The four of them are something of an odd mix. Sam is just the kind of guy that Finn would have hung out with in high school, minus the whole "White Chocolate" part of things and a whole host of nerdy tendencies that have Rachel silently judging him. Kurt, too, a little, despite knowing that he has no room to judge when it comes to strange obsessions. He knows that having a photographic memory for every Vogue cover from the past five years or being able to recite the dialogue from every episode of the seventh season of The Facts of Life would probably seem just as bizarre to Sam as being fluent in two dialects of Elvish seems to Kurt. It's just that Kurt knows better than to air those particular skills in mixed company.

It turns out to be incredibly amusing to watch Sam and Rachel try to figure out what to make of each other, now that they're spending so much time together in close quarters. It's like watching a parakeet and a golden retriever whose owners have locked them in a room together. They circle each other, curious but completely incapable of understanding how the other's mind works. And yet, somehow, Rachel's brand of overbearing intensity and Sam's easy-going affability work to balance each other out.

Kurt also enjoys having the opportunity to watch Blaine interact with Sam. There are a lot of reasons, but chief among them is Blaine's tendency to start imitating Sam's fratboy-style vernacular. He starts saying things like "bro" and "dude," and it's kind of hilarious in contrast with his neatly gelled hair and the precise way his body moves through space, but also strangely...hot. It's kind of a thing for Kurt, as it turns out.

He's also...not a different person, exactly, but there's a side of him that comes out around Sam that he doesn't tend to show when it's just the two of them. He's just as passionate about The Avengers as he is about Les Mis, just as happy to talk football as he is fashion. There's history there between them, too, and it shows in the easy way they finish each other's sentences and the casual affection they show with their bodies.

"Did you two ever...?" he finds himself asking one night, after Rachel and Sam have left and his body is slumped into Blaine's on the couch. He's not sure what answer he's looking for, or what he's expecting, but he finds he needs to know.

There's silence for a moment, but Blaine's hand never stops stroking lazily over Kurt's bicep. Kurt takes that as a good sign.

"For work," says Blaine, finally. "A couple of times. But he's really, really straight, and he's like my brother, so there's no need to worry."

Kurt nods, satisfied.

"That must have been awkward."

"You have no idea."

Kurt chuckles.

"Did you ever...have feelings for him?"

"I might have, if I'd let myself," he says carefully.

Kurt looks up at him and smiles, hand rubbing up and down his chest in what he hopes is a soothing fashion.

"I had an epic crush on Finn, my sophomore year of high school," he admits.

"Your step-brother Finn?"

"Yes, my step-brother Finn. It was actually due to my crazy, hormonal attempts to get closer to him that our parents met in the first place."

Blaine chuckles.

"Wow, that's..."

"Embarrassing? Horrifying? Creepy?"

"I was going to say 'adorable,' actually."

Kurt snorts.

"It turned out for the best, anyway. He's actually a pretty great brother, but he would have been a terrible boyfriend."

"Weren't he and Rachel engaged at one point?"

"That's how I know."

Blaine buries his face in Kurt's hair to muffle his laughter, but Kurt can feel it lurching beneath his ribs. Blaine presses a kiss to the top of Kurt's head and rests his cheek against it.

"Did you ever date in high school?" he asks.

"Well, sort of. If you count one date as 'dating.'"

"Was there a kiss goodnight?"

"Yes. A very dry, awkward kiss."

"It counts."

"It was a guy I met while browsing for sheet music. He complimented my outfit, so I gave him my number, and we started texting. I thought I was in love for about three days, until we actually spent more than five minutes in each other's company. What about you?"

Blaine stills, and Kurt could kick himself, once his brain catches up with his mouth.

"You don't have to answer that," he says quickly, craning his neck so he can look Blaine in the eye. "I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay. I don't mind talking about it."

"If you're sure."

"I'm sure." He breathes in, deep, and holds it a second before letting it out. When he speaks again, his voice is soft. "When I was a freshman, they had this Sadie Hawkins dance. I asked a friend, the only other out guy in the school, and we ended up going together. I didn't tell my parents – I wasn't out to them, and didn't plan on changing that anytime soon. I had a feeling they wouldn't react...well. Anyway, while we were waiting for his dad to pick us up, these three guys...beat the living crap out of us."

"Oh, God." Kurt's heart twists at the thought of 15-year-old Blaine, crumpled on the pavement in the yellow light of the streetlamps. He blinks to clear the sudden sting of tears in his eyes.

"My parents found out about the whole thing, of course, and they were horrified for all the wrong reasons. They ended up sending me to Dalton in the hopes that I would 'straighten out' if I had a fresh start and some discipline. They figured I'd learned my lesson, after what happened."

"Isn't Dalton the one with the zero-tolerance bullying policy?"

"How did you know that?"

"I may have considered transferring, briefly." Blaine tilts his head so that Kurt can see his raised eyebrows. "It can't be surprising to you that I wasn't Mr. Popular in high school. And my school's bullying policy was more along the lines of stick-your-head-in-the-sand-and-hope-it-goes-away."

"I'm familiar."

"I ended up home-schooling for a couple months, when it got really bad. I was never...hurt, not like you, but there was this guy... He was the worst of them, really made it his mission to make my life hell. I snapped one day – " Nobody pushes the Hummels around " – and followed him into the bathroom, and...he kissed me."

"What?"

"He was closeted, and scared, and he, um – he threatened to kill me if I told anyone. I never did."

"God, Kurt, I can't even..."

His arm tightens around Kurt's shoulders, like he wants to protect him from something that happened more than six years ago. Kurt wants to say Yes, you can, of course you can, because you feel it, too, every time Sebastian touches you. He doesn't, of course.

"It turned out fine, in the end. My friends started an anti-bullying club and somehow got him to join – I suspect blackmail – and he never bothered me again, after I came back."

"Wow. That's...pretty amazing, actually."

"I'm sorry, I hijacked your story. You were telling me about Dalton."

"Right. So, I was really happy there, for a while. I had friends, I sang with the glee club. It was...nice. And then I met Jeremiah. He was an assistant manager at the Gap, and he was sweet to me. We went out for coffee a couple of times, and he kissed me on the cheek, so of course I was completely smitten. I was in the middle of planning this big, elaborate Valentine's Day declaration of my feelings when my parents found our text history on my phone. I was out of the house within the hour."

"You never told him how you felt?"

Blaine snorts.

"No, and I'm glad I didn't. I was a dumb kid with stars in my eyes. I'm sure he would have laughed in my face – I'd laugh in my face."

"No, you wouldn't. And I'm sure he wouldn't have either. He'd have been flattered, at the very least."

Blaine sighs, and presses another kiss into Kurt's hair.

"I wish I'd known you."

"Me, too," Kurt whispers. His hand clenches into the muscle and bone of Blaine's chest, an almost reflexive need to feel him strong and solid beneath his fingers. He needs to chase away the image he's conjured of Blaine, young and scared and utterly without options, letting some pervert feel him up in an alley. Blaine, who'd never even been kissed.

He leans up and kisses him now, and tries to transmit every bit of love in his body through the touch of their lips. He shifts and climbs until he's straddling Blaine's hips and can slide both hands into his hair. He loves that feeling, of breaking up the gel between his fingers and cradling the weight of Blaine's skull. Blaine has one hand spread wide across his back and one at his thigh, keeping him pulled close and safe and giving back everything that he gets.

Kurt ends up with a hickey, the next day. It's the first time this has happened, shockingly enough, given Blaine's enthusiasm for his neck. He wears a high-necked button-up and a summer scarf, but Santana seems to have a sixth sense for these sorts of things. She smirks at him pointedly as soon as he walks into the studio. She doesn't say anything, thank God, beyond a murmured "Wanky" as he passes by. Santana is the last person he wants sniffing around his personal life. He can almost see the mayhem in her eyes sometimes, when Sebastian shows up or Rachel is being particularly...Rachel. She could ruin everything, and it wouldn't be more than a whim to her.

Sebastian has been showing up less frequently as of late, which Kurt can't be unhappy about, but there's something almost...impatient about him, now, when he looks at Blaine. Blaine, of course, says there's nothing to worry about, but Kurt can't help but feel that it doesn't bode well.

He happens upon them one night, as he's leaving the studio to meet Blaine for dinner. Sebastian left hours ago, and Blaine only minutes, just enough time to give him a head start. They're in that stairwell again, the one that Sebastian must believe gives them privacy, but the scene couldn't be more different.

The only contact between them is Blaine's wrist in Sebastian's hand. Sebastian is on the stair below, leveling out their eyeline. The slightest bit of unease is showing through Blaine's expression, in the angle of his furrowed brow. Kurt doesn't know if Sebastian can see it, but it's clear as day to him.

"I'm not expecting anything in return," Sebastian is saying, urgent and almost pleading. "Not tonight. I just want to spend time with you."

Blaine pauses, considering his words.

"That's...what I want, too. You know it is. But I've told you already, I can't tonight."

"What, another rehearsal with gayface Hummel?"

He's smirking, it's obvious even from the back, and Blaine snickers softly in reply. Kurt knows it's an act, knows Blaine is seething inside, but it still hurts to hear.

"I need it, Sebastian. I need to be perfect."

"You will be." He reaches up with the other hand and caresses Blaine's cheek, a softness in his touch that makes Kurt's stomach curdle. Blaine's eyelids flutter closed, splaying his lashes against his cheeks. "This is only the beginning for you, you know that? I'd buy a million shows for you if you asked, and I'd be sitting front and center on opening night every time."

Blaine smiles, but Kurt knows the difference, and he knows how tense it is. Blaine opens his eyes.

"Rain check?" he says, softly.

Sebastian sighs, and drops his hand.

"I'll hold you to that."

He squeezes Blaine's wrist and drops that, too, before turning to go. Kurt ducks into the alcove, just in time.

He goes to Blaine, once the coast is clear, and lets him slump into his arms, head tucking neatly into Kurt's shoulder.

"Let's go home," mumbles Blaine. Kurt rubs his back and shoves his flaring concerns into the box labeled "Sebastian" at the back of his mind. It won't do either of them any good to take them out now.

He's successfully forgotten them, in fact, by the time they've finished dinner (spaghetti with Kurt's special marinara, followed by cheesecake from Blaine's favorite bakery). They're about to retire to the couch for an evening of comfort television when Kurt gets a call from Rachel.

"Yes?" he answers, impatient. Rachel usually texts.

"Kurt! You and Blaine have to come out with me tonight."

"We already have plans."

"Well, change them! I've decided I'm going dancing tonight, and I need my best gays with me to chase away the sketchy guys and make sure I don't get roofied."

"Wait, what? You've never been clubbing in your life, Rachel Berry." Blaine looks at him quizzically. Kurt covers the mouthpiece and explains, "She wants us to go out with her."

Blaine nods his understanding. Kurt puts her on speakerphone.

"I know! I just feel like I need to let loose, you know? I've been so wound up trying to get the steps right, I'm not really dancing."

"You shouldn't let Sue get to you," says Blaine, moving closer so he can be heard. "She thrives on intimidation. You just need to forget about her and learn the choreography at your own pace."

"We only have five weeks left, Blaine. I should have it by now."

"I bet you know it better than you think you do. And I'm sure Brittany would be more than happy to help if you asked."

Rachel mumbles something unintelligible here, but Kurt thinks he might catch the word "Santana."

Blaine turns to Kurt, brow furrowed, and lowers his voice.

"Maybe she's right. She does kind of need to loosen up."

"See, Kurt? Blaine doesn't think it's a crazy idea."

Kurt ignores that in favor of asking Blaine, "Do you want to go?"

"It might be fun."

"Watching a bunch of drunk, sweaty people grind on the dance floor is fun?"

"Well, no. Being one of the drunk, sweaty people might be. If you have the right dance partner to grind with."

He grins flirtatiously, and Kurt can't help but smile back, even as he's rolling his eyes.

"Okay, fine. But we're leaving as soon as Rachel gets her groove back."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, you won't regret this, we're going to have so much fun!"

Kurt deeply doubts that he will. This, like most New York experiences, will probably be much less like Sex and the City than Rachel is imagining.

But Blaine will be there, and it will be dark, so they won't have to worry about being seen. They can dance together without maintaining a friend-sized personal space bubble. That part might be nice.

Rachel texts them the details, and they spend the better part of the next hour getting themselves ready to go. Kurt isn't really sure what appropriate club wear looks like, beyond extremely tight, and his options are limited to the minimal wardrobe of things he's left at Blaine's and never bothered to take home. He ends up finding a t-shirt of Blaine's that's actually flattering on him and pairs it with his own jeans and the boots he wore to rehearsal. Blaine has an entire closet to choose from, but ends up dressing much the same, in a polo that stretches tight across the shoulders and Kurt's favorite of his black skinny jeans. Kurt re-coifs his wilting hair, and Blaine neatens his own, and it manages to be more fun than annoying to share mirror space while they do it. Blaine even helps him spray the back parts of his head that are hard to reach.

The club is called The Red Room, and it lives up to its name. The lighting is a shifting kaleidoscope of reds and pinks and maroons, playing over the crowded dance floor like an out-of-season Valentine. Rachel is dressed in what Kurt used to privately call her sad-clown hooker clothes, reminiscent of the sabotage makeover he gave her in high school and even more of the real one he orchestrated their first year in New York. The look suits her better now than it ever did, but it still makes her look like she's trying too hard. She's grown into herself, but she's never outgrown the impulse to patch up her confidence with eyeliner and cleavage.

They start off at the bar, so that Rachel can shake off her inhibitions and Kurt can survey the scene for a while before diving in. The crowd is on the younger side, with mixed-sex and same-sex couples dancing side by side. Kurt takes a moment to appreciate the fact that Rachel must have done her research. She knows that Ohio left some scars on him that haven't yet faded.

The music is significantly better than Kurt feared, mostly popular dance music interspersed with the occasional pop re-mix. Blaine's body is already moving unconsciously along to the beat, so Kurt knows it won't be long before he's being dragged off to dance. He waits until Rachel has finished her cosmo and set her sights on a willing dance partner and grabs Blaine by the hand.

"You know you want to," he says with a teasing smile.

Blaine beams at him.

"Lead the way."

They start off silly, with shimmies and twirls and lots of laughter, but soon enough they're giving in to the press of bodies around them and the high of music pounding through their bones. They intertwine themselves, slowly but surely, until there's really no room to do anything more than sway into each other. Kurt finds himself sinking into something that feels like a trance. He loses track of how many songs they dance through, loses track of everything but the beat and the heat and the feel of Blaine's body moving with his. He starts when he feels Blaine lean up to yell in his ear, lips brushing pleasantly against his skin.

"Do you think we should check on Rachel?"

Oh, right. Rachel. The whole reason they're here at all. They head back to the bar and order drinks while they scan the crowd. It doesn't take long for Kurt to spot her, dirty dancing with a fairly non-sketchy guy who's keeping his hands above her waist. He turns back to Blaine.

"She's good, for now."

"Hey guys," he hears, the last voice he was expecting. He feels his hackles rise.

Blaine freezes, then turns around with a sweet, surprised smile at his lips.

"Sebastian!"

If Kurt were a cat, he's sure he'd be hissing. He kind of wants to, as it is.

"What a coincidence. I was just sitting at the bar, checking out this guy, when I realized – hey, I know that..." His eyes travel down Blaine's body, linger on his ass "...hair."

Blaine ducks his head and bites down a smile. Sebastian smirks, satisfied. He glances at Kurt and his expression shifts, goes harder.

"Hummel."

"I didn't expect to see you here," says Kurt mildly. "It doesn't really seem like your scene."

"It wasn't, until now." He reaches out, runs a hand down Blaine's back. "Finished with rehearsal, I take it?"

Blaine smiles up at him, leaning subtly into his touch.

"Thank you for understanding, about tonight."

"Dance with me and we'll call it even."

Kurt can see the slip of Blaine's expression, as his eyes dart to Kurt and back. Sebastian sees it too. His eyes narrow.

"I can't, yet," says Blaine, quickly. "I promised Kurt I would help him find somebody for the night."

Sebastian snorts, unkindly.

"I'm sure he can manage without his wingman for one song."

"I promised, Sebastian. I can't just abandon him."

"Yeah, well you promised me something, too." His voice has gone cold, his body close and threatening. Blaine's gaze stays steady, even as Kurt fights off the urge to shove Sebastian away.

"You'll get it."

He reaches up and strokes his hand down Sebastian's arm, from shoulder to fingertips, lingering over his bicep and tickling at his palm. Sebastian stares. His nostrils flare. His voice is softer when he says, "I'm getting impatient."

"I know."

Blaine smiles, lips tweaking up slyly in the corners. Sebastian echoes it.

He leans in close and says, loud enough for Kurt to hear, "Come find me when you've gotten rid of Betty White."

It's obviously supposed to be an insult, which is completely ridiculous, but Blaine just smiles and nods. Sebastian melts into the crowd without another glance in Kurt's direction.

Blaine closes his eyes, and when he opens them, Kurt can see just how scared he really is.

"Let's go find Rachel and get out of here," he says, but Blaine stops him before he can move away.

"No. I should stay and dance with him."

Kurt gapes.

"That's – Blaine, what was the point of all that if you're just going to give in to him anyway?"

"It's a game, Kurt. We have to play."

"You know exactly what that dance will be like, Blaine. I seriously doubt there will be any actual dancing involved."

"I can handle myself, Kurt. I know what I'm doing."

You're hurting yourself, is what you're doing. It's so close to the tip of his tongue, but it's one among many things that Blaine just won't hear, and Kurt can't push him away. He can't. So he swallows it down and says, "Okay," instead. "I'll wait here. As soon as the song is over, we're leaving, okay?"

Blaine nods, relieved.

"It'll be fine," he says. "You'll see."

Kurt really hopes he's right.

They wait through one song, then two, sipping at their drinks in silence. Finally, Blaine catches his hand with a reassuring smile and turns to go. Kurt tracks him as he moves through the crowd until the teeming, red-lit bodies swallow him up.

Someone approaches him before long, a guy he would only say yes to in desperation, but then, that describes the situation pretty well right now. He leads the guy through the gaps in the crowd until he's spotted them, positions himself so that he can watch the way Sebastian's hands move over Blaine's broad back and the way his eyes rove over Blaine's face. There's something like awe, there, and something that Kurt is loath to call affection but has to admit looks very similar. It's so much more disturbing than naked lust. If he didn't know the context, Kurt would probably think it was sweet.

As it is, Sebastian's face is almost ghoulish in the distorted light, shadowed in reds and so, so wrong.

The guy Kurt is dancing with starts to get a little handsy, so Kurt pulls away and re-positions himself so that there's more space between them. The guy seems to think this is some sort of cat-and-mouse thing and grins as he moves in closer, sliding his hands back to Kurt's ass. Kurt pulls away again and grabs the guy's hands in his.

"Okay, no, this dance is over," he says, because he doesn't have to put up with it, not when Blaine is over there smiling like he's smitten with a creep who's trying to take something that will never be his. He doesn't have the energy to keep negotiating his boundaries, not tonight. He lets go of the guy's hands and stalks back to the bar.

It's only minutes, in reality, before Blaine is making his way back, but it might as well be hours.

"Let's go," says Blaine, weary, as soon as he's close enough to be heard. Kurt nods stiffly and goes off to corral Rachel. She's giddy and reluctant to go, but Kurt does not plan on leaving her here by herself, and there is no way he can stay in this club a moment longer.

They send Rachel off in a cab, and hail one for themselves. Kurt was planning to go back to Bushwick tonight, but he can't bring himself to leave Blaine after that mess.

The cab ride is silent. Blaine offers his hand on the middle seat between them. Kurt takes it.

It isn't until they're back at Blaine's, changed and under the covers, with only the bedside lamp to give them light, that Kurt finds the words to say what he needs to say.

"Is that what it's going to be like?"

"What do you mean?"

"After we open. You, running off to cater to his every whim, and me, pretending to be interested in other guys to throw him off the scent."

Blaine breathes in, then out again, shaky.

"We'll still have this. Can't that be enough?"

He sounds exhausted, and maybe a little desperate. Kurt can't hold on to his bitterness in the face of that. He reaches out, pulls Blaine in close, feels the quick beat of their hearts chest to chest and the warm gusts of Blaine's breath against his neck.

"Always."

"You know that I hate it, right?"

"Of course."

"Because I do. I hate him, and I hate this."

"I know you do."

"I wish I had a choice."

You do. But maybe that's the point – the selfish choice is no choice at all.

"I'll still be here. I promise."

&&&&&

Their two-month anniversary falls on a Friday, which gives them the perfect excuse for a proper celebration. Kurt decides to kick Rachel out of the apartment for the night so that he can cook Blaine dinner with the advantage of his own kitchen appliances, acquired over years of very specific birthday requests and saved-up Christmas checks. Blaine hasn't made it out to Bushwick yet, either, so this seems like the perfect opportunity.

Sebastian shows up to rehearsal that day. He tries, as he usually does these days, to arrange a dinner date, but Blaine is ready with an excuse.

"I'm so sorry," he says, suitably regretful. "I've promised Rachel we'd stay late to work on our scenes. Opening night is just around the corner."

Sebastian doesn't look pleased, but he doesn't push the issue, either. It's actually a little strange, how quickly he gives up.

Kurt leaves early to get a start on dinner, but not before Blaine pulls him by the elbow to a hidden nook in the corridor and kisses him so thoroughly he nearly forgets they're in public.

"What was that for?" he whispers.

"Just...Happy Anniversary. I've been wanting to do that all day."

Kurt reaches up and smooths a strand of Blaine's hair he touseled loose in their frenzy.

"Me too. See you at 8?"

"Can't wait."

They smile dopily at each other for a few more seconds before Blaine starts to get anxious about being missed. Kurt kisses him one last time and hums under his breath all the way to his subway stop.

Kurt has decided to go with a French theme for the meal: French onion soup to start, followed by herbed, roasted chicken, and chocolate soufflé for dessert. He picks up a bottle of white wine on the way home – expensive, so it must be good – and a few blocks of imported cheese to complete the menu.

He jumps right into cooking as soon as he gets home, singing snippets of the songs that won't leave his head as he works. There's this one that's been living there for the better part of a week, but it's wispy, without form, and Kurt doesn't know exactly what it can be, yet. He's learned that he can't rush these things, or force them. For now, it's just a little tune that's driving him crazy, but soon enough the words will make themselves known. He's just got to be patient.

Everything goes according to plan. The soup burbles beautifully, the chicken is roasted to perfection, the soufflé rises and fluffs. The table is set and ready by 8 on the dot.

It's just Blaine that's missing.

At 8:05, Kurt texts him. Where are you? Call me if you need directions!

No response.

8:10. Dinner's starting to get cold... J

8:15. Seriously, Blaine, where are you?

He puts the food back in the oven to warm. He checks his phone, just in case. The ringer is set to loud, but you never know.

Nothing.

At 8:20, he calls instead. It rings out to voicemail.

"Blaine, I'm starting to get worried, here. You didn't get mugged on the way to my apartment, did you? Call me, okay?"

8:30. If you're not here by 9, I'm eating without you.

He isn't. Kurt gives it until 9:15, just in case.

He's lost his appetite. He wraps up the chicken and stores it in the fridge. He pours the soup down the garbage disposal and runs it with a vicious flick of the switch. He picks at the soufflé and can't manage more than a bite. It goes in the trash.

He doesn't understand. Their plans were clear. There's no way Blaine forgot, or misunderstood the time. Tonight was important. Unless he lost his phone or forgot it at home or something and got epically lost on the way to Bushwick, the only reasons he could have for missing their date are...well, unthinkably horrible.

By 9:30, Kurt is convinced that Blaine is lying in an alley somewhere, bleeding out onto the dirty cement. He texts Sam, but there's no response. He considers calling the hospitals. He almost calls the police.

He opens up his perfectly chilled wine instead. No need for it to go to waste like the rest of the meal.

By 10:30, Kurt is angry. He thinks of Blaine, batting his eyes up at Sebastian like they're in on a secret, thinks of him leaning into the weight of Sebastian's hands. He thinks of Sebastian holding him down and Blaine willing and eager beneath him.

It doesn't matter if it's an act, because if Blaine chose to go to Sebastian tonight and didn't even have the decency to tell Kurt... He isn't sure what that would mean, but it isn't anything good. Even the thought feels an awful lot like betrayal.

By 11:30, he's finished the bottle and gone back to worry. The world is full of terrible people, and Blaine is so very good. So many things could have happened to him on the way to Bushwick, and Kurt would have no way of knowing. What if he was pushed onto the subway track by a homeless guy with undiagnosed schizophrenia? There wouldn't even be enough of him left for Kurt to identify the body.

The resulting image has him running for the bathroom and throwing up wine that hasn't even had the chance to hit his bloodstream.

At 11:45, he thinks Sebastian is probably laughing at him. And maybe Blaine, too.

At 11:50, he's convinced that Blaine is lying unconscious on his bathroom floor as his brain slowly dies of hemorrhage.

And so on and so forth, until, by 1:30, Kurt has cycled through so many times that he can barely even tell the difference anymore. He passes out, fully clothed and sprawled on top of the fresh, clean sheets he changed only hours before. It's a fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares, but it keeps him in its grip until morning.

He wakes up groggy, with a pounding headache and that weird, hungover feeling he's never gotten used to. He chugs down some water, forces down a couple of painkillers, and stumbles to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

It's then that he remembers.

His heart lurches. He pounces on his phone, and he realizes what woke him up.

A new message. From Blaine. Timestamped just ten minutes ago.

I'm so, so sorry. Please let me come over so that I can explain?

Kurt types back Yes, so quickly he has to delete and re-write it three times before it comes out without typos.

I'm already on the subway. Be there soon.

Something in Kurt eases. Blaine isn't dead, at least. That's something.

Clearer-headed now, with the light of day and an entire pot of coffee to bring him to his senses, Kurt knows that he went down a crazy spiral last night. He trusts Blaine, he does, it's just... There's only so much Blaine can control, where Sebastian is concerned. He can't quite shake the worry that's still eating away at his brain, little by little.

Blaine is there less than half an hour after his last text, pale-faced and disheveled. His eyes are huge with remorse and underlined with dark smudges that speak eloquently to the kind of night he had.

"Kurt," he breathes. "I'm so sorry. I didn't have my phone and neither did Sam, or I would have called, I swear."

"Wait, slow down. Sam?"

Blaine nods. "Yeah, he was – do you think we could sit, for this?"

He looks a little wobbly on his feet. Kurt shakes himself and plants a guiding hand between Blaine's shoulder blades in case he should need the support. His worry dials up a notch.

"Of course."

He leads him to the living area, waits for him to get settled. Blaine takes a deep breath and looks Kurt in the eye.

"Okay. I guess I should start at the beginning."

"That...would be helpful, yes."

"Sue knows," he says, without preamble.

"Wha – how did she – ?"

"She saw us in the hallway yesterday."

Oh, God.

"What did she do?"

"She pulled me aside after rehearsal and told me – she said Sebastian talked to her, told her he was unhappy with how hard I've been working. She said she'd take care of it, and that he should go ahead and make dinner reservations, and then she told me... She wants us to end it, Kurt."

"What? But that's – that's crazy, that's..." He trails off, takes in the way Blaine is avoiding his eyes. "What did you say, Blaine?"

"I told her it was my choice."

Kurt chooses his next words carefully.

"Is that where you were last night? With Sebastian?"

Blaine's eyes widen.

"No! That's – I was getting to that part. Um. Sam saw me right after, and he could tell I was shaken up. I figured – I needed someone to talk to, you know? So he came home with me and I told him what had happened and then... I started to feel really overwhelmed, and it turned into a panic attack, and Sam freaked out and took me to the hospital, and then I was stuck in the ER for the rest of the night, and – "

"Wait. A panic attack? Are you okay? What did the doctors say?"

"I'm fine," he says dismissively. "They just checked me out, ran some tests, and told me I was okay to go."

"What kind of tests?"

"Just – blood pressure, blood sample, that kind of thing. I don't know, I really just wanted to get out of there."

"Is that – has that kind of thing happened to you before?"

"No, never. I'm sure it was just the stress, honestly. It was no big deal."

Kurt sighs, letting go of the spike of worry that jumpstarted his heart the second he heard the word "hospital." Panic attacks aren't nothing, but they're treatable. He resolves to do some research on the subject as soon as he can get to his computer.

"I was worried out of my mind, Blaine."

Blaine takes both of Kurt's hands in his, fingers curling together and holding tightly.

"I'm fine. Really. It was a pain, and I hated missing our date, but I'm more concerned about..."

"Sebastian."

He can't keep the anger out of his voice, or the defeat. Blaine nods, wary. He tightens his grip on Kurt's fingers.

"Sue called me this morning. He was furious – he thought I'd stood him up, and he threatened to pull funding."

"What?"

"He said he was tired of playing games. Sue managed to placate him, but he wants to re-negotiate the contract."

"Can he do that?"

"Of course he can. Don't you get it, Kurt? He has all of the power here, all of it, and the only reason he isn't exercising it right now is that he thinks – " He cuts himself off, looks away. "He thinks he's wooing me."

"I know."

"Sue convinced him to give me time to focus on the play, but in exchange, he – he wants to add six months."

Kurt sucks in a breath.

"Blaine."

"If it keeps him happy..."

And, God, but that's it – Kurt's had enough.

"No, Blaine. You can't let him do this. Nothing you do will ever be enough, because what he wants is to own you, and he can't, because you're a person – and you said it yourself, you hate this. You hate what it does to you, and I hate it, too. I can't stand to watch him put his hands all over you and think that it means anything at all. Nothing could possibly be worth that."

Blaine's eyes flash.

"You're wrong. Nothing is what I'll have if I back out now – no options, no future, just The Moulin Rouge and this cage I've built for myself. And I'm not the only one that needs this, Kurt. Those people are my family. They're depending on me, and I can't fail them – I can't. It's not an option."

His breath is shallow and hectic through the tears that are choking him off and refusing to fall down his cheeks. Kurt just wants to make it better.

"I know. I understand – "

"No, you don't. What I get out of this – I'll have a life, Kurt. I'll have you, and a career, and my freedom. That's worth everything to me. There's nothing I wouldn't do for that."

"Blaine, I – "

"I know it's a lot to ask of you, and I know I don't have the right, because it means hiding and pretending, and knowing that he... I know it would make the most sense if we – if we ended things – "

Kurt's grip tightens.

"That's not what I want, Blaine. I don't. I never could."

Blaine studies him for a moment. His breathing starts to calm, go deeper.

"I'll have to sleep with him. I'll have to let him touch me and pretend to like it. He'll have to believe I'm in love with him. You'll have to watch it, and the jealousy will drive you mad."

Kurt shakes his head.

"No. I won't get jealous."

Blaine levels him a look.

"Kurt – "

"I mean it – I trust you. I just don't like watching him try to make you...less."

Blaine sighs and looks away.

"Maybe we should...put things on hold, while the contract is active. You won't have to see it, and we won't have to hide – "

"No, I told you, that's not the solution. We just – we have to trust each other."

Blaine swallows. He doesn't say anything.

Kurt gently frees his hands and reaches out to draw Blaine's gaze back to his. He tries to communicate with his eyes and his touch and, just, his being how very much this means. He's Blaine's from inside out because he chooses to be, every day, and he always will. Together, they can heal their own hearts and save their own souls, because, together, there isn't a demon in the world they can't face.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, the song has words.

"I'll write a song," he says abruptly. "And we'll put it in the show, and no matter how bad things get, or whatever happens – whenever you hear it, or you sing it, or whistle it, or hum it, you'll know. It will mean that we love one another."

"Kurt..." His eyes are sad, almost pleading. "That's not enough. That's not how it works."

"It's a start. We'll figure out the rest as we go. We're enough, Blaine."

Kurt runs his thumbs over Blaine's cheekbones, willing him to just have faith and take this leap with him.

Blaine breathes in, faint and shaky, and his face crumples. Kurt pulls him close and holds him tight as he lets out his sobs, scratching lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. He can feel the shaking of Blaine's body as it reverberates through his own, and the pinprick points of pain where Blaine's blunt nails dig into his back. He resists the urge to smother the harsh sound of it with soothing nonsense, because he knows that's not what Blaine needs, but it kind of breaks his heart.

It subsides, eventually, and Blaine sniffs, and pulls back. He nods.

There's a suspended moment while they just look at each other, and then they're meeting in the middle for a hard, desperate kiss.

They rest forehead to forehead, fingers clutching in the space between. Their eyes are open and watching, eyelashes brushing as they blink. Kurt feels his own go damp with the remnants of Blaine's tears.

"Sing with me," murmurs Kurt.

"What do you want us to sing?"

"Our song."

Come what may, I will love you until my dying day.