Blaine runs off stage right, laughter following him from the audience. It warms his heart – this may only be a student-run production, but they've managed to fill the house every night, and each audience is more responsive than the last. By all accounts, it's the Sondheim Society's most successful project yet.

Kurt is there in the wings, waiting for his entrance cue. He's in his end-of-Act-One costume, looking particularly gorgeous. He grins at Blaine and pounces on him for a tight hug.

“You were perfect,” he says, voice carefully backstage-low. “I'm so proud of you.”

Blaine glows.

“You saw?”

“I had Melinda finish my make-up from the wings. I didn't want to miss your big solo on closing night.”

A lump of emotion forms in his throat.

“Kurt.”

“It's not like I'll ever get another chance to see my handsome fiancé playing Cinderella.”

“I don't know, maybe Broadway will catch on to gender-blind casting.”

Kurt hums his agreement. “I wish. I would kill for a chance at Elphaba.”

Blaine laughs. “I don't know, I seem to recall someone complaining pretty bitterly about the toll that heavy stage make-up takes on your skin.”

“I'd dry out my T-zone and break out in pimples every day if it meant I got to sing Defying Gravity in front of a sold-out Broadway audience.”

“Of course. And you'd be so glorious that no one would even notice your dried-out, acne-ridden skin.”

Kurt smiles at him, wide and sweet. He glances at the action on stage, checking in. They've still got time. He steps closer.

“You know what this play is missing?” he murmurs into Blaine's ear. The intimate tone of it sends a shiver up Blaine's spine. He smiles and closes his eyes.

“What's that?”

“A scene at the ball.”

Blaine frowns.

“I don't know if that really fits with the tone of the piece, to be honest.”

“Blaine?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm asking you to dance.”

“Oh. Well, in that case.”

Blaine steps back, just far enough to arrange himself in formal hold. Kurt pauses.

“Why don't you lead?” he says. “Everyone knows you're the Prince Charming in this story.”

“I don't know about that,” says Blaine, but he concedes, sliding his right hand around to the small of Kurt's back.

He's always related to Cinderella – Sondheim's version, at least. Torn between something safe that she knows will never make her happy and something so wonderful it scares her. Worried that her prince will no longer want her when she lets him see who she really is. He jumped at the chance when Kurt told him about the auditions, eyes bright with the manic light of someone who's been told he has a chance at a part originated by Bernadette Peters.

“I do,” says Kurt now, with a small, knowing smile. “You've made me feel like Cinderella at the ball every day since the moment we met.”

Blaine kisses him tenderly, touched, and leads them in a box step – a tiny one, as there's really only so far they can move before they've crossed into audience sightlines. He steps carefully, wary of Kurt's pointy-toed shoes. They're about a size and a half too big, but Kurt insisted they were perfect for the look and refused to consider something more practical. He even spent an entire Saturday evening lovingly affixing miniature crystals to the toes, “enhancing the drama,” as he called it. Blaine is just happy that Kurt has made it this far without tripping over the edge of the stage.

Christina the stage manager keeps shooting them looks of annoyance. Blaine makes a mental note to run out and get her flowers before tonight's cast party.

Kurt starts humming, just loudly enough for Blaine to hear. He doesn't need to sing the words, because Blaine's brain supplies them automatically.

Ten minutes I saw you,

I looked up when you came through the door,

My head started reeling,

You gave me the feeling

The room had no ceiling or floor

“I'm pretty sure that's the wrong show,” he whispers in Kurt's ear. Kurt smiles and shuffles closer, resting his cheek against Blaine's. Blaine resists nuzzling his nose into Kurt's hair, mindful of mussing Melinda's careful work. They slow, until they're really just swaying back and forth in each other's arms.

Christina clears her throat next to them, unimpressed.

Kurt lifts his head, but otherwise stays right where he is.

“We're about ten seconds from your entrance, Hummel. Thought you might want to know.”

Blaine loosens his hold reluctantly, and Kurt slips out of his arms.

“How do I look?” he says, preening.

“Like the star of Alexander McQueen's 2014 spring collection runway show.”

Kurt's expression melts into something unspeakably tender. He reaches up to finger one of the feathers that have been fixed into his sky-high, sexy-messy hair.

“Aw, thanks, sweetie,” he coos, and pecks Blaine on the lips.

Christina flashes him an impatient hand signal, looking just about ready to march over and manhandle him to his mark. Kurt hurriedly grabs his staff from the props table and throws his oversized hood over his head. Blaine cringes in sympathy for his hair. He hears Kurt's cue, just the second Kurt does, apparently, because he's running for his entrance before Blaine has a chance to tell him to break a leg.

Kurt makes it to the top of the stairs just exactly on time for his line, but the burst of adrenaline from rushing causes him to stumble as he makes his way down. After a precarious moment, when Blaine's heart just about stops and his head swims with sick visions of broken necks and cracked skulls, Kurt rights himself and continues, so smoothly that it probably didn't even register to the audience.

There's something off about his gait, though, after that. His cloak is long enough to cover his feet, so Blaine can't be sure, but it looks like he's favoring his right foot. Oh, god, he rolled his ankle, didn't he? Blaine wishes he could see Kurt's face, check for other signs of pain. He knows it must be pretty bad if he's actually limping on stage.

Blaine thinks frantically through what he knows about ankle injuries – ice it, rest it, x-ray if the pain is really bad. Kurt definitely shouldn't be putting his weight on it at all, much less performing an entire second act. Blaine is about to go to Christina with his concerns when he sees her covering her mouth, shoulders shaking with muffled laughter. Protective anger surges through him, and he's ready to march over there and give her a sternly-worded lecture about taking pleasure in other people's pain when she catches his eye. She glances pointedly up at the staircase. Blaine follows her line of vision and sees exactly what she's laughing about.

He snorts. He can't help it.

There, on the steps, is one of Kurt's too-big, bedazzled shoes, shining for all the world like it's made of glass.