This time, it's a bell that wakes him, a church bell clanging so loudly it could be in the living room. Kurt sits up, heart racing. He remembers.

"Who's there?" he calls.

No one answers. The bell rings again, this time in a simple melody that scratches at the edges of Kurt's memory. He can see a light flickering beneath his bedroom door, dancing like fire.

He climbs cautiously out of bed and creeps over to it. He touches the knob - a part of him expects to find it hot. He turns it, slowly, and opens the door.

There is no bell, no blazing inferno, just a male figure, lounging on the couch. He's lit warm from within, like someone has set candles burning beneath his skin. His clothing is loose and does nothing to hide his beauty. He has a wreath of evergreen and holly set in his curling hair, and eyes that glow like embers.

"Blaine?"

Ten different kinds of panic set upon him at once, though only one is loud enough to hear above the clamor.

"Are you - does this mean - ?"

"No, Kurt," he says, and it's his voice, too. "He's very much alive. More alive than you are at the moment, I would imagine."

Kurt ignores what is clearly meant as a jab.

"Are you - are you a spirit, too, then?"

He taps a finger to his nose. It sets off a spark.

"Got it in one."

"Why him?"

He laughs jovially.

"Why not? It got your attention, did it not?"

Kurt scowls.

"It isn't funny."

"Oh, come now. Who am I?"

He stands up, arms spread, and smiles encouragingly. Kurt sighs. There really isn't a point to resisting.

"The Ghost of Christmas Present?"

"But of course. Now, does that answer your question?"

"No."

"No matter. It will. Come, take my hand and we'll be on our way."

Kurt grimaces.

"Again? Can't we just skip this part? I think I get the point."

The spirit smiles broadly.

"I'm glad. Now take my hand."

Kurt sighs and complies. His hand is warm. It even feels the same, down to the tingle that crawls up his arm and sets his spine buzzing. Suddenly, there's a swoop in his gut and the whoosh of wind streaming over his face, and it's all over so fast he can only remember a blur of dark and light on all sides as they fly. His knees nearly buckle at the impact.

They're at Blaine's apartment again. The differences are subtle but clear. The tree is slightly shorter, the ornaments in a different configuration. There are photos on the mantel of Blaine with his family and who Kurt assumes to be his friends. Sebastian no longer features.

It's afternoon, this time, and Blaine is sitting on the couch with a man that Kurt recognizes after only a few seconds of staring. He's got a goatee, now, but looks otherwise much as he did in high school.

He's pretty sure he hasn't seen Sam since then.

Blaine has got a kitten curled up on his lap, a fluffy white thing who's purring so loudly Kurt can hear her from where he stands.

"Snowball?" suggests Sam, eyebrows raised hopefully. "Snowy for short?"

"I don't know, Sam, it's not very...original."

Blaine scratches the kitten behind the ears and smiles when she pushes her head back against his fingers.

"What about Selina?" On Blaine's blank stare, he prompts, "Catwoman?"

Blaine levels him a look. He cradles the kitten in his hands and brings her up to eye level.

"Do you really think this is the face of a sexy cat burglar?"

He has a point.

"Just trying to help, dude."

"I'm thinking...Matilda."

"Like the kids' movie?"

"It was my favorite book when I was little."

Blaine looks at the kitten in his hands with a soft smile. He settles her back onto his lap and strokes a hand down her back. There's such care in his fingers, and something almost longing in his eyes.

"She could be called Maddie for short."

Sam seems to pick up on the same thing that Kurt has - Blaine isn't thinking about a kitten.

"I don't know," he says slowly, cautiously. "Maybe you should save that one."

"What for?"

"Maybe you'll want to use it for something else."

Blaine hesitates.

"No. I think it suits her."

Something a little sad crosses Sam's face, but he covers it with a quick grin.

"Alright, then." He grabs a pencil from the coffee table and leans toward them, eraser end out. He taps her solemnly on each shoulder and, once, just between the ears. She flicks them, annoyed at the disturbance. "I dub thee Lady Matilda Anderson. Long may you serve your master well."

Blaine smiles, broad and happy.

"You like that, Maddie?" He bends down to look her in the eye. She mewls, and he chuckles fondly. "That's your name now, so you'd better get used to it."

"I'm glad you two are hitting it off so well."

"She's wonderful Sam, really. I can't thank you enough. I always wanted a cat, but - "

"Sebastian was allergic. I remember."

"Yeah."

Melancholy creeps over his face, dark and ominous as a rain cloud. Sam leans close, face full of sympathy.

"Honestly? I thought you seemed a little...lonely."

Blaine's eyes flick to him, then back down to Matilda. His jaw tightens, ever so slightly.

"That's sweet, but I'm really fine. I promise."

"I know."

Blaine is silent for a moment, watching as Matilda yawns hugely, baring her tiny teeth, and settles back down on his lap. His jaw relaxes.

"It will be nice to have something to come home to."

"Yeah. I don't what I'd do without Snuffles."

Blaine snorts.

"I still can't believe you called him that. You could at least have gone for Padfoot."

"I told you, it didn't fit."

"I guess you're right. Only a dog named Snuffles would knock over a garbage can to get at the used tissues."

"See? I told you."

Even though Kurt is completely grossed out, he can't help but smile when the two of them start laughing together. Matilda, affronted by the sudden movement, rises gracelessly to her feet and makes her wobbly way off of Blaine's lap to the couch cushions.

Soon enough, they lapse into silence.

"You know," says Sam, thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think it's a wonder that you don't hate Christmas."

Blaine chuckles.

"Yeah. Me too."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you don't. You give pretty much the best presents ever."

"You're not hard to shop for."

"True."

Blaine catches his gaze. He's got that soulful look in his big, beautiful eyes.

"I'm glad you're here. I don't know what I'd be doing with myself, otherwise."

"My guess would be watching White Christmas for the billionth time and singing along at the top of your lungs."

"Probably."

They share a smile. Sam looks away and clears his throat. He looks distinctly uncomfortable.

"Did you ever, um, hear from Kurt? About the party, I mean."

"Oh. No. I didn't expect to, though. You know how he is."

Sam nods.

"Too busy for anybody that matters."

"That's not fair. It takes a lot of work to get to where he is. Luck isn't going to get his designs on the cover of Vogue. It's no wonder he's so busy."

Sam raises his eyebrows, expression the very definition of incredulous.

"Why do you always defend him? Have you even seen him in the past six months?"

Yes, Kurt thinks. They ran into each other at Starbucks last July. They made small talk while they waited for their coffee and promised to get together for lunch sometime soon. Blaine sent him a text later that day. Kurt never responded.

"Yes, actually, but that isn't the point. I defend him because, well. If I don't do it, who will? I can't just abandon him."

Blaine is pleading, by the end, for Sam to understand. He looks so defeated. Sam's eyes go soft.

"No, you're right. I know how much he means to you."

"Yeah."

Blaine is silent for a moment, the gears turning in his head as he reaches out to Matilda where's she's flopped herself on the cushion.

"Do you think Sebastian was right?" he says, finally. His tone is carefully neutral. Sam looks wary.

"You mean - to break up with you? Of course not. He's an idiot if he thinks he can do better."

"No, I mean... Do you think I'm...ruined, for love?"

Sam looks alarmed. He reaches out and grasps Blaine's shoulder, as if he can stop the thought before it grows, with no more than the anchor of his hand.

"Blaine. No. Of course not, don't be stupid. You said yourself that he was just jealous. He's a stubborn asshole who couldn't let go of a teenage grudge. You can't let him mess with your head."

"I know. I just - what if he's right? At least a little bit. What if that one shot at love is the only one I get, and I blew it? It's like those guys at the reunion, you know? Those hockey players who were on top of the world in high school and then just...never got out and, like, knocked up their girlfriends and developed beer bellies. They had their shot at greatness, and they wasted it."

"You're not, like, a love Lima loser, if that's what you mean."

Blaine snorts out a laugh.

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"I mean it. Kurt is in your past, Sebastian is a douche, and you've been on, what, two dates since he broke up with you? I wouldn't throw in the towel just yet."

"You're right."

"I know I am. There is no way you, of all people, don't find love. It wouldn't make sense."

Blaine smiles, warm and shaky.

"Thanks, man."

"Brittany thinks so, too."

"She does?"

"You know how she's a little bit psychic?"

He waits for Blaine to nod. To Blaine's credit, only a hint of amusement shines through in the slight, sardonic quirk of his lip.

"She told me she saw it."

"Did she say anything about how I meet this mystery man? I've never actually had a relationship that didn't start with a show choir rivalry."

Sam snorts.

"She wasn't clear on that. Have you tried online dating yet? It's actually kind of awesome."

Blaine grimaces, echoing Kurt's feelings on the matter perfectly.

"I don't know, that's...not really my thing."

"You may have to resort to letting your friends set you up."

"Do you even know any other gay guys?"

"Well, no, but Rachel - "

"Would you want Rachel setting you up?"

Sam shudders.

"Point taken. Maybe tonight, then? There's bound to be some cute guys there."

"Maybe. I probably know them all."

That gloom creeps back in. Sam notices, too.

"You want to sing about it?" he says, gently.

Blaine smiles, that big, shining smile that's so grateful it makes Kurt ache.

"How about something a little lighter?"

There's a twinkle to his eye that Kurt hasn't seen yet today, and, God, he's missed it.

"What did you have in mind?"

Blaine reaches over to his iPod dock and scrolls around until he finds what he was looking for. Sam laughs.

"Nice."

The opening notes to "Jingle Bell Rock" ring out in the quiet space, and the two of them spring off the couch. They trade off solo lines and sing together at random, and the way they're moving could only generously be called dancing. It's loose and happy, and the faces they're pulling make them laugh at each other so hard that Kurt can't help but want to join in.

He doesn't, of course. He can't.

They collapse back onto the couch when it's over, careful not to crush poor Matilda.

"That was just what I needed," sighs Blaine happily.

"What else is a best friend for?"

The spirit touches Kurt's arm.

"Come. We have more to see."

Kurt turns to him reluctantly. The spirit's eyes catch the light and throw it back. They glow from within. And yet, they could never be as bright as Blaine's are when he looks at Sam like that, with all of the affection in his heart.

Kurt nods.

It's that flying sensation again, and it lasts so long, this time, that Kurt's insides start to churn. When they touch down again, they're in Ohio. Kurt has been here more in the past 24 hours than he has in the last five years combined.

It's nighttime, and the house is warm again. The tree is big and awkwardly balanced, leaning a little to the left, toward the window. The lights are slung haphazardly around the branches, the ornaments uneven, the star crooked.

"Homely, isn't it?" says the spirit. His tone is jovial rather than disdainful, but Kurt feels his hackles rise nonetheless.

"I think it's nice."

The spirit snorts.

"No, you don't. You're itching to get in there and rearrange everything. It's driving you crazy that you can't."

Kurt opens his mouth, closes it again. He looks at the tree.

"It is a little...sloppy."

"Finn never did have your touch, did he?"

The smile on his face is too knowing to be familiar. Kurt turns away.

He becomes suddenly aware of a delicious smell in the air. He follows his nose to the dining room.

The table is set for two, with Carole's good china and the cloth napkins. A fat candle burns in the center, casting a lovely glow over the meal she's laying out. There's a small roast ham, a mound of mashed potatoes, and a small bowl of roasted vegetables that Kurt knows Finn will never touch.

Carole is grayer than the last time Kurt saw her. The lines are deeper in her face. Finn ambles in from the kitchen with a bottle of what appears to be mediocre wine, wearing a Christmas sweater and sweatpants. Some things never change.

"It really is a shame that Marcy couldn't join us," she's saying. "I'll be sure to make her up a plate and leave it in the oven to keep warm."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that. I know she was sad to miss this."

"Well, it's smart of her to volunteer for holidays now, so that she has some credit stored up when the baby comes."

"That's right," murmurs Kurt. "I forgot all about that."

The spirit chuckles.

"Why wouldn't you? You haven't seen them since the wedding."

Kurt says nothing.

Finn pours out two glasses of wine. Carole raises hers in a toast.

"To family. To those who are here and those who are not."

"To Dad."

"To Marcy."

"To Burt."

"To Kurt."

Finn sighs.

"Yeah. To Kurt."

"To those we've lost," finishes Carole.

They exchange sad smiles and clink their glasses. There's a moment of quiet while Carole serves the ham.

"Have you heard from him at all?" says Finn.

"Not since that e-mail on Thanksgiving. I called him and left a voicemail. Let him know he's more than welcome for New Year's if he can make it out."

"He won't."

"You don't know that, Finn. He may still have a change of heart."

"I don't know if he even thinks of us as family anymore."

"Well, we are. Nothing could possibly change that."

"I'm not the one you need to convince."

"Yes, well. Maybe we should think about making a visit to New York soon. Make it easier for him."

Finn smiles.

"Yeah. That'd be good. We could see Rachel, too, and Blaine. They both promised me free tickets."

"We'll plan it soon."

The spirit lays a hand on Kurt's shoulder.

"So soon?" murmurs Kurt. It feels like they've only just arrived.

"Come along."

The smile he gives is kind, and Kurt nods. They fly away.

When they land once more, it's in a room that Kurt is certain he's never seen before. It's the living room of a tiny one-bedroom apartment, barely big enough to fit the folding table that's been set up in the center. There are chairs crammed tightly around it, fitting what appears to be a family of six into a space that would be tight for four. Dinner has been eaten, the wine drunk, and the room is filled with laughter. Their conversation is mixed and muddled, voices overlapping voices as they interrupt and talk across each other.

Suddenly, Kurt realizes that Krista, his assistant, is at the center. She has her head thrown back in mirth. It's no wonder Kurt didn't recognize her.

"Krista couldn't make it home to Michigan for Christmas this year because her boss wouldn't give her the time off. Her sisters pooled their savings and rented a van to drive the family out here as an early Christmas present for their parents."

Kurt swallows.

"Where are they staying?"

"Krista offered to pay for a couple of hotel rooms, but her parents wouldn't let her. They know she's saving for grad school."

"So..."

"Her parents will take the bedroom. The sisters will camp out in here. They don't mind, though - they like to stay close when they get the chance to see her. It happens so rarely, after all."

"Alright, fine. I get it."

"Do you?"

Something in his mild tone makes Kurt look up to meet his gaze. His eyes are blazing. Kurt could believe, in this moment, that the fire in him could break through his skin and take Kurt under.

Kurt feels himself shrink back, instinctively. He stops, straightens his shoulders, doesn't let himself look away.

"Yes."

The spirit smiles.

"Good."

He takes Kurt's hand. Kurt closes his eyes.

When he opens them, it's to bright lights and the buzz of chatter and laughter, loud above the tinkling of piano keys.

The infamous party, he realizes almost immediately. It's in a spacious apartment that must be Rachel's, given the familiar golden star framed and hung proudly over the mantel. It was a Christmas gift from Finn their second year in New York.

Kurt came here once for a dinner party he couldn't think of an excuse to avoid. Rachel had been very eager to display her newfound success and her brand-new marriage in one fell swoop.

The marriage didn't last, but the apartment is in it for the long haul.

Now it's decorated with a mix of festive holiday themes, from evergreen boughs to decorative menorahs. The pianist is playing soft background music on a makeshift stage in the living room. A table off the kitchen is covered in appetizers and wine bottles in various stages of empty. Rachel doesn't believe in hard liquor at elegant parties, Kurt remembers. He himself has long since gotten over that particular pretension.

"Blaine!" he hears, in Rachel's brand of shriek. His head turns to follow it, and he finds Rachel rushing to the door, where Blaine and Sam have just made their entrance. Kurt picks his way carefully through the crowd, until he discovers, by happy accident, that he can pass through the guests as easily as if they were made of mist.

"Neat trick, isn't it?" says the spirit. He winks.

"Are you doing that?"

"In a way. You aren't actually here, are you?"

Kurt rolls his eyes.

Rachel has taken their coats and is hanging them in the closet by the time Kurt reaches them.

"Thank goodness you're here," she's saying. "I was starting to sense that the crowd was getting impatient."

"You could have started without me."

"Don't be silly! You're one of the hosts."

"Sorry, Rachel, really. We got held up making a bed for Matilda."

Rachel's furrowed brow could be the dictionary picture of confusion.

"The kitten I bought him for Christmas," adds Sam, before she has the chance to open her mouth.

Her eyes go big and shiny.

"Oh! Is she completely adorable?"

Blaine nods, positively beaming.

"Completely. You'll have to come over soon to play with her."

"Of course."

Blaine rubs his hands together.

"So." He offers her his arm. "Shall we?"

She laughs, takes it, and practically drags him to the stage. She makes a beeline for the microphone, a golden sparkly thing that makes Kurt shake his head fondly. She clears her throat.

"Good evening, everyone," she says grandly. She waits for the chatter to die down and the room's eyes to turn to her. "Welcome to the Berry-Anderson singing holiday extravaganza."

"We'd like to thank you all for coming here instead of your local Chinese dining establishment," adds Blaine. "The food may not be better, but we hope the company makes up for it."

"Bruce, here - wave, Bruce - will be here for us all evening. He has assured me that his repertoire is wide enough to accommodate even the most eclectic tastes of our guests, so don't hesitate to sing whatever your heart may desire."

"As long as it isn't depressing."

"Yes. Sad songs are strongly discouraged, no matter how moving and emotionally appropriate they may be." She shoots a look at Blaine that manages to be only slightly bitter. "My co-host and I have prepared something to start us off. It won't be holiday-themed, as you all got a taste of that during our appearance on yesterday's Today Show - available now on YouTube - but we hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless."

"We think it's a message you'll all appreciate."

Rachel beams her brightest show smile and points to Bruce without even a glance.

"Hit it."

Kurt doesn't recognize the melody right away, but when he does, he can't help but snort his disbelief.

"Appropriate, don't you think?" comments the spirit.

"Only them."

Rachel starts them off, slow and rich in her lower register. Her voice has matured since Kurt last heard it.

At first I was afraid, I was petrified, kept thinking I could never live without you by my side...

Blaine takes over on the next line, both hands on the microphone as he croons out the only song truly appropriate for today.

...But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong and I grew strong, and I learned to get along...

They trade lines as the song builds, until, finally, the chorus hits and their voices flow together in effortless harmony. Their chemistry is as magnetic as ever, and their voices even more complementary than they were the first time they sang together, 16 and drunk in Rachel's basement.

They finish to well-deserved applause.

Blaine grins and takes the microphone one last time.

"And now, the stage is yours."

Someone Kurt doesn't know but thinks may have played Rachel's sister in the show that won her her first Tony rushes to take the invitation. She's just starting a decent rendition of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" when Blaine and Rachel make it off the stage. Kurt follows them.

"You were magnificent as ever," Blaine is saying. His face is alight, his expression teasing, and he's never looked more like the spirit at Kurt's side than he does right now.

"Why thank you. You weren't too bad yourself."

"Show me where to find a drink?"

She complies, leading him by the arm to the refreshment table.

As he pours himself a glass of Kurt's favorite white, Rachel leans in close and asks, "Have you heard from..." She bites her lip, like she doesn't want to say the name. Blaine grimaces, tight and almost imperceptible.

"No. I haven't heard from Kurt."

She deflates.

"I really thought this might be the year."

"Well, the party's only just begun. He might still surprise us."

She gives a small smile and raises her glass.

"Here's hoping."

Blaine clinks his glass against hers and takes a long drink.

"In the meantime," says Rachel, a new gleam in her eye, "there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Blaine shoots her a wary look, but she either doesn't notice or deeply doesn't care, because she's leading him across the room without a backwards glance.

Kurt doesn't follow. He watches, carefully, from across the room. The guy is tall and lightly muscular, the lean body of a dancer. He's probably in his early thirties, moderately handsome with wavy brown hair that he's used only minimal product to control. His face practically lights up when Rachel makes the introduction. He can't take his eyes off Blaine, who's smiling a tad flirtatiously. The guy looks struck, like his breath has been taken completely away.

Rachel steps back and smiles warmly, admiring her handiwork as the two of them hit it off.

The spirit takes pity on him.

"I think maybe you've had enough."

Hearing Blaine's voice in his ear at that exact moment is too much, far too much. Blaine, who won't abandon him, no matter how hard Kurt tries, who believes in him, who still keeps his heart wide open for those who'll look to see it, even after every bruise and break. Blaine, who can level him with a look.

There was a reason the spirit chose Blaine's face to show Kurt tonight.

"You understand now, don't you?" he says, as if he could read Kurt's mind.

"He turns me vulnerable," whispers Kurt.

"Yes. And everything else, too."

He grasps Kurt's hand without warning, and, suddenly, they're back in the overwhelming quiet of Kurt's bedroom.

"It is time for me to say goodbye."

Kurt's heart gives a whine that he ignores. He looks the spirit in the eye and nods. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Looks closer.

His candlelit skin has begun to dim, like the wick has burned down to the nub. His eyes have gone ash-gray.

"Are you okay?"

He smiles sadly.

"I only get one day."

Kurt nods his understanding. He hesitates.

"Thank you for spending it with me."

The spirit smiles, an oddly sweet little thing.

"Remember."

And then, like that, he flickers out, and he's gone. The distant wisp of a church bell follows in his wake. This time, words form themselves to the melody in Kurt's mind.

You think I'm pretty without any make-up on...

It, too, dies away.

Kurt is asleep again in seconds.