Kurt clung to Blaine, their sweat-slicked bodies making it a challenge. He couldn’t get enough, couldn’t be both completely open and desperately grasping at the same time, but he tried. Oh, how he tried. Their bodies rocked in a ball, Blaine’s hot breath on Kurt’s neck, Kurt’s legs folded up, tangled in Blaine’s arms, their motion giving Kurt enough friction to float on the edge of bliss.

With each leisurely thrust, their soft exhalations of breath and quiet deep moans thrummed through the room, every noise, every taste, every touch a haze around them, around their oneness. The only clarity came with Blaine peeling from Kurt’s neck to gaze, to adore, Kurt finding security and assurance, love and even amusement at what they had. At what would come, even though neither of them had a clue what was in store for them. It didn’t matter now. Blaine’s eyes were peace and passion, lust and amazement. And when he dipped down one last time to capture Kurt’s lips in his, working his mouth along his jaw, hot breath in his ear and then I love you…so much, it all sent Kurt over the edge, his head thrown back, a low, deep groan filling the room, his nails digging into Blaine’s back as the tension rapturously uncoiled from his body.

Kurt disappearing into the ecstasy, his lips parting allowing the most musical of sounds to cry out, his eyes bright and full in delirious passion, his neck exposed and taut, all blended together into the perfect painting, sent Blaine over the edge, scooping Kurt closer still, filling him, holding him, rocking together wordless and wrecked, never wanting to let go.

Kurt loosened his grip, sinking his fingers into Blaine’s curls, damp and cool to his touch. He kissed and suckled at the crook of his neck, working his way up his jaw, hooking his ankles more tightly when he felt Blaine shift away. “No. Don’t leave me yet. Keep moving.”

“Oh sweetheart.” Blaine kissed at whatever skin he could find, breathing in the salty mix of cologne and sweat, sex and Kurt. “I don’t know how lo-…”

“I don’t care.” He held on tight, his palm cupping Blaine’s ass, pushing him in again and again, chanting with each slow, deliberate, dragging thrust, “Just stay. Please. Just stay…”

And Blaine did as long as he could, slow strokes, soft breath exchanging in loose-lipped kisses. Finally, he lifted over Kurt, brushing the matted bangs from his brow and gave two more quick thrusts, slipping out with a kiss, wasting no time to gather Kurt back in his arms as he fell to his side.

Kurt curled into Blaine, sighing and snuggling, his booze-fogged brain now clear, focused on this man. His body. His warm breath. His tender, firm touch. His love felt like he's never felt love before.

As each moment passed, slips of the conversation with his dad, his fear from the whole of the phone call, of the future, of what it meant was really happening, snuck in, marring the beauty and ecstasy they just shared. His breath shuddered and Blaine tightened his hold.

“Hey…you okay?”

Kurt nodded wordlessly, but the tears that were threatening spilled anyway. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” Blaine kissed the top of Kurt’s head and pulled him closer still, rubbing his hands up and down the smooth skin of Kurt’s back. “Sweetheart…" More kisses and caresses, never enough. "Why the tears?”

“I didn’t want to come back.”

Blaine paused a beat and pulled back trying to make eye contact, but Kurt had his face buried in his chest and wasn't unfurling any time soon. “Come back?”

“Back. From where you always take me.”

“Oh. Kurt.” Blaine wriggled free and sat up, chuckling when Kurt whined, clamoring like Adrian would at bed time, deciding hugging Daddy was far superior than getting into bed. “C’mere. I’ll still hang on.” Kurt followed him upright and straddled his lap, resting their foreheads together. “Kurt, we don’t have to come back.”

“We already have.”

“Then let me take you away again.” Kurt’s quiet tears fell as quickly as Blaine could kiss them away, brushing his thumb over his quivering lips, mumbling reassurances and affirmations while Kurt didn’t have words to speak for himself.

And when he did find words, they were pointed and few. “I’m so frightened.”

Blaine stopped. He cupped Kurt's face in his hands and finally got the eye contact he’d been yearning. “I know you are. But, sweetheart, there is nothing you can do tonight to make it better.”

“I don’t think it’s going to get better.”

“Your dad probably won’t, no. But how you and Carole and Finn cope with it will.”

Kurt bit his lip and covered Blaine's hands on each side of his face, grasping his wrists, turning to kiss each one, his quivering lips expressing himself better than words ever could.

“But tonight? There is nothing you can do. So, let me take you away. And we’ll stay away…until you can sleep...even if it takes all night.”

Kurt sniffled and climbed off Blaine’s lap to retrieve a tissue, snuggling in next to him with a faint smile. “And tomorrow I can call Carole.”

“Yes. And then we’ll have our day…where you can show me your city. Your heart. And, Kurt, I want to see everything.”

Kurt blew his nose and chuckled softly. “Everything can’t be done in a day…”

“Then I guess I get to come back.”

“But tonight…just you and me?”

“Just like we started. Sickness and worry and families are not invited.”

Kurt took a deep breath and hooked a leg over Blaine’s, kissing his chest, finding strength with each touch of his lips to Blaine's skin. “Can I draw us a bath?”

“That sounds amazing.”

“It’s small; we might have to snuggle in close.”

“Mmmm...I think we can manage.”

***

They managed so well that when they got out, Kurt had Blaine bent over the counter and was sinking into him before the towels had hit their bodies. After watching each other’s reflection in the mirror as they fell apart, deciding they were the hottest fuckers to ever exist in New York City, they giggled and teased while sponge bathing each other yet again, vowing to stop touching for at least an hour. Their negotiations took as long as it did getting dressed.

“45 minutes.”

“52 minutes.”

“Okay, this is dumb. An hour. Let’s get gelato. I’m not ready for public sex.”

“Mmmm, gelato. Creamy and drippy and sticky…we coul-…”

“Blaine! Can we at least bring it back here before w-…”

Blaine kissed Kurt and lingered longer than planned. Because Kurt let him. And because his lips were delicious – better than gelato. “We didn’t even last 5 minutes, Blaine.”

“I’m humongoliously sorry.”

Kurt opened the door and smacked Blaine’s ass as he walked by. “You’re not even infinitesimally sorry.”

“No. No, I’m not.”

Morning did arrive and Kurt did sleep peacefully. Blaine? Knew how to do comfort. And comfort sex. And comfort underwear parties, another of which they had post-comfort-gelato – pistachio, thank you. This time, the playlist went back decades to music Kurt had never heard before, but Blaine loved and sang and shared as though the melodies contained secrets to the world. Roxy Music and Mott the Hoople to early Chicago and Boston – with 70’s bands, if you were named after a city, my brother was in love with you - to David Bowie and Squeeze. They drank cheap wine and got a little tipsy again, falling into bed spinning and swirling around each other until neither had the strength or the care to move until morning.

Yes, Burt was still sick. Yes, Kurt was scared to death to call Carole and find out what was going on, but yes. He’d made it through the night feeling loved and secure, and as they’d both planned, it was beautiful.

And now, Blaine sat with him at the kitchen counter as he stared at his phone to call Carole. “Your anxiety is making this worse than it is, Kurt.”

“I know. And the reality is bad enough.”

“So, get it over with. What’s the worst thing that can happen from a phone call?”

“I’ll say something stupid and irreparably burn a bridge.”

“If she did something like that, wouldn’t you let her build it back?”

“Yes, but I’m not a very good builder.”

“Are you kidding? That’s what you do. You build beautiful things every day – from simple drawings, no less.”

“I don’t think tartan would make a very strong bridge.”

“And it makes ugly clothes anyway. Go with ramie.”

“I love it when you talk dirty.”

“Stop dilly dallying and call the woman.”

“Uuuuuugh. Give me more coffee.” And Blaine did and Kurt stared and Blaine glared and Kurt huffed and finally, finally, when Blaine threatened to wear bright fuchsia socks with his chocolate brown suit to the theater, he dialed.

“Please don’t wear fuchsi-…Carole! Hi.”

Kurt flipped the phone to speaker and their conversation was on, except…it was off. In that Carole did not understand the gravity of the situation she’d put his dad in the night before.

“I was only gone for a few minutes.”

“Actually, you weren’t. He was really riled up when he called, so you had to have been gone for a bit and he and I were on the phone for awhile too. He almost left.”

“Where would he go? I had the car.”

“Carole, he was going to look for Mom.”

And she fell silent. And Blaine kissed Kurt’s temple. And Kurt waited until Carole’s mouth caught up with her head. “Why…why was he looking for Lizzie?”

“Because, Carole. He has dementia. And he was scared. And confused. He knew it was Friday, but he was mad at me for being late for family dinner and he didn’t know why dinner wasn’t ready.”

“Oh.”

“And…he didn’t remember anyone named Carole.” Kurt heard the scratch of a kitchen chair on the linoleum floor and grabbed Blaine’s hand. “Carole? Are you okay?”

“Y-yes. Just…sitting down now. He…he knew me when I got home…”

“That’s good. I think he was just stuck on me, dinner and Mom, you know? So, in that world…”

“I didn’t exist.” She was quiet for a few more moments and Kurt waited again. “He had been doing so well.”

“I know. But, you still can’t leave him. And if you do need to go out, call me. Or Finn. Or Mrs. Shanks next door. Or, take him with you – he misses the fresh air. Just please. Do not leave him alone.”

“He could have walked right into traffic…” Finally Carole’s reserve broke and she sobbed, leaving Kurt feeling helpless and not a little bit hopeless.

“It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure out how to best handle him. How to give you breaks. I know he’s exhausting.”

“I am so tired, Kurt.”

“I know. And I’m sorry if I haven’t been as much help as you’d hoped when I moved back.”

“You’ve been great. I just…I just didn’t think…I keep hoping that it’ll get better. And it was – or at least, it felt like it!”

“It’s what we want to happen. More than anything.”

“He’s too young for this, you know. This isn’t fair. He has more to offer the world.”

And at that, Kurt teared up and they sniffled together, grieving the man they both loved more than any other. “We’re going to get through this, okay? But, you have to talk to me. And you have to trust me. And you have to lean on Finn when I travel, okay?”

“I’m so sorry, Kurt…”

“It’s okay. It’s…it worked out this time. Can you call the afterhours number and get him in to Dr. Asshat on Monday?”

Carole sniffled and snorted, chuckling through her tears. “Yes. I’ll call right now.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Now go play with your new boyfriend. And don’t call me until you land tomorrow. I’ve got this.”

“I know you do. Just don’t forget you don’t have to have it alone.”

They said their goodbyes and Kurt sighed, dabbing his nose, searching Blaine’s eyes for a little hope? Encouragement? Sunshine?

“Dr. Asshat?”

Or humor. Humor was good. “The cardiologist, Dr. Shivner. Dad hates him, but he’s lovely. And firm. And…” Kurt’s smile left his face and he twisted the tissue in his hand. “Do you think he’s having more blockage?”

Blaine nodded sadly. “I’m obviously not a doctor, but…”

“But you’re a medic. You know how the heart works anyway.”

“I do…and…” Blaine stopped talking and kissed Kurt’s temple before clearing their empty mugs from the counter. “Do you still want to go out today, or just stay in?”

“We’re going out. I refuse to mope. Like you said last night, there’s not a damned thing I can do for him right now anyway.”

“I’ll take my camera. Maybe some pictures of you in New York now will help him keep his timelines straight.”

“You’re amazing.”

Blaine scrunched his nose and slid Kurt off the stool to start getting ready. “It’s not completely altruistic. I’ve decided I’m decorating the walls of my bedroom in Kurt Hummel Portrait Chic.”

“Oh Blaine. That’s SO 2018.”

***

“My god, we are sexy bitches.”

Kurt met Blaine’s gaze in the full-length mirror, adjusting his pocket square into a proper Cagney fold. “Yes. Yes, we are.” He squirreled his mouth, contemplating the fold with his more casual scarf and Blaine’s rolled up pant hem. “Maybe a puff instead of a fold.” He yanked the sky blue fabric out of his pocket, flipping and fluffing it, settling it back in with a smile. “Much better.”

They shared another glance in the mirror and Kurt bit at his bottom lip. “Problem is, I really just want to rip that suit right back off of you.”

Blaine wagged his eyebrows, still a little wobbly-kneed from their romp only a half hour earlier. “Do we have time?”

“No.”

“Pity.” He fidgeted with his floppy bow tie, his eyes still gliding up and down the reflection of Kurt’s body, his linen striped suit accentuating every beautiful thing about the man wearing it. “Speaking of…we’re down to two condoms.”

Kurt’s eyes popped open even further and he turned to look at the real Blaine, not his reflection. “We started with a full box…two days ago!” He counted in his head and readjusted. "Okay, two and a half if you count Wednesday night. Are you kidding me?"

Blaine couldn’t look Kurt in the eye without blushing. “I'm not.” Finally he broke, laughing and walking away from the mirror. “I have never…in my life…”

“Me either. Holy shit.” Kurt shook his head and bent down to re-tie a shoe, chuckling all the way.

Blaine groaned at the view, having to close his eyes to find his voice. “When, um…when do we leave tomorrow?”

“Flight’s at 3. I’ll have a car here around 1:15.” When Kurt stood, he folded Blaine into his arms, spinning and waltzing to the kitchen counter to pick up his pocket needs.

“Do you think two will…”

Kurt kissed him mid-thought, running his tongue along the curve of Blaine’s bottom lip, smiling against his lips when Blaine dramatically dipped down, weak-kneed and silly. “No. We’ll stop somewhere.”

Blaine sighed and smiled, kissing the tip of Kurt’s nose. “I love New York.”

***

Blaine looked around the restaurant with the standard tourist face, mouth slack, eyes searching everywhere, clumsily bumping into the table as he sat, so busy trying to understand the peculiar set-up. He took the menu from the waiter with a grin and properly blushed at Kurt’s amused gaze.

The truth was, this had been his modus operandi all day – slack-jawed, eyes up, out and around, the true, adorable, enamored tourist. The weather had been beautiful, albeit stifling hot, and Kurt had taken him to so many places, he wasn’t sure he’d remember them all when it came time to report back to Adrian, who, after a phone call that morning, had assured him without question that he wanted to know every spot they’d visited. Wanted to hear every story that there was to tell. Because he had watched television and seen movies and even though I’m just 5 Dad, he knew New York was awesome.

They visited High Line Park, a man-made space constructed from an old elevated rail system connecting Chelsea and West Village neighborhoods. Chelsea Market left them both stuffed and wanting more – we’re coming here first next time – and the little coffee shop near Kurt’s old apartment in West Village offered the most delicious cupcakes Blaine had ever tasted. No, we’re coming here first next time. They walked through the Garment District, Kurt showing Blaine all of his old college haunts and popped into boutiques where he’d done projects and even sold a few of his garments. Blaine perfectly played the role of blushing boyfriend when Kurt would show him off to owners who still, after all of these years, remembered and respected him, cooing at the two lovebirds like grannies finally happy to marry off the stubborn spinster granddaughter.

Finally, they made their way to Times Square so Blaine could have the full tourist experience, where he called Adrian again, who by now was no longer impressed that Daddy was in New York because he was beating Nana at hop scotch, for goodness sake. After Kurt laughed at Blaine as he named off every musical he wanted to see – basically by reading off all of the billboards – they landed in Central Park, skirting along the south edge of it, plopping happily onto a bench as they shared a cup of tiramisu gelato like two heart-eyed teenagers.

It had been a day of miles walked, a million cab rides ridden and tons and tons of shared stories of their 20’s, maturing into adulthood in such completely different ways, yet learning the same lessons of caring for yourself first, when to speak your mind, when to bite your tongue, when to dive into love without care and when to care without diving into love.

And now, it was date night. A proper date as Kurt had called it, not to belittle the few dates they’d had in Ohio, but yes. A proper date complete with suits, ties and baby blue socks, a special dinner and then of course, Chicago at Ambassador Theatre.

“So, why is there a grill in the middle of our table?”

“Because we prepare our own food. It’s all beef, from cuts you’re familiar with to offal – if you want to try something like that.”

“Have you?”

“A few things. I like tongue and sweetbreads.”

Blaine scoured the menu, his eyebrows raising and furrowing with the different offerings. “Wait…testicargot? Are you kidding me?”

“They’re delicious.” Kurt lowered Blaine’s menu and leaned in. “And last I checked, you love balls.”

“Yours…are divine. I’m not so sure about those that are…bovine.”

“Cute. It’s up to you…but, seriously – do you like escargot?”

“Can’t say I’ve had it. They don’t have snail farms in Findley.”

“Do you trust me?”

“I do.”

Kurt grinned and sat back with a squeak. “Good. You’re going to love this.”

And he did. Everything was delicious. And filling. And Blaine loved watching Kurt work the chopsticks as he carefully placed the thin cuts of meat on the grill, his fingers graceful and skilled, knowing exactly when to flip, when to let it rest, when to put the vegetables on so they could get a full plateful with each offering.

It was perfect. Chicago was perfect. Kurt was perfect. New York, with all of his trepidation of not fitting in, not belonging, not being a part of Kurt’s world here, was absolutely perfect.

As they sat on the glowing ruby stairs in Times Square, Blaine noticed an odd reverie in Kurt’s gaze as he looked around at the lights, the billboards, the atmosphere. “What are you thinking?”

“Oh…just that I once thought this was my future. It’s interesting to linger here now. Whenever I used to come to shows, it was always get in, get out, avoid the tourists, but just sitting here, remembering what I dreamt and what came to be – so far from that dream…I think everything worked out as it should have.”

“And what’s really cool…” Blaine took Kurt’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “…our stories aren’t even done being written yet.”