Once upon a time, more than ten years ago now, Blaine had dreamed about reuniting with the young man he had wronged. Hed had elaborate fantasies about running into him at a bar in Polk Gulch, daydreams about running off to New York to track him down and fix things hallucinations of seeing him cross the quad at Stanford even though hed never been able to figure out what in the world Kurt would have been doing there. He had imagined a thousand or more ways of accidentally finding his former love again - Paul Simons list of ways to leave a lover had nothing on his list of how to find them again. But never, in any of his flights of fantasy, could he have conceived that Kurt would be so strikingly, breathtakingly handsome.

The boy he had remembered had been just that - a cute boy, with his round cheeks and school uniform and lithe, youthful frame. The man before him was mesmerizing. His cheekbones were prominent now, his jaw squared and strong, face thinned with age and good health. He was taller, too; Blaine didnt have to stand next to him to know that there would be more than a few inches difference between them now. And slimmer but with muscle tone clear from the way he moved, from the way his crisp white shirt drew across his bicep as he worked to pin small squares of fabric to Mercedes skirt.

His voice was different - deeper. Not much, but enough, less childlike though not more masculine. But the self-deprecating chuckle was the same despite the lower pitch, every bit as adorably awkward as Blaine remembered. His expressions remained the way they had been etched in his memory for too long - the look of deadpan annoyance, the way he looked as he concentrated...his smile-

Kurt still took his breath away.

What was he supposed to now? He hadnt expected to see the man - he hadnt even considered this might be a possibility, not really. Did he go say hello? Say something else? Sing something? - no, that was stupid. No one went around singing their feelings like that, not as an adult. But what could he even try to say after all these years? That Kurt looked good? That he was sorry? That he wished he could go back and not hurt him in the way that he had? That he hoped Kurt was happy in his life and his career?

He had to say something. He couldnt see the man after all these years and say nothing at all - he would regret that for the next 15 years. Drawing in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he stepped slowly across the room, trying to be patient despite his nerves. As he saw Kurt move back, task completed, Blaine saw his opportunity and seized it. "Excuse me?"

Excuse me? What kind of a thing is that to say? he thought, his mind in the early stages of a blind panic. What was he doing? This was stupid - he shouldnt say anything, especially if he couldnt come up with anything more coherent than-

...Kurts eyes were the same peculiar mix of blues and greens and greys they had always been. They widened as they saw him, surprised - Blaine couldnt blame him. "What are you doing here?"

"A friend of a friend owns the place and heard I knew Mercedes. What are you doing here?"

Kurts eyes narrowed at the mention of his friends name, as though he were...Blaine didnt even know - angry that there was some kind of claim to her? Because that wasnt what he was doing, and if he were sure that was what Kurts problem was he would point that out, if he could get his brain working well enough to form an explanation. With a quirk of his eyebrow - as elegantly-arched as ever - he held up the bag of safety pins he had been holding and used it to gesture at Mercedes skirt, adorned with scraps of all types of sparkly fabrics. "Im in charge of her wardrobe," he replied dryly, voice tight and painfully even the way it used to get when he was trying not to show how much something bothered him.

Did that mean things werent going well and his career was a sore spot? Because Blaine wasnt sure he could imagine anything Kurt would be better at. The man was a natural-born showman. "They look amazing. I didnt know you designed dresses - I always imagined you doing menswear, the way you used to dress-"

"Mostly," he replied tersely. Blaine blinked, able to tell clearly from the tone that he should back off but not sure why. Was Kurt still angry with him? Gosh, he hoped not - the idea that hed hurt the boy back then was horrible enough, let alone that the man should still feel actively maligned now.

It made the need for closure and an explanation all the more urgent. If he could just tell Kurt why hed been so scared back then, how much he truly regretted how things had turned out and his role in it, maybe he could improve the mans mood...and make him smile again, maybe?

"How long are you going to be out in LA? Because I would love to-" he began. He wanted to at least do what little he could to apologize. Maybe they could go for coffee or explore the city if Kurt hadnt relocated permanently out here, and he could express how genuinely he regretted the pain Kurt had suffered at his hand - because he understood how that felt now, being abandoned by a boy even if it was for a good reason. It could only help.

Kurt cut him off with a sharp, "I have to work, Blaine." His irritated tone was tight, high in his throat, and the way he said the name...Blaine wasnt sure it had ever sounded so harsh coming from anyone before. The man could have cut glass with that word alone.

A part of him felt like he deserved it, maybe - Kurt was right, they didnt know each other anymore, and he had been rotten. He...he did know that. But he liked to think that even if time didnt heal wounds, it had soothed his (mostly, anyway); to see it hadnt done the same for Kurt was more agonizing than the first time he had imagined his former love happy with someone who wasnt him.

"Sure," Blaine managed, forcing the best smile he could despite his dejection. "I understand. Do you mind if I watch the rehearsal?"

Strictly speaking, the glare he received wasnt exactly an answer, but it said all it needed to.

* * * * *

By the time Kurt returned to the hotel, he felt like he couldnt breathe - chest tightening around his heart and lungs, throat half-swollen, every muscle tense like he might vibrate out of his skin. He slipped quickly out of the back of Marvins sedan and through the automatic doors, his shoes clacking heavily across the lobby as he made a beeline for the elevators. An hour of having to stand ramrod straight and ignore Blaine - or stop himself from looking around to see where the man was lurking, because he could practically feel those eyes boring into him even after Blaine had slunk away and let him get back to trying to work - had been exhausting...and he was used to rising above and ignoring things and people that were driving him crazy. But those damned eyes and that stupid wounded-puppy expression...

He punched the button for his floor and let out a sigh, leaning heavily against the back wall of the elevator as the doors slid shut. Why was he there? Yes he had said it was to see Mercedes and something about a friend knowing someone who knew someone, but why? What had possessed Blaine to go see a singer he had met two or three times almost twenty years ago? Who did that?

But maybe more importantly, why did he care when it had been almost twenty years? Whether he thought it was a normal thing to do or not to go visit an old acquaintance, it certainly shouldnt make him feel like this. He hadnt been angry over it in years - he had moved on. He wasnt 17 anymore, he was a grown man with friends and a community and a career that was about to take off.

So why did he suddenly feel like that abandoned schoolboy he used to be?

He stepped into the hall, digging his room key out of his pocket. He just needed a long, hot shower and hed be able to let it all go again. It had thrown him, that was all. Seeing Blaine after half a lifetime apart had caught him off-guard because he had never imagined it would happen, let alone to see him at something so wholly unrelated to the life they had never quite had together...it threw him for a loop, that was all. Shaking his head, he unlocked his hotel room and headed right for the bathroom, peeling off his clothes on the way. He would fold them later, once he could think straight again.

The spray of the shower was hard and relentless, a hot and driving rain to soothe his tired muscles, and he let out a long sigh. This was what he needed; he could already feel himself relaxing as he ran his fingers back through his wet hair and reached for the shampoo.

...He hadnt been honest with himself earlier, he had to admit, lathering the suds into his thick hair and massaging his scalp with his fingertips. He had imagined seeing Blaine again. It had been years, but he had thought about it. Usually it was part of a bitter revenge fantasy: Blaine alone and miserable (or sometimes married and even more miserable) while he himself was happy and fulfilled, having a chance meeting on the street or down in the subway that left him invigorated and Blaine mournful and pained with regret at ever letting Kurt go. Sometimes the fantasy had been more cathartic: a chance encounter during which Kurt could read him the riot act for every cruel thing the boy had done to him. Those particular scenarios usually came after things had gone wrong in his life: a breakup, or the time he hadnt gotten the promotion he had more than earned, or the month hed had to scrape together the rent using some of Rickys hooking money because Rachel had abandoned him for her first husband with only a weeks notice.

...Why couldnt he remember any of the great speeches hed written in his head for those occasions? The lists of all the rotten ways Blaine had screwed up his chances for happiness - they had been long lists, comprehensive...why hadnt he been able to think of a single thing to say? After all this time of thinking about how hurt he had been, why hadnt a single cruelty come to mind? All the things he had dreamed of being able to tell him, and all he had managed to say was "What are you doing here?" and "I have to work?" How ridiculous.

(If he were being fair - which he really didnt want to be - he had to admit that he had imagined hypothetically seeing Blaine a few other times over the years under much less hate-filled circumstances: skulking around the Village while he had watched from the window of the Oscar Wilde Bookstore while Ricky finished the closing shift; sitting across the table from him at Mamas, hands touching in public; standing among the throng of crying homosexuals at Judy Garlands funeral, mourning the loss of their icon and shared musical heart. But even that had been awhile.)

(...and why did he have to look good? Why couldnt he be half-bald and overweight the way plenty of married men their ages were by now?)

(...If he was married. Kurt had been too distracted to steal a peek at the mans left hand. Not that he cared for himself, of course - purely for mental ammunition.)

He twisted off the taps with a sharp turn of his wrist. The shower wasnt doing anything to relax him anymore. He wrapped himself in his thick terrycloth robe and quickly towel-dried his hair, then padded into the hotel room. He needed to talk to someone - someone who would help remind him of all the angry things he had wanted to say, who would help him gather his anger and channel it back at the man who had interrupted him out of nowhere and spent an hour watching him from the wings of a Hollywood lounge.

Ricky was a good choice for bashing any ill-suited suitor if only because his creative insults were legendary even among the other ballroom girls. But maybe under the circumstances, he should try Rachel first, he thought. If anyone could remind him about all the painful, destructive things Blaine had done - and how wrecked he had been over it for far too long to admit if he wanted to keep his pride - it would be the person who had been beside him at the time. Besides, she hadnt been a ray of sunshine lately, and if she wanted to channel some of her anger with him it could only help sour his mood for the next time he saw Blaine again.

If he saw Blaine again. The boy did tend to run away the second he got scared or something didnt go his way.

(He should write that down for later. So he would remember because apparently even the most obvious flaws seemed to vanish into thin air in Blaines presence.)

He sat down on the bed and picked up the receiver, then stopped as he stared at the phone cradle. Uneven, double-typed letters warned NO LONG-DISTANCE. He knew that; he had been calling Ricky from the payphone down the street for a reason. But this was a conversation he did not feel like having standing in a tiny booth on a corner where he would have to cradle the phone against his ear while he scrawled out insults and sins by holding his notebook up against the plastic wall. With a deep sigh, he pressed 0 and hoped she wasnt still angry with him after all; it didnt take too much goodwill to pick up the phone and let him explain the situation before she could hang up on him...it took substantially more to accept a collect call from California.

Rather than sounding irritated, she sounded panicked as her voice came on the line. "Kurt? Are you okay? What happened?"

He blinked, not sure he understood where that response had come from, and replied, "Calm down, Rachel, everythings fine." His voice wasnt quite as fine as he wanted it to be, but lucky for him she wasnt very good at paying attention to little things when she was in the midst of freaking out. Ricky would have called him out on it but let him get away with not talking about it; Rachel wouldnt notice until he said something but wouldnt let him stop halfway into the conversation.

"Then why are you calling me collect? Do you know how expensive this is going to be?"

"Ill send you a check," he replied dryly. "The hotel is local calls only."

"Are you sure? Because from the way it looks on the news Im surprised your lungs havent collapsed yet. Are murderers lurking everywhere?"

"Fewer than in New York."

"...Thats true," she allowed. He could hear her drawing in two slow deep breaths in succession and smiled faintly to himself as he pictured her sitting on their couch in her pajamas, calming herself down from the terror of thinking her friend was being stalked by criminals and called her collect. Despite how crazy she could drive him, he really did miss her. It was strange having the hotel room to himself, and though he loved having more room for his products in the bathroom, they had lived together for all but 3 of the past 16 years after all. "So are you sunburned yet?"

"Ive spent almost every hour in my room sewing or in meetings with Mercedes. I see more sun walking to work at home," he replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice as she replied.

"Good. I know we tease you about being practically the color of the walls, but your porcelain skin is a gift, Kurt. Besides, we both know prolonged exposure causes wrinkles which neither of us can afford."

He could afford them better than she could, but he was even more determined not to get them. "Im fully protected," he replied, and they fell into a long silence that in person would have been comfortable but over the phone just made her seem even further away than the mileage would bear out. She couldnt see him and wheedle the truth out of him here, and he drew in a deep breath before beginning, "The reason I called-"

"Its okay, Kurt, I know you miss me."

He smiled faintly, because if ever there were a reminder that the more people changed, the more they stayed the same, his friend was the perfect, shining example. "I do," he replied sincerely. "But I need your help."

"Really? With what? Because if its about industry connections, I dont know many people out there-"

"Blaines here."

That shut her up quickly, for which Kurt was both grateful and unnerved - not because she was quiet, that had happened occasionally over 13 years, but because the silence stretching between them made the statement more real. Telling another person took Blaine from a figment of his imagination - the product of an angry conscience or annoyance at Marvin or too long of a day - into a real, live ex-boyfriend standing behind him without warning.

Not that he was sure what kind of warning would have been appropriate. He wouldnt have been any happier had he known in advance, but at least he could have had his speech better prepared. Which was what he needed to do now - for next time.

He hoped there wouldnt be a next time. He doubted there would be. But just in case.

"What do you mean hes there? In your room, or-"

There were times Kurt seriously wondered about how her brain worked. "If he were in my room, would I be calling you?" He pointed out. "In LA. He showed up at the club where Mercedes is performing next week, and he just..." He sighed, sinking onto the bed, bringing the phone with him. "I dont know. I didnt think Id ever see him again. Or if I did, I thought Id be able to give him a piece of my mind and move on, but all of a sudden everything was blank."

There was another pause, and when Rachel responded she sounded...odd. Forced, like she was reading lines that had been scripted for her (poorly). "You know, it can be strange meeting back up with someone after so long. Its hard to know where things stand."

Kurt blinked, eyebrows knitting together. "No..." he replied slowly. "Where it stands is that he took off and broke my heart when we were 17 and I havent seen him since. Theres nothing else to stand."

"Thats not true," Rachel replied earnestly. "If it were really closed, you wouldnt need to be calling me because you wouldnt have feelings to resolve about seeing him. I know if I saw Jerry or Fred, I would have nothing left to say to him, but one look at Jesse and I knew there was unfinished business."

"Jesse?" Kurt repeated, trying to thumb through his mental rolodex of her myriad of unsuccessful relationships.

"You remember him. He went to Carmel, fantastic voice..."

"From high school?" When had she seen him again? He hadnt heard that name since...well, since before the last time hed seen Blaine. Jesse predated him in Rachels dating history, which was saying a lot because he was pretty sure if they were really a couple theyd be coming up on 20 years together by now.

"Thats right, but I saw him in the coffee shop the other day when I was putting up posters about letting your room, and I figured since hes an actor, too, and understands the lifestyle and the grueling requirements of maintaining peak performance, hed be an ideal-"

"Are you telling me that your ex-boyfriend is living in my bedroom right now?"

"Considering the way you left with hardly any notice, I dont think you get to complain. You did leave me in the lurch, you know, and at least hes clean and well-mannered and not going to ruin your clothes...or kill me in my sleep."

Kurt rolled his eyes and sunk deeper into the bed. She might have a point on that front - not the lack of notice or concern for her welfare or whatever argument she kept trying to make, but what little Kurt remembered of the boy - which was a very little, since he and Rachel hadnt been as close yet before his year at Dalton - was a well-dressed, well-coiffed boy who was even more pretentious and dramatic than his girlfriend. His bedroom could be inhabited by worse, he guessed. "So whats it like? Being around each other again?"

"I would say we picked up where we left off, but since neither of us could quite remember where that was, we just sort of...chose a place."

"Youre dating him again?"

"Oh, calm down," Rachel replied dismissively. "Were adults, and neither of us has been seeing anyone else in quite awhile, and-"

"I swear to God, if you do anything in my bed-" he hadnt meant to say that part out loud, but judging from the indignant sound on Rachels end of the line, he had done so.

"Is it really so hard to be happy for me?" She asked, and he could picture her expression - equal parts wounded and indignant. Maybe she did have a point, he guessed. She wasnt 15 anymore, she could date whoever she wanted, and if that someone happened to be someone she had known back in Ohio, what business was it of his? Until or unless she abandoned the apartment again in favour of some closeted gay man who liked her style and her open-mindedness, did it really matter who she saw - especially when he was on the other side of the country?

"Youre right," he allowed. "You sound happy. So...good for you."

"Thank you," she replied with only a little over-emphasis he knew well was intended to patronize him. He had become immune to it over the years, but she kept trying anyway. "I am. Were much better at living together than Jerry and I ever were, thats for sure."

"Whats it like?" Kurt ventured. "Being back together after decades apart?"

He didnt know why he was asking. He had no intentions of getting back together with anyone he had known before - he didnt have any designs on dating anyone out here, period. Still, he was curious. Picking back up after so many years apart had to be awkward for anyone, with how much a person could change over that time. Even picking things back up with Rachel after each of her divorces had been stilted and uneasy as they had each developed new habits in the meantime, and those separations had been barely a year each time. Sixteen years was a lifetime - or at least half of one.

"Lovely," she replied dreamily, then paused. "...why? Are you...?"

"What?"

"Youre not thinking of getting back together with him, are you?"

"Oh my god - absolutely not," he replied firmly with as much sincerity as he could possibly convey in five words. Not in a million years. "I dont even want to speak to him, let alone do anything else. Even seeing him makes me furious, that doesnt bode well for a relationship."

"Did he age well?"

"Why would you even ask that?"

"I dont know, what do you want me to ask?"

Kurt sighed, twisting the phone cord around his finger. "I dont know. And...yes? Maybe. His hairline and waistline are both in good shape, but I didnt exactly take an inventory."

"Are you going to see him again?"

"No," he replied firmly. "But I need a list of all the rotten things he did just in case I do."

"Why?" Rachel asked, then realized and stifled a laugh. "Oh, Kurt..."

"I already have his penchant to run away at the first sign of trouble. What else was there?"

"I dont know, I didnt really keep track - its been so long," she pointed out.

"Thats what I thought, too, but seeing him...it felt like no time had passed at all," he admitted quietly. "Everything felt just as fresh."

"Do you need me out there so you can kiss me in front of him and make him jealous?"

Kurt chuckled mirthlessly. "No - but thank you." It had been immature of him, he knew that, but it had been the only thing he could throw at the boy at that point.

"Im sorry, but thats really all I remember. I know he didnt tell you when he was going to California instead of New York, I remember things being really awkward at the spring formal and you both ignoring us, and that you kept trying to get him to come to dinner with my dad and his lover, but thats it."

Kurt wished he could remember only that little, but everything else was there, even if he couldnt pick it apart to make a proper list. Or the parts he could felt too stupid to say out loud - or too mortifying, like the time Blaine had left him half-naked on the couch in the Commons.

...and some of it had softened with time, too. Or mingled with memories like singing "Somewhere" to an auditorium full of people with Blaine beside him and feeling so proud and so completely in love-

He would never finish his list if he kept dwelling on things like that.

"I should go," he offered. "Long distance."

Right," Rachel replied.

"Let me know how much the call was and Ill send you money for it. I know things are tight there with me here."

"It isnt so bad with Jesse living here," she assured him. "But thank you."

"Ill call you later and well talk more," he suggested.

"Okay," she replied, and Kurt was about to hang up when she added, "And if you see him again? Maybe dont get stuck in being a teenager. Sometimes people change, and sometimes the grown-up versions are even sweeter than you remember."

Somehow Kurt doubted it.

* * * * *

Blaine had to admit he wasnt sure how in the world he had managed to amass a genuine singing group in only two days. Even with phone trees, he would have thought only Wes would have been capable of it. He guessed a lot of former-acapella-group members didnt have day jobs and were really bored over the summer or something - or, if Teds assessment was correct, they would follow their fearless form-erleader into the dark. He had tried to point out that he had never technically led the Warblers, but that seemed to be a moot point.

Or maybe they just really believed in what he was doing. More than a few of them were romantics at heart and could appreciate a grand romantic gesture like this, even if it were between two men. If anyone would appreciate the public display, he just hoped the target would be among them.

Of course he would, Blaine assured himself. Kurt loved larger-than-life theatrical displays of emotion, and he had practically begged for some kind of public acknowledgment back then. If anything in the world would be able to prove how different things were now - how different he was - wouldnt it be something they could never have done before?

Besides, he needed to explain. He needed to not only apologize to the man he had hurt, but to try to offer some kind of-...not justification so much as...a window into his actions. To assure Kurt that he understood what he had done wrong but to try to tell things from his side at the same time. But so far, not only had Kurt not wanted to hear it, but Blaine hadnt been able to figure out the words to convey anything beyond "Im sorry"and "Imissed you" and maybe something about wishing hed been as brave as Kurt back then. He just couldnt find the right thing to say.

Finding the right thing to sing, on the other hand, had been surprisingly easy. It was perfect - the song said it all. If anyone would be able to understand that, he was sure it would be Kurt.

Which meant now he just had to be sure the man showed up.

"Youre sure theyre coming for a dress rehearsal?" He asked Ted, almost vibrating with nervous energy. He didnt get anxious about performing - if anything he found it eased his stress - but trying to impress someone he liked was another story. ...More than liked. Had loved and might still love. This wasnt helping. He bounced a couple times on the balls of his feet and tried to shake the stiffness out of his shoulders and arms. Maybe it had just been too long since hed performed in general - it had been almost a decade now.

When had that much time passed?

Oh, god, what was he doing? This was insane - it wasnt some serenade by a bunch of college boys that would come across as adorable even if the target of the song didnt want to go out with the lead singer. This was trying to make up for 16 years of hurt feelings in approximately 3 minutes and 8 seconds of step-touching and harmonies and a potentially out-of-place cymbals player. This was a stupid idea, he never should have-

"I know she and her manager are coming. I cant guarantee hell be with them," Ted replied. "But in my experience, when there are wardrobe people, they come to dress rehearsals."

"Yeah, because they have to make sure the costumes fit right and work under the lights and everything." Sam looked the least like Blaine remembered, and not just because he had filled out sometime after age 16 and had a much broader, squarer frame than he had as a young man. He looked at ease now, comfortable in himself instead of constantly troubled, relaxed instead of eternally frustrated. Being out of school had been good for him, Blaine guessed - they hadnt had time to catch up yet, so he didnt know what the man was doing, but he seemed happy with whatever it was. His grin was much easier now (though just as broad) than it had been back then, and even the way he moved was calmer - no more rushing from study session to class to the library and cursing himself for not being good enough.

Maybe he wasnt the only one who had grown into himself, Blaine thought fondly. All this time he had felt like he alone had needed to escape the expectations heaped on him in Ohio, but he really hadnt been the only one...and neither had Kurt. Maybe the man would be able to see that - see how much things had changed, and he with them. He hoped so, anyway.

Besides, if nothing else, he did owe Kurt an apology, and this was the best way he knew to convey everything he wanted to say. So even if the boy he had wronged so badly couldnt accept it, he could be secure in knowing that he had left everything out there on that stage. It might not really be a consolation, but it was the best he could guarantee for himself.

Blaine nodded and drew in a deep breath to calm his fraying nerves. "Everybody, can you gather around for a few minutes?" he requested, glancing at his watch. They would be there any minute, but just standing and waiting was driving him out of his mind, and he really did want to express his appreciation to the group of guys standing with him. They were quite the assorted crew: a handful of recent Stanford graduates who had never actually met him before but had dropped everything (whatever that might have been) to help a fellow Mendicant; Sam and David and two Warblers who had been Freshmen when Sam was a Senior; Ted and Fitz and a man who had joined the spring before Blaine graduated so he kept forgetting his name - something with a J, like half the other auditionees that year; and standing behind the group of mostly clean-cut men who had at least at one time been rich enough for expensive schools was the grizzled smoking man Blaine had met on his way into the club the other day. The arrangement just hadnt worked without percussion, and a tambourine had sounded too silly, and claps had been too heavy-handed (no pun intended, though Sam had made one)...so Ted had suggested that among the many part-time musicians who worked there might be someone willing to play drums in the background. Apparently Stone - whose nickname would remain a source of mystery because Blaine wasnt sure he wanted to know - was the best-qualified man who objected the least. "I just wanted to say thank you again for being willing to come help me out with this. I really do appreciate-"

He fell silent as the door swung open, sending a wide swath of too-bright sunlight across the entire room. He felt himself almost hold his breath as he saw Mercedes enter, talking animatedly with her manager. This was it - his one chance. If he didnt fix things now, he would lose the opportunity for at least another 16 years and probably forever. He needed to-

The door swung closed behind the duo.

Maybe- maybe this wasnt the end, he told himself. He bet if he talked to Mercedes, he could convince her to at least tell him where Kurt was staying and then he could call or arrange a time and place to meet or something. Just because the man wasnt here for dress rehearsal didnt mean- He breathed a sigh of relief as the door opened again and a tall, slim silhouette used his shoulder to shove the heavy wooden slab open wider as he maneuvered several garment bags and a heavy-looking train case inside.

"Whats going on?" Blaine heard the manager ask, but his eyes never left Kurt as the man carried everything to the table closest to the stage. He looked deep in concentration, like he was going over lists of everything he had to do and check and fix - he looked so cute when he was thinking - and even though Blaine knew he should respond, he couldnt. "Were supposed to be doing this - her schedules very busy-"

"Give them three minutes," the owner - Teds friend - replied.

"Three minutes for what?"

"Theyre doing a thing, I dunno, just let em-"

He kept waiting for Kurt to look up and see him and do something - recognize a pre-performance group or ask what was going on or glare at him and storm out, just something - but he was busily unpacking gowns. It was Mercedes who noticed them and nudged Kurts arm. Kurt started to wave her off, but she nudged him again and said something, and then suddenly both their eyes were on him, one pair curious and the other...

He wished he could read Kurts expression better, but the combination of dark and passed time made it difficult. He knew arms crossing over the mans chest wasnt necessarily a gesture of hostility - usually from Kurt it was more like "Im waiting, this better be good", and that was enough of an opportunity for him to take. He pulled the pitch pipe out of his pocket and turned to face the group, blowing their opening note before turning back to face Kurt. He heard Stone count out the tempo with his sticks before the makeshift gang began the opening chords.

Ba, ba-ba-ba, ba-ba, ba-ba-ba
Ba, ba-ba ba ba

Kurt really hadnt been expecting Blaine to show up again - for one thing, the penchant for running away, but for another because he didnt recall his exboyfriend being a stalker. Seeing him at the center of the group onstage had been surreal enough, but when they began singing...were they 16 again? Had Blaine never aged past that point so he thought that singing acapella with a bunch of boys doo-wopping behind him was the way to spend an afternoon? Or was he trying to recreate their meeting somehow - and why? To what end?

...and why did he have to smile like that?

Im sleeping
And right in the middle of a good dream
Like all at once I wake up
From something that keeps knocking at my brain

Despite being as charismatic and - okay, fine - as attractive as ever, the antics that had looked adorably quirky when they were teenagers step-touching in school uniforms now looked patently ridiculous. The way Blaine pantomimed knocking at his own head, or waking up with his hands opening up and stretching out his fingers seemed so silly coming from a man in his thirties. He had to cover his mouth to stop from giggling out loud.

Still, Blaines voice had aged even better than the rest of him. Almost two decades later and Kurt could pick that voice out anywhere.

Before I go insane
I hold my pillow to my head
And spring up in my bed
Screaming out the words I dread:

He tried to roll his eyes and ignore the display, to distract himself until it was over, but he couldnt manage it; Blaines stage presence was just as magnetic as it had ever been, and in truth it was hard to ignore something that looked so absurd. The man playing drums looked like hed ridden with the Hells Angels before coming to tap lightly on the cymbal with one stick while smoking with his free left hand. The singers ranged from probably about 25 to a year or two older than them, almost none of whom Kurt recognized - he thought the guy in the tight plaid western shirt and jeans with the oversized glasses and long blond hair might have been his former roommate, and he knew he knew at least one or two of the others but couldnt remember their names. He could just imagine how Blaine had assembled this group - probably with please to the mens love of music and those damned eager eyes of his.

I think I love you

Kurt lost his battle against laughter as the group echoed the title line. The BeeGees they were not, and while he could have easily hit those notes, none of the ad hoc group before him did so well - but they were flat so eagerly that it still made him smile.

Still, Blaine was the most eager of all, earnestly mugging and miming and trying to catch his eye like this was more than just a silly performance by someone who hadnt done this in awhile.

I think I love you

Blaine understood why Kurt was laughing, even if that wasnt his intention - though it felt so good seeing him smile, he had such a great grin and his eyes lit up even in the darkened lounge. And an engaged audience, even one engaged in gentle mockery, was better than an audience actively trying to tune them out. But he needed Kurt to see his point, to hear him - really hear him - and understand. He threw himself into singing, trying to convey everything hed felt - everything he could remember feeling, every hed agonized over that whole year and for half a decade after.

This morning
I woke up with this feeling
I didnt know how to deal with
And so I just decided to myself
Id hide it to myself
And never talk about it
And didnt I go and shout it when you walked into the room:
I think I love you

Kurt had to understand. He needed to know that it had just been terror - not lack of love, not cold and unfeeling apathy toward what theyd had together, but complete, paralyzing fear about what it meant to be so overwhelmed by feelings. He needed to see that there was nothing he could have done to stop things from ending the way they had - but that Blaine regretted every bit of it more deeply than he could possibly say.

And maybe a song couldnt do all that. Maybe even music couldnt express everything, couldnt explain his father or the pressure or how it had taken jazz music to help him finally understand himself, but he had to try. He had to try something, after everything he had put Kurt through that year, and this was the best way he knew.

The only way he knew, really. Which meant this really needed to work.

I think I love you
So what am I so afraid of?
Im afraid that Im not sure of
A love there is no cure for
I think I love you
Isnt that what life is made of?
Thought it worries me to say
That Ive never felt this way

The further they got into the song, the harder it was for Kurt to ignore the queasy feeling that began to settle over him like a fog - slowly at first, so it was hard to notice, then so thick it obscured everything else in its path. The way Blaine sang was- sure, lovely, and overly-confident, but there was something more to it. It was all in the eyebrows, and Kurt almost chuckled to himself as the tell he hadnt thought of in decades came back to him suddenly. When Blaine sang and really felt something - not just playing along to the music, but really wanted to say something - he didnt just get all squinty; his eyebrows practically inverted, from triangles pointed toward his slicked-down hairline to arcs sloping from the top of the bridge of his nose down along his eyelash line and out toward his temples, as though he were trying so hard to convey what he needed to say that he couldnt focus any energy on keeping the points up.

He looked that way when he was sad, too, Kurt remembered suddenly. The night hed shown up in the rain and spent hours sitting in a puddle on the bathroom tile, theyd been practically concave Vs pointing toward his welling tears.

He shook his head to try to clear out the memory and focus again on the motley crew of grown men trying to recapture their lost youth. It was much easier to laugh at that part.

I dont know what Im up against
I dont know what its all about
Ive got so much to think about
Hey-
I think I love you
So what am I so afraid of?
Im afraid that Im not sure of
A love there is no cure for

Did Kurt remember those days? Blaine wondered as he saw something in Kurts face. Did the young man remember what it had been like back then, or was he so used to the way things were now that the pain of the old days had been numbed with age, the way he forgot how scared he had been back then of people finding out his fathers heritage? Because even though Kurt had always been more secure in himself and what he wanted - a product of bravery and lack of understanding what their lot in life would surely have been - the raids had scared them both, men being picked up from movie theatres and bars and photos in the paper...if Kurt could remember those things, then maybe he could understand.

Mostly Blaine just wished it werent so dark in here so he could read the mans expression better. To see if his tale was being received in the way he hoped. Did Kurt understand what this was? Did he appreciate it in the way Blaine hoped he would? Or was he still irritated that they were in the same place at all?

Though, on second thought, not being able to see him might be a plus. A dead-eyed lack of interest would destroy him right now; at least in the darkness he could let himself imagine that he saw engagement in the light reflected from Kurts eyes.

I think I love you
Isnt that what life is made of?
Though it worries me to say
I never felt this way

No, he couldnt - the lack of eye contact and being able to sing directly to Kurt was driving him out of his mind. He hopped offstage, Mendicant serenade instincts taking over, and half-danced his way over to the table where Kurt was standing, arms crossed but eyes engaged - that was a good sign. And maybe at a closer distance he could make sure his point was made and received more clearly. He hoped so, anyway.

Believe me
You really dont have to worry
I only wanna make you happy
And if you say "Hey, go away!" I will
But I think better still
I better stay around and love you
Do you think I have a case?
Let me ask you to your face:
Do you think you love me?

Kurt wasnt sure how Blaine coming closer sucked all the oxygen out of the room, but as soon as the man was nearby he felt like he couldnt breathe again. The harmonies faded away, the ridiculous acapella group and chain-smoking drummer melting into the background until it was just the two of them standing in the middle of an empty space, his former lover singing directly to him. It felt more like a conversation than a song, more question than display, and the tightness in his chest revealed more about his answer than he dared speak aloud.

He had dreamed about a moment like this when they had been young and stupid, back when he thought New York was a gleaming paradise and true love could conquer something and he would have his own fashion house by his late 20s. Just two boys in love with a song between them and the rest of the world vanishing around them. Though hed had glimpses of it, traces of the feeling of being too full of everything except oxygen, when they had sat on the bed in Blaines dorm room with a record player and their own voices mingling with the divas to fill the space, it had been nothing like this - with a dozen or more witnesses and everything orchestrated by the man who, back then, had been too afraid to drive around in the country with him lest someone see them and talk.

I think I love you

The music picked back up around them, and Blaine reluctantly broke eye contact as he danced his way back up onstage to finish the number. Kurt wondered how he could possibly sing so well when his own lungs could barely fill with enough oxygen to breathe, let alone belt out the declaration a half-dozen times. The song ended to sparse-but-enthusiastic applause from the tech guys. He felt his own hands clapping quickly of their own volition even as Mercedes gaze bore into him. He knew he shouldnt, that he should be pulling the list of awful things Blaine had done out of his pocket and reading it to him as a reason to never see him again, but that grin just-

He had always been powerless to resist Blaine when he sang.

The rest of the group dispersed as Marvin grumbled about time and rushed Mercedes up to the stage to begin. It would be a long enough day without any other unplanned musical numbers. Kurt began to quickly finish setting up, hurrying even as his fingers fumbled with zippers on the garment bags. He really hoped they would stop soon or he wouldnt be able to thread a needle, let alone make any of the adjustments that were part of his job today. He was almost set up when he heard a voice beside him.

"What did you think?"

Not everything had changed; Blaine was just as desperate for approval as ever. Still, he had to give credit where it was due. "I thought the drummer was an inspired choice," he replied dryly with a faint smile, and Blaine laughed. He seemed nervous, which wasnt helping Kurt feel any more together.

"Do you think we could go get a cup of coffee sometime? I just want to...apologize. And catch up - see what youre up to. Obviously this for Mercedes, but everything else."

He wanted to say no. He planned to say no. But somehow what came out of his mouth was, "Coffee sounds fine."

Even if he had wanted to take it back, the beaming grin on Blaines face would have stopped him. But it was fine - it was just coffee. No big deal.