“C'mon, we're gonna be late,” Blaine protested weakly. Kurt smirked and leaned in again, nipping lightly at the spot just below his lover's ear, and surely enough the man's eyes rolled back then closed. Argument won, Kurt thought to himself, his smirk growing as he considered just how quickly he could unfasten Blaine's shirt without him noticing. It was a little harder at this angle, with Blaine draped half-off the side of the bed, but Kurt did like a challenge. But no sooner had his fingers touched the top button than Blaine tried again to protest. “They'll just be sitting there waiting…”

Kurt sat back, gazing down at him with a skeptically-arched brow. “Are you really more concerned with a heterosexual couple sitting in a strange restaurant than you are with what I could do once I get this shirt off?”

“No, no, of course not,” Blaine replied quickly, almost breathlessly, and Kurt felt victorious still. “But I agreed…”

“On both our behalf,” Kurt grumbled. “I never said anything about being there, you can blame me for being held up…it is my fault…” he added as he leaned in again, and Blaine groaned.

“Why do you have to do this?” he whined, clearly not objecting. “It's just a few hours…”

“We could do plenty of other things in that time.”

“I thought you liked Sam.”

“Of course I do,” Kurt replied. “I mean, I did. It's been awhile. And I have no idea about this wife of hers. What's her name?”

Blaine thought a moment. “Nancy.”

Sam and Nancy. With two kids and a house – Kurt didn't know the last time he'd met someone who owned a house. People who lived in apartments that were located in houses, technically, but those were different. Those were walk-ups in pre-war buildings, they weren't houses. What were they going to have to talk about? The good old days? How cute their toddler was with food on its face? He could think of a thousand more interesting ways to spend the evening, and he wasn't ashamed to admit that at least 600 of them involved taking off Blaine's shirt as a necessary first step. He reached down again, but Blaine caught his hand.

“Kurt-“ He sighed, glancing away. “I am the last person who wants to be saying this, trust me, but we need to get up.”

Kurt rolled his eyes and slipped off the bed, tugging his shirttails out of his waistband so he could retuck them properly. “Spoilsport.”

“Later, I promise,” Blaine assured him. “We don't have to stay too long if you don't want, just a quick dinner.” He walked over to the mirror on the dresser and began to smooth his hair into place – not glued down, but not looking like a rat's nest either. Kurt found himself watching, admiring a little even, but he didn't let himself blush when caught. “Oh, and before I forget.” He sifted through a couple things on the dressertop, then held up a key.

Kurt felt himself go stiff and cold, a shiver dropping into his stomach and then spreading through his limbs. A key? They'd been fooling around for a few weeks and Blaine was giving him a key? The only people whose apartments he'd ever had keys to were his own, Ricky's, and Mercedes' old Manhattan place so he could water her plants while she was out of town. He knew couples exchanged keys at some point, but he had never quite gotten there. Ricky certainly hadn't; Ricky prided himself on never getting past a third date. What did this mean, exactly? And why the hell did Blaine think this was something they should do now.

“I…don't have one to give you. Hotel and all,” he muttered, and Blaine looked unfazed.

“I know. This is just for convenience's sake. I thought…y'know, after last weekend when I had to get out of the shower to let you in…”

“That wasn't such a bad first view,” Kurt replied. He felt like he sounded breathless – why couldn't he breathe? And his voice was getting higher than it had been in awhile, a telltale sign of nervousness. Did Blaine remember that? Did he know him well enough to guess?

Blaine grinned but rolled his eyes. “Thanks…but it was cold.”

“So the key is so I can just join you in the tub?” he asked, not believing there was any chance that was Blaine's MO.

“Or just make yourself comfortable, either way,” Blaine replied easily with a shrug as he held out the key for him to take.

“I really don't need it,” he asserted, almost taking a step back. “I'm not going to come hang out in your apartment when you're not here, so there's no point.”

Blaine's face fell a little, and Kurt wasn't sure he understood why. Rather, he didn't understand why if Blaine were telling the truth. If the key really was meant as a convenience, then there was no reason to be so disappointed about it. Which meant that the key had to be about more than just being able to come sit on the couch a few minutes early. It had to be about…whatever keys usually meant for couples. Commitment? Permanence? Planning to still be fooling around in a few months? Certainty that the other person wouldn't steal your stereo? Granted, the last one was fine with him, he was pretty sure Blaine was more likely to break in and leave him more albums instead of taking any, but that wasn't the point.

It was still new. They'd only been doing this for a few weeks, and he still wasn't sure he believed Blaine wasn't going to spook at the first sign of trouble. The last thing he needed was a physical token of the relationship that needed returned if things went south.

Besides. They were casual. Casual relationships didn't exchange keys. At least not in New York they didn't. He doubted San Franciscans kept enormous rings of keys around to hand out to anyone they'd fucked more than twice in a week, either.

But Blaine looked so crushed that he wasn't happy about the key…

With a tight forced smile, he took the key and slipped it into his pocket. “We should go,” he stated before padding across the room to grab his shoes. “We don't want to be late for dinner.”

Anything to get out of this conversation.

* * * * *

If Kurt had been skeptical of their dinner plans before, his eyebrows raised further when he saw the location.

“They cannot be serious.”

“What?” Blaine asked, looking up from his watch as he checked to be sure they weren't running late; the clock in the car seemed to be gaining time, and though they were both getting used to LA traffic patterns slowly but surely, the local suggestion that everything was “20 minutes away” felt more and more like sarcasm every day.

“Does anyone actually think this is what the 50s looked like?” Wide swaths of polished chrome reflected garish pink neon lettering perched along the top of the roof. The half-connected lettering was too thin, too smooth, with odd angles that didn't seem to go together at all. Through the enormous plate glass windows that spanned the front of the restaurant (Kurt refused to call it a ‘diner.' This place closed at 10; what good was a diner if you couldn't stop for eggs, pancakes, and enormous glasses of water and juice half an hour before the sun came up?) he could see a row of booths upholstered in crimson pleather flanking shiny white tables with ribbed chrome around the edges. From what he could see of the counter between folks in their 20s hunched over turkey sandwiches, the surface was more of the same sleek white material, though parts of it took on an odd pinkish glow where the round red stools reflected.

“It's not that bad,” Blaine protested as he pulled open the door and held it for Kurt to enter. Kurt glanced down and shook his head at the ubiquitous checkerboard black and white linoleum floor that everywhere seemed to think symbolized d�cor two decades ago.

“Did you know of a single place with a floor like this?” he asked, pointing.

“I don't know, it was awhile ago.” Blaine thought a moment, then recalled, “The place by campus had those old yellow tiles that looked like they'd come out of someone's kitchen.”

“Exactly. And they weren't the only ones. And why does everyone think the only colours that existed back then were black, white, red, and gleaming silver?” The diner in Lima that he'd only set foot in with his dad – and even then only reluctantly because the owner was a segregationist pig – had a couple light blue walls, he remembered that much, and first forest green upholstery, then black when they changed things sometime after he went to New York. No red to be found. “When I think of back then, I remember a lot of leftover deco, wood paneling, and digging out coins for the automat.” Though technically he did guess those memories were technically from the 60s, but that was another thing – everyone suddenly acting like “the 50s” were a discrete time that could be recreated in a restaurant, as though eras could be switched on and off like a light.

“Maybe that's what it was like out here,” Blaine supposed with a shrug as he led Kurt through the entryway and peered around the room in search of their dining companions.

“Was it like this in San Francisco?”

“Definitely not,” he confirmed quickly. “At least not anywhere I was. Maybe it was different further from campus, but I wouldn't know. Hey – there they are.”

Kurt had to admit, he was a little surprised to see Sam's wife. Considering he remembered his former roommate as a nerdy guy who tried unsuccessfully to make a pass at girls who usually dated quarterbacks, he had apparently been successful at least once. She was exactly the type of girl who would have ditched Sam after twenty minutes to talk to the tall suave guy by the jukebox or feigned a headache to leave after the first Hobbit reference, but even from across the room he could see them engaged in animated conversation. She threw her head back and laughed easily, light brown feathered hair sweeping back with the movement; Sam wore a self-satisfied grin at his own joke even as he shoved his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose with the back of his index finger.

He'd finally found someone who thought his jokes and impressions were funny. Maybe there really was hope for everyone.

Sam noticed them as Kurt slid into the booth. “Hey guys – you found it okay?”

“Yeah,” Blaine confirmed with a nod.

“The neon sign was like a beacon,” Kurt added, and Blaine shot him an uncomfortable look.

“Yeah, they all added them,” Sam shrugged.

“Blame American Graffiti,” his wife added with a dismissive roll of her eyes that was tempered by a warm grin. "Suddenly everyone in town remembered how much fun it was to be a teenager."

Kurt got the feeling hed missed that part of being a teenager. He remembered a lot of listening to music by himself and wondering if anyone else like him would ever exist. His twenties had been better, if he didnt count the arrests, but he didnt think any time could compare to the present. Now that the world had finally caught up to him, he didnt have any desire to go back.

Not that he didnt have fond memories. Laughing with Mercedes as they laid on her bed and read magazines. Window shopping with Rachel their first year in New York when they couldnt afford anything but dreams. Performing with any choir he could...including step-touching behind a certain boy, surrounded by guys who thought rehearsal was the best part of the day. But the image of what it meant to be a teenager then, what they showed in the movies and on tv and in musicals, wasnt at all what he remembered life being.

(Also no one had worn dogs on their skirts - poodles or otherwise. Not even Rachel. What deranged costume designer had decided that was a style?)


* * * * *

By the time dessert arrived, their party had shrunk from four to two. Nancy had slipped out because the baby sitter could only stay until 9, Kurt because he had promised to take Mercedes out to check out the competition at a nightclub. Blaine leaned back in the booth as he used the side of his fork to slice off a bite of pie. The table seemed empty with just two of them there, especially with the rest of the diner so packed with groups of chatty young people - like a little island of quiet. Weaving its way through the din were strains of "Sea Cruise," and he smiled faintly to himself as he remembered the Warblers bopping around the common room singing it. Junior year? He was pretty sure - he didnt remember Kurt being there, and he remembered it being toward the end of the year so if Kurt had been there he definitely would have noticed...and tried very hard not to let anyone notice he noticed.

He was so glad those days were over.

"So thats Nancy," Blaine offered, breaking the silence.

Sam grinned, and even from across the table Blaine knew that feeling - the inability not to smile when the person he loved was mentioned, the unstoppable happiness even their name brought... "Yeah, thats her."

"Shes great. You really fit together," he replied sincerely.

"Shes fantastic. You should see her work - come out to set sometime this summer. Flipping all over the place and kicking ass and stuff." Blaine had to admit, he wasnt sure hed ever thought about female stunt doubles, but he guessed that if actors who played superheroes had them, then Linda Carter probably had one too. "You and Kurt seem to be doing well."

"You think?" Blaine asked. He had thought so, too, but earlier… When Sam looked confused, he admitted, "I cant tell anymore. I dont know where we are, hes kind of...up and down about it."

"...and usually girls are the ones who ask all that stuff," Sam surmised gravely with a nod. "Where are we going? What do we want? Are you ever going to marry me? With just guys itd be easier... right?"

"Usually," Blaine agreed with a stiff shrug. "A lot of guys dont really date, especially now. I do, but I have no idea if he does." For all he knew, Kurt was one of the guys who thought that being able to skulk around dark bars every night for a new lover was the height of liberation. Hell, for all he knew that was what Kurt was doing right now. He hated how queasy the idea made him - they hadnt actually made any promises to the contrary, he didnt have a right to object, but the thought of the man he loved pawing at a bear somewhere...

Sam chuckled and shoved a bite of pie into his mouth with a shake of his head, blond hair bouncing against his face. "What?" Blaine asked.

"You really think Kurt doesnt believe in dating and romance?"

"I dont know-"

"The guy had magazine clippings from Grace Kellys wedding on his desk," Sam replied like the answer should have been obvious. "Youre trying to tell me you dont know?"

Sure, Kurt had liked romance back then; hed thrown himself into it, into musicals with starcrossed lovers and sweet movies where the guy got the girl, into fantasies about idyllic married life... his stomach sank as he remembered bits and pieces of what the boy had talked about back then, of apartments in New York and soirees theyd throw together in the safety of the big, open-minded city... he shoved his plate aside, no longer hungry. "I know he was romantic then," Blaine offered simply, unwilling - and unable - to explain further. "But that was a long time ago. A lot of us feel differently now that there are more options." After all, back then Kurt had wanted nothing more than to live together. Now he blanched at the sight of a key when he hadn't even attached strings to it. Who knew what else had changed?

"But you dont, or you wouldnt care," Sam surmised. "Did you guys talk about it?"

"No, I told you-"

"Not that. The way things went off the rails."

Blaine looked up in surprised. "You know...?"

"Not the details or anything, but I know enough," Sam replied with a dismissive shrug. "I know something happened at the dance, I know you left the state. Thats it."

"Did he tell you-"

"He didnt tell me anything. He didnt think anyone could figure it out, but Im not as dumb as people think."

Blaine wasnt sure if Sam was joking or not, if it was meant as self-rebuke or a critique of those who would underestimate him, and he shifted awkwardly. "We didnt tell anyone," he offered simply. "That was my decision," he added haltingly. All of it had been, really. Hed driven the relationship in so many ways; Kurt would have happily taken them public, he bet; the guy had always been ahead of his time. Hed driven things right into the ground.

"Of course you didnt. It was the 50s in Ohio," Sam replied, but it didnt make Blaine feel any better about it. "We had to skip competitions because they wouldn't let you or Wes or David into the building. Everyone knows it's different now. But understanding that doesnt always..." he paused, looking awkward, then admitted quietly, "Stuff stays with you sometimes, you know? I have everything I could want, right? Ive got a gorgeous wife who thinks Im funny, we have two great kids, I have my dream job - I get to make space movies for a living. I blow up spaceships every day and figure out ways to make aliens. Whats better than that? But sometimes I still feel like that stupid kid who couldnt pass physics. I look at Nancy and think one day shes going to figure out how dumb I am and how much better she could do." His jaw tightened for a moment, then he shrugged as if to dismiss the admission. "Look, I dont know Kurt like you do, but I remember what he was like that year, especially toward the end."

Blaine wasnt sure he could tell what Kurt had been like by the end of the year, not really. Hed been so wrapped up in himself, so full of uncontrollable abject terror and skin-crawling disgust that he hadnt paid attention to anyone else. He shuddered as he heard a new song piping through the restaurant - hed spent so many hours cursing himself over it. Why did he have to be a teenager in love with someone so wrong? Why did he have to be a teenager in lust with another boy? Why did he have to be sick like he was? Why did Kurt have to be so blissfully unaware of what misery their sickness led to?

If only hed been able to listen back then...

"Look, Im not saying it to-...of course you couldnt be like anyone else back then," Sam offered, trying to reassure him. "I just think maybe telling him its different now would help. Hes not as confident as he wants people to think, man."

Hearing from someone else who knew Kurt as well - or maybe better - as he did felt as odd as if their waiter had somehow known his parents. For decades Kurt had seemed practically like a figment of his teenage imagination, a ghost that haunted him that no one else could see. But Sam had lived only a few feet from Kurt; he knew what he was talking about.

"He knows its different now," Blaine pointed out. Everyone knew it was different now - theyd spent the evening on a double-date with a married couple, in public, teasing each other about stealing fries and acting like any other couple. They had gone out to bars and dance clubs and coffee shops and...anywhere else they cared to go, and no one had threatened to arrest them or shut down a party because someone was in drag. Of course things had improved. If even Sam could see that, then he certainly didnt need to tell Kurt the news.

"So are you."

On one hand, Blaine knew it was true. He wasnt anything like hed been in high school, or even in college. He didnt feel the desperate need to control himself that sometimes, by the end of the day, left him feeling like a tightly-wound spring that might pop at any minute. He wasnt afraid of everything. Actually, if he thought about it, he wasnt really afraid of anything anymore. There were things that made him nervous, like annual teacher evaluations or auditions for a local production, or things he worried about on bad days, like whether hed be alone forever after a breakup, but those paled in comparison to what he remembered of his life before: constant terror that people would see through him, that his father would know, that hed either be miserable forever or suffer a botched attempt to get well and wind up even more damaged. Of course he was different now. But the idea that someone could see it just by looking at him, especially after not seeing one another for twenty years or so, seemed silly.

Or, on the off chance that it was true that he looked that different, why couldnt Kurt see it and give him the benefit of the doubt? If his ability to be comfortable in his own skin - something hed worked so hard to obtain - was that obvious to others, then why didnt Kurt understand that things would be different this time? Why did Kurt seem to hold back so much?

"You really think so?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Then why doesnt he see it?"

Sam hesitated, hedging, then replied, "I dunno, youve gotta ask him that. Maybe he doesnt trust what he sees. You were pretty good at holding things together back then, but so was he. Maybe youve gotta actually say stuff."

"I tried to explain it. The song-"

"Was good, but cmon, man, were not 15. Musics great, but if I tried to sing an apology to Nance shed look at me like I was nuts."

He guessed Sam might have a point, but he wasnt sure what he could physically say that would explain half as much as the song had. The lyrics had told the whole story - the realization, the fear about what it meant, the overwhelming nature of it all... what more was there to say?

Except maybe that he was sorry. Because he was - god, he was.

"Maybe," he allowed as he poked absently at the uneaten pie crust with his fork. Unsure what else to say, he forced a smile and asked, "So tell me about this movie youre working on." Sams face lit up almost as much as it did when he talked about his wife, and for awhile as the blond talked excitedly about trying to film robots in the desert and flight simulators and blowing up countless miniature versions of a planet-like spaceship, Blaine didnt have to say anything.

* * * * *
Blaine wasn't sure what woke him up; he didn't remember any dreams that would have roused him, and he didn't hear any car alarms or drunk neighbours or sexually frustrated cats outside his window. He glanced to his right to check the time: 4:03. Great. By the time he got back to sleep, it would only be a few hours until he should wake up anyway. Not that it mattered much, he didn't have anywhere to be in the morning, but after being on a teacher's schedule for so long it felt strange to sleep in too late. Besides, he liked having time to run any errands he needed before Kurt was awake so he could go over to the hotel and make plans for the day. That way he didn't have to interrupt their time together for something as essential but boring as grocery shopping.

Maybe if he didn't think too much he could get back to sleep. He started to roll over but stopped as his elbow almost hit the sleeping form beside him.

He had no idea when Kurt had come over and crawled into bed with him. He hadn't heard a knock on the door, which meant Kurt must have used the key despite his protests, but he also hadn't heard the door open or felt the bed move.

Kurt had known he'd be asleep, had come over anyway, and had crawled into bed with him even though he was apparently sleeping hard enough to not even notice him which meant there was no possibility of sex on the table.

So Kurt wasn't as scared of the key as he had seemed earlier. And he wasn't trying to keep everything casual and sex-only…or maybe he had been, but he was trying to do better.

Maybe Kurt wanted the big romantic vision of domestic life together as much as he ever had, he just didn't know how to say it. Or didn't trust him. Blaine couldn't blame him; he wished he could, but given everything…

“I'm sorry,” he murmured as he propped himself on his elbow, watching Kurt sleep. His jaw was slack with sleep, so unlike the clenched position he held it in during waking hours, so…relaxed. Calm. Guileless. “I know that doesn't-“

Kurt shifted, and Blaine practically held his breath, afraid he'd woken the man, but after a few moments he settled back into peaceful sleep. Blaine exhaled slowly and tried to calm his racing heart. What was he so afraid of? That Kurt might hear him apologize again? Hear him explain why he had ruined everything?

He didn't know that he could say it out loud if he knew Kurt was listening. Not yet – he wanted to. Oh did he want to. But he didn't know how exactly: where to start, what to say, what to leave out…how to justify it without making it sound like he still believed he was right. Maybe he was, he didn't know anymore. He hadn't really known for sure in a long time. Had it been the only safe way out of the situation, or a coward's silence with too high a price?

“I wish I could have believed you back then,” he admitted very quietly. “You were so sure, I should have known you'd be right, but after so many years of seeing what became of men like us, I couldn't-“ he choked on the growing lump on his throat and swallowed hard, fighting the urge to reach out and run his fingers over Kurt's soft hair. It always looked so manageable, so much easier than his own locks…nothing a person had to conceal or hide from.

He caught himself staring in the mirror sometimes and wondering whether his eyes were getting narrower as he got older, as he smiled or laughed or-… his father would have said the answer was to smile less. Smiling wasn't as important in itself as putting others at ease was, and that meant looking as pale and conventional and- and normal as possible. As though being anything other than white were abnormal. As though by existing he broke too many rules and needed to be punished, stifled and pushed back into a box or held down while needles were shoved behind his eyes-

He still had nightmares about it. About being trapped deep inside himself and shouting as loudly as he could but never speaking, the Outward Blaine perfect and poised and robotic. He would have made as good of a host as his mother always did.

He wondered if she were still inside somewhere, if he could uncage her somehow and let her just live. If she stopped taking whatever pharmaceutical cocktail, would there be a person left to release or would she just be a hollow shell without any benzos?

“I should have listened to you,” he whispered. “If I could go back, I would. But I had to get away from them. And there were the men in the newspaper, and if my father had found out… None of them got a life, Kurt, none of them got to be who they wanted or be free or even just happy, they were all dead inside and if that was the future, I couldn't…I couldn't watch that happen to you. I couldn't ask you to watch that happen to me. And if we'd gone together he would have known, I mean, he already knew about you. It was the only choice – and I'm still sorry I made it. It's been 15 years and god, I'm still so sorry I made it…”

There wasn't any point to this, he realized as he fell silent. There was nothing else he knew how to say, and Kurt couldn't hear him anyway. All he was doing was getting sucked into the past and how awful he had felt decades ago. There was no reason to continue; it was best to stay with where they were, what they had now, and build something new.

He nodded to himself and slid down under the lightweight covers slowly so as not to disturb the man beside him; when Kurt didn't stir, Blaine let his body relax a little. After a moment, he reached out slowly and drew himself closer to Kurt until he was practically wrapped around him.

It had been a long time. The shadowy figure that haunted his dreams was dead, the old guard with him. He could relax and let it go and move forward. He had to.

Kurt half-woke enough to wrap an arm around him, and Blaine let himself melt into the sleepy embrace, drifting off to sleep as he inhaled the scent of his lover's hair and felt his warm breath on bare skin.

He was okay. They both were.