Burt arrived mid-morning the next day. Rachel insisted Kurt take the day off work so he was home when the taxi dropped his dad off. He was bracing himself for his dad to be unhappy with him since it had been so long since they had last spoken. Kurt usually made sure to call home at least once every two weeks, but that hadn't happened since he'd learned Blaine's story and became wrapped up in his life. It was the time of year when his dad's shop was especially busy as well, meaning it was difficult for him to call Kurt.

Basically, he hadn't been a very good son over the last few months.

He hadn't got much sleep the night before, tossing and turning for hours, worrying about his dad's visit and then waking up after only a few hours of sleep to the ache of the loss of Blaine. He was tired and emotionally-strained, feeling close to tears as he made himself a coffee that did very little to make him feel more awake. It wasn't the best of days to see his dad and try and convince him he was doing fine, but there was nothing he could do about it.

The sound of his dad knocking on the door rang through the silent apartment and Kurt took a deep breath. He quickly checked his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall, making sure the circles under his eyes were still covered by the make-up he'd borrowed from Rachel and that his eyes weren't too red or watery. He plastered a smile on his face before opening the door.

"Hi, dad," he greeted.

His dad's gaze immediately swept up and down his body, scrutinising him for any signs of ill-health. "Hey, buddy," he said, stepping into the apartment and refusing Kurt's repeated offers to take his bag. "Been a while since I've heard from you."

Closing the door behind him, Kurt sighed. "I know. I'm so sorry. I've been busy and-" He let his hand fall off the door handle and moved over to where his dad was standing. "That's not really an excuse. I'm sorry."

Burt set his bag down on the floor and leaned against the back of the couch. "You've been busy with this Blaine guy Rachel was telling me about."

It was a statement, not a question, but Kurt felt he had to answer anyway. He swallowed, unsure exactly what Rachel had told him about his relationship with Blaine. "I-" he began.

Burt moved around the couch and sat down on it. "Alright, sit down and tell me everything."

Feeling slightly thrown, Kurt joined his dad on the couch. He felt unsure and a little like he was floating in the middle of the ocean, not knowing which way to swim to reach land. Despite having prepared himself to tell his and Blaine's story, now that he was being asked for everything he had no idea what to say. How did he explain to someone who had never met Blaine how he'd felt this instant connection with him? That it had felt like they were meant to meet? Kurt didn't really believe in fate or destiny and he knew his dad didn't either, yet here he was about to say in so many words that he felt like he and Blaine had been destined to meet. He couldn't see how his dad would understand.

Shifting on the couch until his body was facing Burt, Kurt looked up and met his dad's eyes. He suddenly remembered how accepting his dad had been when he'd told him he was gay and how, back then, there had been a lot about homosexuality his dad didn't understand; but he had still been supportive and he made sure he understood. His dad wasn't the type of person to dismiss something he said or felt, or to tell him he was being ridiculous. He would understand. Kurt mentally shook himself - lack of sleep and being so emotional was making him think ludicrously.

He cleared his throat. "I met Blaine about four months ago outside a coffee shop I pass on my way to work..."

He spoke for a good twenty minutes, telling his dad everything that Blaine had told him about how life was like for him in the twenties, to how he and Blaine had started dating and how much, how deeply, they cared for each other. His dad listened intently, never interrupting, his expression giving nothing away. Kurt felt a sense of relief and lightening at telling all of this to his dad, finally unloading to someone in the prospect of getting some advice to get him through the pain he was in. He would have to thank Rachel again for calling his dad out here.

It was too hard for him not to cry when he spoke of Blaine leaving. He could no longer look at his dad as he described Blaine's reasons for wanting to leave, so instead he looked across at their DVD collection where it was displayed in a shelved unit by the TV. Every now and then he lifted a hand to swipe away the tears sliding down his face. He was re-opening wounds that were still fresh by talking about this, and it was extremely painful.

Finished talking, Kurt continued to stare at the DVDs for a while, trying to get a handle on his emotions before he lost control of them completely and he spiralled into an abyss of hurt and regret. His dad remained quiet the entire time, either thinking or giving Kurt a moment to recover. When Kurt finally had his emotions in check, he turned his gaze back on his dad.

Burt looked pained, his eyes full of sympathy, sadness, and, to Kurt's surprise, understanding. When Kurt was facing him again, he sighed deeply.

"When you were four you got a pet hamster for your birthday," Burt began, immediately sparking up confusion in Kurt. "You loved the damn thing: you refused to leave for kindergarten until you were satisfied he had enough food and water and you kept telling me off for holding him wrong, saying I was hurting him. You insisted on the cage being in your room and you talked about him to anyone who would listen.

"A few weeks before you sixth birthday, the hamster died. Your mom and I explained to you that hamsters don't live very long and we helped you bury him in the backyard and hold a little funeral for him, but you were still very upset. You wouldn't let me take his cage out of your room until weeks later and you insisted on wearing black for the next week - you kept saying that was the colour people wore after someone had died. It took you months to get over the death of that hamster. When you wrote a poem about him for your fifth grade English class I realised you were someone who loved deeply; once you loved someone or something they stayed in your heart for life. That's why you came back to Ohio for a few days after you had that big fight with Rachel; you were terrified of losing her."

"I still remember Prince Eric," Kurt muttered, an indistinct image in his head of a small brown and white hamster that he'd named after one of his favourite Disney princes.

Burt nodded wisely. "You're in love with Blaine, aren't you?"

He wasn't looking for an answer, didn't need one since Kurt's feelings had been blatantly obvious in the way he spoke of Blaine and his reaction to him leaving, but Kurt nodded anyway. Tears were shining on his cheeks again and he sniffed, wiping them away with the back of his hand.

Burt's face was soft with his sadness and sympathy. It made Kurt cry even harder, seeing someone feeling so sorry for him.

"You're probably never going to forget him, Kurt," Burt continued gently. "He's always going to have a place in your heart. I can't tell you he'll come back someday or you'll find someone else and forget all about him; I won't give you false promises for things that aren't going to happen. I still think about your mom every day and I have Carole now."

Kurt swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat and nodded, wiping at the tears clinging to his face again.

"It will get easier over time, Kurt, but you can't carry on killing yourself at work and you can't keep on bottling everything up inside you. It's not healthy. Talk to Rachel, call home and talk to me or Carole - we're all happy to listen - but don't repress memories of him, it will only make it worse. It's going to hurt a lot at first, but over time you'll be able to look back fondly on your memories together and be grateful for the time you got to spend with each other."

Kurt was just letting the tears slide freely down his cheeks now, the constant stream from his eyes too much to wipe away with just his hand. His dad moved closer on the couch and placed an arm around his shoulders, holding him against his body in a way that comforted Kurt even with how much he was hurting.

"It's horrible that you two are in the wrong centuries and your time together was cut short, but you can't keep living like this, buddy; it isn't good for you. You don't want to become ill over this." Burt squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Talk to people. Treasure your memories with Blaine. Don't keep it all locked up inside; it doesn't do you any good."

Kurt nodded again and sniffed, desperately wishing he had a tissue. He was still sticking with his decision not to tell anyone about the emails he was writing to Blaine. Although they meant he wasn't completely bottling everything up, he didn't think his dad would think it was a healthy way of dealing with the situation. The emails would remain something he did in private.

His dad patted him on the back before withdrawing his arm from around his shoulders. "I know exactly how you're feeling, buddy, and it will get better - trust me."

Kurt met his gaze, managing a small smile. "Thanks for coming out here, dad," he said quietly.

Burt returned his smile. "I know that now you're older you think you have to deal with everything yourself, but you can always come to me when things get tough."

With another nod, Kurt checked the time on the kitchen clock. He'd had enough of talking about this; there was only so long he could think about Blaine before it just began to hurt too much. He also felt completely exhausted. He'd been tired before, but now he felt drained and rather like a wrung-out sponge. Unloading all those feelings and memories of Blaine had worn him out and emptied him of almost everything but pain.

"Do you want some lunch?" he asked his dad, noticing it was almost one o'clock. "I can make you a sandwich or a salad or something?"

"I have never eaten a salad for lunch and that ain't a trend I'm going to start now," Burt said as Kurt stood up. "I could go for a sandwich, though."

Kurt straightened his slightly rumpled clothes. "I'll go make that for you. Why don't you watch some TV - see if there's a game on or something."

His dad said something in response, probably just his acknowledgement of what Kurt had said, but Kurt didn't hear him. He was too busy wiping at the tears collected in the corners of his eyes and the damp tracks on his cheeks. Halfway to the kitchen he heard the TV click on behind him, canned laughter immediately ringing through the apartment, masking the slight squeak of Kurt's boots against the floor as he jerked to a stop, his eyes having landed on his dad's bag. The sight of it had triggered the realisation of something he should have thought of as soon as Rachel had told him his dad was coming: his dad would have to sleep in Blaine's room.

A sharp pain flared through Kurt's chest at the thought.

For a few short months that bedroom had been Blaine's; it had smelled like Blaine, contained all of his clothes and possessions, been the place where he had slept and sometimes lazed around reading a book - it had been Blaine's, but now it was about to be a guest room once more.

The room no longer smelled like Blaine - his scent had faded a while ago to be replaced by Kurt's own - but his clothes still lay in the drawers of the cabinet and some of his piano books and sheet music were still stacked neatly on the surfaces of the furniture. But the worst part was the bed. Blaine had slept in that bed, Kurt had shared that bed with him, and if he buried his nose into the pillows he could still catch a whiff of Blaine's comforting scent - his shampoo, his hair gel, and just Blaine. Kurt couldn't bear the thought of anyone else being in that room, sleeping in that bed, even if that person was his dad.

Biting his lip, he stared indecisively at his dad's bag. Nobody would approve if he gave his dad his own bed while he slept in Blaine's and the thought of the conversation that was sure to follow such a decision wasn't appealing. It was silly to be so against his dad sleeping in a bed that was no longer Blaine's, but he couldn't help it; it was just too soon.

A shout from his dad, who had managed to find a football game to watch, jerked him from his thoughts and he moved into the kitchen to make lunch, still thinking about the situation with Blaine's bed.

He'd slept in Blaine's bed the first few nights after he'd left, but nobody had used the bed since then, and it still just seemed too much like Blaine's for anyone else to sleep in. But he had no other choice: he couldn't tell his dad to have his room, nor could he make him sleep on the couch; he would have to start facing the fact that the room was once again a guest room so his dad would be sleeping in that bed. It was probably pathetic how much that upset him.

The football game gave Kurt the excuse to stay silent while they ate lunch and his dad didn't try and persuade him to talk. Kurt had the distinct feeling his dad was giving him some time to think and recover from their conversation that morning and he was grateful for it. While he would make an effort to catch-up on everything that had been happening back home and to fill his dad in on the latest on his work and with Rachel, right now he had a bit of time to deal with his dad's arrival and to begin taking steps towards talking about Blaine and how he was feeling more often.

Once the dirty plates from lunch were cleared away, Kurt took his dad's bag through to Blaine's old room. Tears welled up in his eyes again as he set the bag down on the carpet.

He hadn't been in the room since three days after Blaine had left and, looking around, it was as if Blaine hadn't been gone. The top left-hand drawer of the dresser was still cracked open like Blaine had decided to change his bowtie at the last minute before leaving for the music store, though really it was from when Kurt had taken the bowtie he'd slipped in Blaine's pocket just before he left. The sheets on the bed were slightly wrinkled, like Blaine had been sitting on it reading a book, when in reality those creases were caused by Kurt trying to make the bed with his vision blurred by tears. He moved over to the bed and smoothed out those sheets now, remembering how Blaine had always made his bed neatly, the sheets pulled tight.

Without thinking about it, he picked the nearest pillow off the bed and held it to his nose, inhaling deeply. His eyes fluttered closed - it still smelled like Blaine. An idea formed in his head and he bent down and snatched up the other pillow. Hugging them close to his chest, he hurried through to his own room and switched the pillows on his bed for the ones that held Blaine's scent. His scent would probably be gone after one night of Kurt sleeping on them, but it helped him feel better about his dad sleeping in Blaine's old bed, so he didn't care.

The bedding in his room and Blaine's didn't quite match, but it wasn't really all that obvious that the pillows had been switched. Kurt placed the swapped pillows on the bed and then returned to the living room, feeling much less distressed.

For the rest of his father's stay Kurt made an effort to talk to him about things he would have once kept to himself, such as how he was feeling and any memories of Blaine that cropped up. He tried not to block any thoughts of Blaine, instead pushing on through the pain and letting himself just remember his boyfriend. This resulted in him breaking down in tears a few times, including once in the middle of making breakfast, but his dad was always there to put an arm around him and hold him until he stopped crying. Rachel stayed away from the apartment most of the time Burt was there, giving Kurt plenty of time alone with him. He was grateful for it, even if he sometimes wished she would come home and spend some time with his dad so he could get a break and be alone, though he knew it was best for him to not be alone for too long just now.

On the second night of his dad's stay Kurt told him about the promise he and Blaine had made to look at the stars every night.

"It's our way of staying connected even though we are ninety-one years apart," Kurt explained, eyes on the few stars peeking through the heavy layer of clouds. He glanced fleetingly over his shoulder when his dad gave no reply. His father was watching him from the couch, wearing an unreadable expression. "It sounds silly, I know," Kurt added, gaze fixed on the sky again. "But it really does help. I do feel close to him by sitting here, letting myself remember him, and looking upwards. I feel almost peaceful. I can only hope Blaine feels the same."

"I'm sure he does, buddy," Burt said softly.

Kurt swallowed around the lump in his throat. "He tried to teach me about the stars once. He pointed out all the constellations and told me their names, but I don't remember any of it." He tilted his head to the side, peering at a larger patch of sky revealed by the drifting clouds and trying to see a shape in the stars there. "I was a little distracted that night," he said wistfully. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "He looked so beautiful with the stars reflected in his eyes and his cheeks pink from the cold. He looked over at me when he was explaining something and I couldn't help but kiss him." His fingers slipped into the pocket of his pants and closed around Blaine's pocket watch, his thumb smoothing over the cover. He'd become so lost in the memory by this point that he'd forgotten his dad was in the room listening. "I think he knew I hadn't really been listening, but he didn't mind. He'd tell me it all a thousand times and not care. He knew I sometimes lost myself in the rhythm of his voice and the way he looked when he explained something. He understood."

Kurt let his head fall back against the wall, his face still turned towards the window and his thumb still circling over the pocket watch. He was still smiling fondly at the memory of that night, at Blaine's attempt at pretending to be offended that Kurt hadn't been listening, the pout that had only lasted until Kurt had pressed his lips to it. The memory was so vivid in his mind he could almost see the sparkle in Blaine's eyes, could almost feel the smooth slide of Blaine's lips against his own, the softness of the curls at the back of his neck between his fingers.

A tear trickled down his face and he raised a hand to wipe it away, suddenly remembering where he was and that his dad was watching him. He looked round to say something to him, to apologise for crying again, and found the room empty. His dad must have discreetly left to give him some privacy.

Sending him a silent thank you, Kurt looked back out at the stars and sank back into his memories, allowing the tears to fall freely.

His dad went home the next day and for the first time in ages Kurt wished he was going back to Lima with him. He wanted to escape New York for a bit, get away from the streets and apartment teeming with memories of Blaine - but he couldn't. He'd already booked the last of his vacation time for over Christmas and he was far too busy to ask for some additional time off - he'd only regret it when he returned to a massive pile of work.

It was with a wistful sigh that he said goodbye to his dad and saw him off in a cab to the airport. He made Kurt promise not to work too hard and to call him whenever he needed someone to talk to. Kurt had the suspicion he'd asked Rachel to keep an extra close eye on him because when she arrived home later that day she all but interrogated him on his work schedule for the next week.

When Rachel finally wandered off to take a shower, Kurt fired up his laptop and opened up a new email message:

Dear Blaine,

My dad was here visiting over the last few days. Rachel called him up and told him she was worried about me and he booked a flight at once. I guess I haven't been as good at hiding my feelings as I thought. She had noticed I'd been working a lot, but I didn't think she'd be so concerned as to call my dad. It doesn't matter, I'm glad he came. It was nice seeing him again, and telling him all about us helped. I feel less weighed down now.

Having taken a day off to work to spend time with my dad, I'm now regretting that I didn't do the same with you. I should have taken off all the time I could and spent every waking moment with you. All those hours I was at work while you sat in the apartment alone - what a waste. If I'd only known what little time we'd have together...

But time has always been our problem: not enough of it, not the right period of it. It's such a horrible thing to be fighting against: time. We couldn't have beaten it no matter what we did; we were always going to lose.

Rachel misses you a lot, as well - or, rather, she misses coming home to a home-cooked dinner all ready for her. The times she and I get home in the evenings rarely coincide, so we usually cook for ourselves or get takeaway. It's only occasionally when one of us isn't either tired or starving that a proper dinner for both of us will get made. You spoiled us with all the cooking that you did.

I was thinking about that night you tried to teach me the names of the constellations yesterday. I still don't remember any of them. I don't suppose it matters. You can barely see the stars here most nights - there are too many lights. I wouldn't be able to see a night's sky like the one online you used to teach me about the stars unless I went back to Ohio. It's probably possible for you to see all those stars, though. You'll have a much different view of the sky to what I have.

What I do remember clearly about that night is the way you looked and the way I felt. I never thought it was possible for me to feel so much at once for a person. I just wish I'd been able to tell you exactly how I felt, but there's no way I could have put it into words. I still can't; not really. You make me feel so much, Blaine. It scared me a little at times and it hurt me because our time together was so limited, but it is the most wonderful and exhilarating feeling being in love with you and while, rationally, I know I should want the feelings to go so I can get over you and move on with my life, I never want it to end.

I miss you, Blaine; so, so much. You're always on my mind. I'm constantly thinking about how you are and if you're happy. Happiness is all I ever wanted for you. I hope you have it now.

I'll write again before the week is over. And because I know you'd say it, too: I promise I won't work too hard.

Love,

Your Kurt

Xxx

Dearest Kurt,

I have just gotten home from having lunch with the daughter of a family friend and I can't even begin to describe how terrible it was. I knew it was never going to be pleasant, but it was such a painful experience, only getting worse the longer I stayed. I ended up leaving rather abruptly, which was not at all polite, but I could not stay there a moment longer. It was a disaster.

Let me explain. Anna is the youngest daughter of a couple who have been friends with my parents for years. They are a wealthy, influential family who are well-respected and because of this our parents have been pushing me towards spending time with her since I met her four years ago. She's a nice enough girl, if a little vain and superficial, but as you know, I'm not interested in the way everyone expects me to be and so spending time with her is that much harder.

My parents have been on my case about taking her out since I returned to this time. I managed to avoid following a request by my father to take her out to lunch the day after I returned by claiming I was sick (I did look and feel it, anyway), but I couldn't get out of it today.

It wasn't as if anything overly terrible happened, but it was just sitting with her and knowing what our parents were expecting out of it - and what Anna is probably expecting. I can't keep this up, Kurt; there's only so much longer I can get away with only going for lunch with her every once in a while. Sooner or later they're going to be wondering why I'm not yet showing any more interest, but I couldn't fake that interest, especially not now you're in my life.

I don't know what to do, Kurt. I don't have all that much time left to decide, either. I'm in such a mess. I don't know why I ever thought it was a good idea to come back here.

I wish I had someone I could talk to who could give me some advice. I could talk to Wes about it a bit, but he doesn't know about you and I don't know how much he can help beyond listening to me and saying a few comforting words. He already knows what's going on to an extent, so I suppose I'll talk to him about it more. He's the only person I can talk freely to - other than you, of course.

I'm thinking of you all the time, Kurt. I hope you are well. I do worry that you have reverted back to your habits of staying up late working and barely getting any sleep. I hope that isn't the case. Please take care of yourself.

With all my love, always,

Blaine

Blaine laid down his pen and sat back in his desk chair, watching the ink slowly drying on the paper.

After taking a few deep breaths to try and calm himself down, he'd hurried home from the restaurant, walking quickly in case Anna came after him. He'd arrived home to a mercifully empty house and went directly up to his room, grabbed a sheet of writing paper, and sat down to pen a letter to Kurt. He'd been filled with the desperate, aching need to talk to Kurt and this was the closest he could get.

It did help. He felt calmer now; his heart rate and breathing had gradually returned to normal as he'd written the letter, but it didn't completely replace actually seeing and talking to Kurt; hearing his voice and having his arms around him. The ache of no longer having that was familiar now; it took the edge off the pain a little.

He re-read what he'd just written in his letter about wanting someone to talk to. Maybe he could tell someone the whole story of his time travel so he would have someone for when it all became too much. The only person he could tell was Wes; no one else in this time knew as much about him as Wes did, and he doubted that anyone else he knew could be trusted enough. But even though Wes had been nothing but supportive, Blaine was worried about telling him. He just wasn't sure how Wes would react to learning Blaine had time travelled.

Deciding he would worry about it later, Blaine stood up and slipped the letter into the record sleeve beside the other one. He had managed this long without talking to anyone about his troubles and writing letters to Kurt was helping, so he'd wait a little longer to see if he could cope without spilling one of his biggest secrets to someone.

Over dinner that night his parents asked him about his lunch with Anna. Ignoring the eager, acutely interested looks they were giving him, Blaine told them about it, claiming it had been a lovely meal. He skimmed over the details of his abrupt departure, before telling them he'd invited her to the upcoming ball, knowing that would sufficiently distract them from his impolite and somewhat suspicious reasons for leaving Anna at the restaurant.

He was right: his mother beamed happily and spoke of how glad she was he'd asked her, as if she hadn't all but forced him to do it, while his father made a few pleased comments. Their reactions made Blaine dread the ball even more; he hated to think how they would be on the night of the dance and what else they might talk him into doing.

After dinner it was time to look at the stars and then before he knew it he was settling down in bed, another day passed, another day without Kurt survived. He was going to visit Wes tomorrow - a small bright spot in his bleak horizon - and he briefly wondered yet again if he should tell him about the time travelling. Too worn out from chronic lack of sleep and emotional strain, he fell asleep before he could give the issue too much thought.

Despite how quickly he fell asleep, Blaine woke up the next morning feeling distinctly unrested. He'd woken multiple times during the night to the point where he became frustrated with himself for not being able to stay asleep. He hadn't been sleeping well since he had returned to this time, but last night had been particularly bad.

His parents were already awake and out of the house by the time he had dressed and gone downstairs. As he stood in an empty kitchen staring down at the breakfast the housemaid had just set out for him, he wondered why he'd been so bothered about abandoning his family to live in the future; he barely saw them as it was.

The last thing he felt like doing was eating, but he always felt guilty about not touching the food the housemaid put in time and effort to make, so he ate as much as he could stomach, tossing the rest in the trash. He missed making breakfast with Kurt and them sitting down to enjoy it together.

He was too early for meeting Wes, but he couldn't stand staying in the house any longer. He pulled on his coat and hat and set off for Wes', taking his time and walking slowly.

It was still a little odd to him, seeing the autumn-coloured leaves in the trees when the ones in the New York he'd left behind were bare. Most days it still wasn't yet cold enough for him to see his breath, while in the time he'd left the tang of future snow had hung in the air and each breath had formed a puff of smoky cloud before him. It was an odd experience: he was re-living the time he'd spent in the future, but in another sense, he wasn't. It wasn't an easy concept to get his head around.

As ironic as it was, everything here now looked a little strange to him. While the twenty-first century had been foreign to him, he must have become more accustomed to it than he'd thought. It was strange not seeing the city as built-up or the compact, streamlined cars filling the roads. The clothes people were wearing here looked conservative and almost over-the-top to him now, and people's manners felt a little too stiff and formal. His house felt too large and lonely; he missed the cosy homeliness of Kurt's apartment. Even the lack of technology felt strange - he'd automatically gone to research something on the internet the other day before remembering it didn't exist yet. He didn't know what this all meant.

He was still too early when he arrived at Wes' house. He rang the doorbell anyway, hoping he wasn't disturbing his friend from something else.

"You're early," Wes remarked when he opened the door. He stepped aside to let Blaine in.

"Sorry," Blaine apologised as Wes closed the door and led the way through to the drawing room where papers and books were scattered across a desk. "I had to get out of the house. Did I disturb your work?"

Wes shrugged and began tidying the papers into a neat pile. "It's fine; I was just finishing up anyway." He straightened the stack of paper. "So, what have your parents done this time?"

Blaine blinked at him. "Sorry?"

Wes shot him a look over his shoulder. "I can tell something's bothering you, so I assumed it was your parents again. Am I wrong?"

"Nothing's bothering me," Blaine protested weakly. "I'm swell."

"Blaine." Wes placed the last book on the stack he'd made on the desk and then turned to face his friend, giving him a disbelieving look. "How long have I known you for now? I can tell when you're preoccupied with something. You look tired and dispirited, you've got that slump to your shoulders, and your smile isn't as big as it normally is. What's wrong?"

"I-" Blaine stared at his friend, feeling conflicted. He wanted to tell him about Kurt, but he was terrified of what his reaction would be to hearing about time travelling. He desperately wanted someone to talk to, though, even if Wes couldn't really do anything to help.

Wes had taken a seat in one of the chairs at the desk, waiting patiently for Blaine's response. His expression had a 'no nonsense' air about it, letting Blaine know he wouldn't get away with anything but the truth.

But he had become something of an expert in lying; he could easily fool Wes into believing some other story...

No. Wes deserved the truth. Wes was his best friend, if anyone was going to believe him, it would be him. And if he didn't, well... he would just have to try and prove it to him, like Kurt had done with Rachel.

Blaine swallowed nervously. "It's a long story..."

Wes nodded patiently, letting Blaine know he had the time and the willingness to listen.

"Re- Remember how I passed out a while ago? Something happened - I didn't just lose consciousness, I- I travelled into the future."

Wes' eyes widened, his face becoming a picture of stunned surprise. His expression never changed while Blaine told the story of his time in the twenty-first century, making it impossible for Blaine to tell if he believed him or not. When he got to the part about moving in with Kurt and then, gradually, falling in love with him, he found it difficult to talk around the lump in his throat and he had to pause several times to get some control over his emotions. As he told Wes about his dates with Kurt, he thought he saw Wes' expression soften. This gave Blaine the courage to finish telling him everything, right up until the moment he'd arrived back in this time. He finished his story with a watery hiccup and wiped at his eyes with his hand.

"Why can't you go back?"

"I know it sounds crazy, Wes, but I swear - what?" Blaine interrupted his own reflex defensive speech to stare at his friend, positive he must have misheard him.

"Why can't you go back?" Wes repeated. The shock had all but disappeared from his expression and instead he looked thoughtful and sympathetic. "It sounds like living in that time was everything you have every dreamed of, so why don't you go back?"

Hiccupping, Blaine dropped down heavily into the other chair behind the desk. "I don't think I can go back. Besides not knowing how to use the magic to travel, I can't abandon you and my family."

"You've travelled twice from that one place using magic, so we know it's possible. All you'd have to do is find someone who knows how to help you do it," Wes said, speaking as if it were all some perfectly straightforward plan. "You said that girl who helped you knew magic because it had been passed down through her family for generations; then there must be someone in this time who can do it. We just have to find them."

Blaine stared at him, feeling a little lost for words and like he was floundering. He hadn't expected this kind of reaction at all. He was relieved Wes wasn't questioning his story, but he'd never given any thought to returning to the future - he hadn't thought it was possible - and to have Wes suggest he do it had him stunned into silence.

"As for leaving your friends and family behind," Wes continued, sobering. "If you're subjecting yourself to a life of misery to appease them, then they're not worth it. Don't sacrifice your chance at happiness for people who don't care about how you feel." He gave a sad little smile. "Obviously, I'd miss you tremendously, but I'd be happy knowing you were happy and I would much rather you went than stayed here."

When Blaine said nothing and continued to look uncertain, Wes shifted forward in his chair, resting his arm on the desk. "You love Kurt, don't you?" At Blaine's nod, he smiled gently and said, "Then go to him. Don't walk away from love to stay with a family who don't love you enough to accept you for who you really are."

Blaine swallowed again. "I thought I was doing the right thing by coming back here. I didn't think I belonged in the future."

"And now you realise you've made a mistake," Wes said knowingly. "Blaine, I'm sure if we look into it we can fix this. I want you to be happy and to have the life you deserve. I hate seeing the way you have to live here and now I know there is a chance I can help you out of this I want to do it."

Blaine still wasn't sure. He'd love nothing more than to go back to Kurt, but he remembered that sense of not belonging he'd had in the future and the urge he'd felt to return to his own time. What if that happened again? This, this year he was in now, was the time he was supposed to be in, and he didn't know if it was right for him to go back to the future.

Wes could see he was still conflicted. "Think about it, ok?"

Blaine's head was still buzzing with all his arguments for and against it when he left Wes' house some time later. He remained deep in thought during the walk home to his empty house. Without really paying attention to what he was doing, he went upstairs to his room and took out a sheet of writing paper and his pen. It was an instinctive response for him now to go to Kurt whenever he had a dilemma and even though Kurt could no longer give him any answers, he still had to ask him the questions weighing most heavily on his mind.

My dear Kurt,

What if this is not where I'm supposed to be? What if home isn't where I've returned to, but is where I've left?