Kurt told him that he was terrible at pillow talk, but Blaine was pretty sure Kurt was worse. At least Blaine didn't try to talk about work in bed and ask his boyfriend to recount his fantasies about that. Blaine was busy counting freckles he didn't realize Kurt had in the fading spring light. Even in bed, he couldn't compete with Kurt's show for long.

"I don't really do plans for the future. I screw up thing I plan." Blaine gave an over-exaggerated wince, aiming for cute instead of pathetic.

Kurt shivered at the nonsensical pattern Blaine traced along his shoulder, kicking his feet and tangling them in the sheets. "You probably screw up things you don't plan too, it's just more obvious when you know what you're supposed to get."

"Thanks?"

Kurt didn't look the least bit bothered. Not by misspeaking when he knew Blaine would understand him anyway, and not by how his usually pristine hair stuck in every direction. He leaned into a quick peck against Blaine's lips to smooth over any ruffled feelings. "You said, when we first met, that you wanted to be a performer. Will that still be true after all this is done?"

Kurt took plans seriously; Blaine didn't know if he was ready for that yet. He'd pick staring at Kurt, savoring the moments Kurt spent close to him with attention undivided, over thinking about the future with practicality any day. He hesitated before answering, "We're just getting started. Who knows how long it'll last."

"10 weeks limited engagement:youknow that. Presuming they don't move up closing night because no one comes and we're just a waste of the theatre's time and space." Kurt grew quietly more and more anxious about opening night, both for what still needed to be prepared and for what he had no control over. Kurt already started working on a second script, although he kept mum about the topic and refused to let Blaine look over his shoulder.

Blaine made sure Kurt caught the exaggerated eyeroll he gave. "Or we extend the run because your genius is both recognized and appreciated."

The furrow didn't leave Kurt's brow like Blaine hoped. "You won't work any of those nights, right? We added you into too many parts. We can't just replace you." Kurt said, the quiet kind of contained panic that made Blaine wonder if Kurt's worry lingered through everything they did, or resurfaced moments ago from unknown places and surprising them both.

"I wouldn't do that." He fixed Kurt's mussed hair, working his fingers through strayed locks.

"What if it's extended?" Kurt asked, cautious and hopeful simultaneously.

"How long?"

Kurt contemplated as he knocked his feet against Blaine's under the sheets. "Three months."

Three more months made a long time to hypothetically clear his schedule. He tried not to have expectations for the success of Kurt's show, given his tendency to build things up in him mind an then be disappointed when they couldn't live up. He'd find a way to make the schedule work if given the opportunity. "I don't have anything planned."

"What about after that?"

"How long after that?" He didn't plan that far out. Kurt had lists of what he wanted that spanned his entire life, updated each time he accomplished something on it or thought of something new. Blaine had a vague notion only, caveated withif it's possible. If it's not too much to ask.The closest he came to creating his own list was helping Kurt check off all the sexy wants on his.

Kurt stretched out against Blaine by way of answering. Blaine's heart thumped out how naturally Kurt fit next to him, Kurt's ear over his heart listening to the beat. Kurt, here, in love with him, was already more than he thought he'd ever get.

Blaine worked up enough courage to ask, "Did you just ask what I'm doing for the rest of my life?"

He was rewarded with a pleased smile so broad it showed teeth.

He got caught up so easily – they both did – into sweeping promises and grand gestures.Foreverhe could imagine like this, without the caveats. All it depended on was him, and Kurt, and a promise.

Instead he said, "You'll be busy enough for the both of us. No matter what happens." Blaine knew that much would hold true. "I know you're already working on a backup plan."

"I'm not staging a repeat of this, though," Kurt resolved vehemently. "I'm not tainting it. The second script isn't to sell, anyway."

"Then what's the point?"

Kurt laughed and kissed him with what Blaine was starting to mentally refer to as hisshut up, you're ridiculouskiss. "I took the show's script and rewrote a few things. Just for you. Us. No one else."

"You can't just say that and not show me!"

Kurt retrieved a satchel from the foot of the bed with a giddy bounce at Blaine's interest. "It's nothing much yet," he cautioned, although Blaine doubted that anyone who got that excited about their work could think it didn't amount to much. "They're just scribbles. Ideas."

"I see." Iterations of K+B were doodled in the margins of handwritten loose-leaf pages that spilled across the sheets as soon as Blaine opened the folder. Blaine propped himself up against the pillows to sort through the pages better.

"I couldn't bear keeping them apart."

Blaine skimmed the text. "You changed the ending."

"Just for us," Kurt repeated. "This doesn't affect the show."

He'd take it. Schuester still tried to egg Kurt into creating a more satisfactory romance than an unrequited one with no resolution, and Blaine smugly noted that now he had his own private version of what Schuester wanted. "You wrote me a love story," he cooed, and bumped his nose against Kurt's. God, he loved when Kurt grinned that wide. "Weren't you supposed to give me a private reading ages ago?"

"I'll need a reading partner," Kurt replied coyly. "Once it gets to that point. It's too rough now."

Blaine scooted closer. Pressed a kiss to Kurt's temple. "Let me know when. I believe we just established that I'll clear my schedule for you." Blaine pulled up his neglected calendar on his phone to illustrate his point.

It was supposed to be a joke, not ironic, but the rest of the day wasn't blank like he assumed. A sinking feeling seized his stomach as he re-checked the calendar details to prove himself wrong. Five minutes in and his big sweeping promises couldn't be kept.

He dropped his feet to the chilled floor paneling. His back turned to Kurt, he numbly picked up his clothes. He needed to stop sojourning in Brooklyn and get back to the city.

"It doesn't have to be a dress rehearsal," Kurt said pointedly as Blaine shrugged into his layers.

Blaine smoothed a hand over his hair Kurt had a knack for wrecking. "Was I wearing socks when I came?"

"No. Can't recall what you had on when you showed up though."

Blaine shook his head with false exasperation. Falsely directed at Kurt instead of himself, anyway. "Tired clichés. That's what we've reduced you to."

Kurt looked pleased with himself anyway, and more so when Blaine bent down to search under the bed. "Save bemoaning my clichés for when you read the script."

Blaine had to confess his poor planning. Cut their date short. Leave right when Kurt offered something private and important to him. He couldn't just continue getting dressed and then walk out the door. The longer he waited, the worse he made it, because now he was withholding information from Kurt instead of being an idiot who can't keep track of time.

"Get back in bed if your feet are cold." Lithe limbs stretched and flexed, at ease with the space they occupied. The movement recalled their first private rehearsal where Kurt made himself at home atop the piano. He moved with the same comfort in his own skin. The sheet draped around his waist was more for teasing than modesty.

"Are you trying to tempt me back?" He couldn't help the tone that gave away his interest. He didn't have time to appreciate sexy developments, but he predicted this, exactly this: that Kurt's determination to do everything well would win out over starting late. He knew Kurt would figure him out and exploit those findings. Didn't help that smugness on his boyfriend was a turn on – he had to have done something right for Kurt to look so pleased all the time.

He couldn't take advantage with his looming commitment to be elsewhere. The alarm on his phone sounded. Blaine fumbled to shut his alarm off. "I'm sorry!" Blaine blurted immediately. "I'm sorry, I forgot."

Kurt's eyes narrowed as soon as he realized the purpose of the alarm and Blaine's clothes. The pout transformed from something put on for show to something genuine. "While we're on the topic of things we want in the future..."

Blaine tugged his shirt over his head. "Would you like to finish that sentence?" he asked, not unkindly. Kurt had his thing about speaking words made them undeniable. Under the same reasoning Blaine didn't talk to Kurt about working at Dalton. The closest he came was recounting after hours sing-alongs with the Warblers (or inviting Kurt to join in).

"I know it's not fair," Kurt admitted, but nothing more. He bit his lip instead. Kurt seemed to understand the power he had over Blaine and kept true to his promise to not ask too much. Blaine didn't take into account what he was willing to give. What he'd offer freely.

"You don't want things because they're fair." Or that were easy.

"No."

He didn't hate his job or his life, but he'd throw them both away if Kurt asked. Gratefully Kurt didn't ask and Blaine kept himself from offering unprompted. So far, safety and security and keeping his life the way he'd happily spent it for years won out against his overgenerous tongue that committed before consulting his brain.

In Blaine's ideal world, he pursued his dream career and accepted all the uncertainty that came with it with enough conviction in his abilities to know that struggling to make it would only be temporarily. It made a bigger dream than plucking out a melody for an audience of 12 in a lobby. But the caveats remained. Too much depended on what would happen with the show to have any concrete plans after.

Kurt didn't start the same search for layers as Blaine. He made no move from sitting upright but still tangled in the sheets.

The compulsion to make his wrong right took over. Blaine didn't have time, but he dropped back on the edge bed with Kurt anyway. "Kurt. Hey. You know I didn't plan this. You know that."

"I know." Same icy edge Blaine recognized from when Kurt didn't want to go to rehearsal and frustrated himself for feeling that way about something he loved. At those times Kurt froze: always watching, always calculating, but shut down emotionally, like he put his feelings on ice to temper them. As much as he loved his show and that it existed, he still had days he needed to be coaxed out of fading into the shadows through promises that the cast's distractions would continue working. Blaine didn't want to be yet another emotionally draining thing in Kurt's life. He spent so much time on-edge.

Blaine's hands fluttered uselessly, uncertain if his touch was wanted or if he was still the exception to Kurt'sdon't touch mevibe even when Blaine was the one who caused it. "Do you want me to come back?"

Kurt gave a slight shake of his head as indication that he'd heard. "I'll see you at rehearsal."

Blaine didn't take the obvious dismissal. "Can I kiss you goodbye?"

"I'm not mad at you." Which wasn't a yes. Kurt sighed in frustration. He held his jaw tightly and Blaine would kiss away the tension if Kurt would let him.

"I'll be back in time for rehearsal tomorrow," Blaine reaffirmed. "We'll be there. No one's leaving you alone with him." If Kurt could break the recently created rule against mentioning Schuester in bed then Blaine could too.

Kurt's fingers worked into the back of his hair to guide them close enough to brush noses. Blaine lingered, eyes closed, breathing Kurt in, as long as he could and then Kurt let him go.

***

Wes let himself into Blaine's apartment and greeted him with a mild, "Cute pajamas." He set a cup of coffee Blaine wouldn't drink at this late hour down on the heavy oak table.

Blaine toyed with a sleeve as he eyed the coffee. They were the one type of apparel a client would never see: the soft comfort of matching flannel pajamas was purely for his own benefit. He hadn't expected company with his bare feet and sleepwear that didn't measure up to Wes's suit. Wes didn't stop by, coffee in hand, to socialize. They didn't have that kind of relationship. He adored Wes like he tentatively adored any authority figure that seemed to care about him, but their relationship was more about liking each other when they were around than seeking the other out. Blaine's guilty conscience started working overtime, because he knew exactly what he'd done wrong.

"I'll book a few more clients soon."

"If you like. Sebastian's taken over some of your regulars but you're welcome to win them back. Goodness knows he isn't everyone's type."

Usually if Blaine took too long between clients he started feeling pointless. Or lonely. He didn't let time lapse like this. "I've been meaning to book some."

"No, you haven't," Wes said with absolute, calm certainty. "You also haven't updated your schedule once in the last 10 days. I need to know where you are."

Blaine flushed. His schedule was entirely rehearsal and Kurt now. Most nights were spent in Kurt's bed across the city. Kurt still struggled to name his desires and feel like he was allowed to ask and Blaine couldn't resist Kurt's coquettish persistence when he breathed "stay the night with me" like a prayer. Anything Kurt asked for he could have. Blaine had hoped the Warblers hadn't noticed his absence. "I haven't been working. There's nothing for you to worry about."

"I need to know where you are," Wes repeated sternly. "Any time you leave I need to know why. Any time you're here I need to know who's with you." Wes was always at his most severe when it came to following rules. "The council would like to speak with you. We'll be waiting in the commons. You can update your schedule after."

"It's late," Blaine protested, because it was hard enough making his room feel lived in without leaving it again, and he was in the middle of trying to be comfortable with it. Spending the night without Kurt wasn't supposed to be so hard.

Wes edged the coffee forward on the table. "The rest of us still work nights. I'll give you time to get dressed."

***

Despite the late hour, the council remained impeccable in their positions at the front table. All except for one.

"You're not on the council," Blaine blurted as soon as he saw Sebastian leisurely reclining in the last seat – which was entirely too nice for that sort of treatment – at the end of the council table.

"Things change when you aren't paying attention," Sebastian smirked. "Thad decided bookkeeping wasn't for him."

A protest died on Blaine's lips. Sebastian could try to manipulate Blaine so much easier if he was given that kind of power, but abuse of power was a serious accusation to make without giving Sebastian any benefit of doubt. He needed to trust the council.

"We're not here to scold you. But it seems like you're making a decision here that shouldn't be made lightly." David looked to Wes for agreement.

He feared this was the reason they called him down; he couldn't think of any other when the butterflies started as he dressed and made himself presentable.

"I'll figure out how to balance things. I've earned more than enough this year to merit a mini-vacation." He resisted fidgeting. The council never made him nervous before; they were his friends. (The ones who weren't Sebastian were his friends.) But he'd also never done anything that could displease them like this. The closest he came to a romantic relationship in his time at Dalton was letting Sebastian harass him when he was feeling low, and one third of the current council – the council that included Sebastian – was very okay with that scenario. The drama that unfolded when the Warblers took sides on who was misleading whom, while never outright blamed on him, had been horrific enough to keep Blaine in line until now and it would be on Wes and David's minds.

"Our concerns are not chiefly monetary but about your side project," Wes said. Blaine's blood ran cold. This was the confirmation of his fears. Wes pushed on. "It hasn't escaped the council's notice how you've been choosing to spend your time. Have you thought this all the way through?"

"I love Kurt," Blaine replied instantly, like the fact it was. He wouldn't deny that. The council couldn't argue against love. "I don't know how to plan for the future or what I'm going to do . . . but I'm in love." At first all he wanted was all Kurt was willing to give, be that one night or every night. Now he wanted so much. His job and Kurt's ambitions gave them plenty of roadblocks and were bound to create more but privately he pictured them together long after Kurt was famous and he was . . . something. A star in his own right, possibly, if he allowed himself that much hope. The picture of himself was less clear but for the first time it was starting to take shape out of the undefined, unthought-of thing it was. Being around Kurt forced him to reflect on his own desires. "We'll think through the rest together. Kurt and I will make this work. I'll start taking clients again."

The council exchanged looks. "Blaine, this isn't about Kurt," Wes said.

Blaine sagged in relief.

"This is about your decision to be in the spotlight."

Blaine looked back up at Wes, but David spoke next.

"Your side project is starting to garner attention. The show was fine when no one was going to watch it, and the online video you made was bad enough even under those circumstances, but now your face is in a magazine. We value our discretion. We don't sell our more prominent clients out to the tabloids and they keep Dalton a carefully guarded secret. However, all it takes is one slip. Think of all the men you've been with and tell me you like those odds." David cast a sideways look at Sebastian.

"Is he bribing you?" Blaine blurted. Or blackmailing. That might be Sebastian's style as well. Sebastian rarely got involved in the politics of running Dalton unless it involved something he wanted, and he wanted to replace Thad for some reason.

David startled at Blaine's voice. Sebastian remained unflappably smug in his tilted chair.

Wes's mouth tightened. "That's not how we conduct ourselves." He leveled a firm look at each of them.

The butterflies beat harder. Guilt bubbled up for leveling such an accusation, however founded it might be. There was always the chance that he was wrong. Shouldn't he assume the best in people rather than the worst? But David wasn't the type to rub past mistakes (Sebastian) in Blaine's face, and why else would David look at him like that?

Wes cleared his throat until all eyes turned back to him. "Let's bring our attention back to the issue at hand. Standing out will always be dangerous for you, Blaine. The more fame you accumulate, the more tempting revealing your past will be. Dalton's power extends only so far."

Blaine thought back to the publicity for the show so far. He knew about the article David mentioned: Kurt walked on clouds for days after. While the speculative article about Schuester's intentions in backing the show stayed tucked away on a bookshelf, the new article touting the creativity of the script and the skills of the unknown cast hung on his wall with pride. Besides that, there was the website with the videos and mini-bios and pictures, but no one had a reason to visit it. A Facebook page. Artie said something about Twitter? That didn't amount to fame. He was Blaine Anderson in all of that, not Blaine Warbler.

"When the benefits outweigh the cost – and it'll be sooner than you think – someonewillsell your story," Wes said. "You don't have to be a big name to make it into the tabloids if the story is scandalous enough. The questions will be invasive and they will follow wherever your public life takes you."

"I can't change what I've already done." He hadn't thought much about the long-term future and a life after Dalton. He entered Dalton as a reprieve from the outside world. He arrived barely legal and pretending he was much older with no education and work experience limited to a couple seasonal theme park gigs. Performing was a daydream. He hadn't even thought about how much he still wanted it until the opportunity was right in front of him. Wanting in general was something he'd put on hold, a necessary exchange for the safety Dalton provided. Blaine wondered, fleetingly, if ambitions could be sexually transmitted.

"Are you ready to put your life on display? For anyone to be able to pick up a magazine and take a peek into your sex life? Are they paying you enough for that?"

Blaine's stomach turned. "I don't want to be cooped up in here forever." He didn't think to have an exit strategy all those years ago.

"You're safe here."

"This isn't a life!" He tried to rein himself in but emotion still bled into his voice as he looked around the room that had grown so familiar to him. "I can't be held in limbo forever. I have to take my chance outside of Dalton. I could perform on astage. I could be a real actor!"

Wes shook his head sadly. "You're putting Dalton in jeopardy. None of us want to be found out. Think of your friends."

"My whole purpose in life isn't to please everyone else." The conviction in his voice drained halfway through his sentence. Wes could go to jail because of him. They all could. He winced at the thought of his closest friends behind bars. He couldn't be responsible for that. He couldn't be so selfish as to trade his freedom for all of theirs.

With a sense of finality Wes said, "We've come to a decision. Since you can't bring yourself to do what's best for you, you're going to do what's best for us."

"Tell them you're leaving the show," David instructed. "Rehearsal all you want but don't set a foot on that stage anytime an audience can see."

"Or?"

Sebastian smirked. "Or we'll ruin you ourselves."

Blaine stumbled back in shock. How foolish and trusting he'd been, thinking they were friends. You don't just leave a place like Dalton, not without a cost.

Without waiting for another word, Blaine flew up the winding stairs to his studio. The heavy door thudded behind him. Pavarotti chirped and trilled at him upon his return. Blaine sunk beside the base of the cage.

He was no stranger to ineffectual shouting. Losing battles were the only kind he knew; it'd just been so long since he'd had one to fight. The conversation was over. He'd do what was expected of him. He always did. But what was to become of him? He couldn't stay at Dalton forever. He didn't want to anymore; his motivation for sleeping with anyone other than Kurt was shot. But with performing no longer an option he was suited for nothing else.

He was too young for his career prospects to have passed him by. Not admitting aloud that he hoped Kurt's show would launch his own career performing fulltime didn't stop his disappointment at being denied. All the things he could be swirled around his already bursting, muddled thoughts: his name on the back of a Hollywood chair, red carpet appearances, performing at galas and fundraisers for Broadway Cares or the LGBT Community Center. He struggled to leave every time something he wanted lay outside the safety of Dalton's walls, but he thought he had the option, He was getting better, to the point that he sometimes thought an attack years ago and 1,000 miles away didn't have to rules his life or how he coped with the outside world.

Would Kurt still love him when he realized Blaine's dalliances weren't temporary? When Kurt had dreams Blaine couldn't be a part of? Blaine could stain Kurt's reputation as vividly as Dalton's if the potential for gossip about Blaine profession was as real as Wes predicted. They couldn't have much of a future if Blaine had to stay in the shadows and Kurt refused to.

"They make you feel powerless, don't they, with their good intentions and old school moral obligations."

Blaine startled at the unsolicited presence in his room. He wiped at his face with the back of his hand and gulped for a steady breath of air, pushing himself away from the wall and the broad shadow Hunter was casting. Hunter stood there like it was the most natural place for him to be, invitation completely unnecessary.

"Everybody's too afraid to take chances. Afraid of change. But we're not like that, are we? We pursue what we want."

Blaine would assume this was leading somewhere sexual if Hunter wasn't straight. Even with that fact, he still wasn't convinced of the innocence of Hunter's appearance. He had a habit of setting Blaine on edge. Hunter knowing the contents of a meeting he wasn't a part of didn't ease that feeling.

"They don't know how to handle you. They're trying to hold on when you're already gone. Aren't you?"

Hunter wasn't wrong. Blaine fit perfectly into the coddled image Hunter held of him: used to the adoration of those in charge of his keeping who bent the rules to fit him and overcompensated him for any discomfort; he couldn't stand being told no to something he wanted, couldn't even comprehend being denied. Enforce rules and suddenly he wanted out. The problem was they left him nowhere to go. Without performing he had absolutely no skills. He'd thought about leaving before, but he'd actively experienced running away with nowhere to run to once already. Months of constant panic over what was to become of him when he first arrived in New York led right to Dalton's door and he hadn't left since. Other than for Kurt.

His voice sounded hollow when he asked, "How? How are we pursuing what?"

"I like to think of myself as an entrepreneur. I see an opportunity and I seize it."

Blaine resisted rolling his eyes at Hunter's self-promoting elevator speech that wasn't an answer. As if Blaine didn't know him by now. Given how he treated the other Warblers like they were garbage at worst and pawns at best, taking what he wanted wouldn't be a problem for him.

"With a little fine tuning you could have the spotlight you crave and we would all capitalize on it. Let me manage you. The council doesn't know how to approach this tactically. I already gave Wes his shot at this opportunity, but he doesn't get what a fortune we could make."

Blaine's unease continued to grow at how Hunter still hadn't said how he intended to follow through on any of his promises. Either he had a flair for the dramatic or he wanted to hold out until Blaine at least partially bought in.

"Change the order of the story and you control it. Would you rather be shamed or shameless? We take you out of Dalton, make you a much more visible whore on your own, and share your story with the world. You could be the next Kim Kardashian. Paris Hilton."

"You mean a sex tape." Becoming the next Tila Tequila – famous for being hot but assumed to be otherwise untalented – wasn't one of Blaine's ambitions, if he was interpreting how Hunter wanted to "share his story."

"Gotta launch your career with something people actually want to see. With the right publicity, no one will care about where youusedto work or what crappy little play you almost did. You'll have your pick of roles after that."

Apparently Blaine did have unnamed expectations for the future he wanted, and they involved a clean break from selling himself. His love of reality TV occasionally lent itself to entertaining fantasies of starring in his own series, but he pictured being the kind judge on an audition show or maybeKurt and Blaine Take Overwhere they redecorated failing theatres.

And yet. Hunter's proposal appealed to Blaine's desire to make a break from Dalton without hurting anyone but himself. If his career made gossip inevitable ...

"Sebastian wants the job but he's too tall next to you – I'm not marketing niche porn for little people – and he spent half the video mugging for the camera."

"Video?" Blaine's mind jumped to what couldn't possibly be true. He felt like he missed part of the conversation. Sebastian mugging in a video shouldn't have anything to do with Blaine.

"I had to set them up just in case you're not as good of an actor as you think you are. Pretty easy to do considering how often you're not here. The one with Kurt is surprisingly entertaining but without him pulling focus. At least you seem less effeminate in comparison."

The one with Kurtechoed in his molasses-slow mind. Kurt knew Hunter had been up to something and Blaine hadn't wanted to believe.

His tongue felt too fat in his mouth to form indignant protests. Blaine ran a hand through his distressed hair. Looking around the room wouldn't tell him what to do but he couldn't think of a single thing that that'd sway Hunter. He couldn't tell where the cameras were either. He had no leverage.

"That's private."Which Hunter already knew."Wes won't. . ."have any ability to control him, what was a driver's salary next to something as scalable as porn."How could you do that?" He hadn't said an unkind word to Hunter since he started at Dalton.

"That was mean of me, wasn't it? You'll let me know what a fair charge for that is. We'll work it into your payment."

Hunter didn't do it to be mean. He did it to win. No need to get Blaine to agree at all.

"Not enough money in the world. You're giving me the tape instead." He didn't bother to hide his contempt. Two seconds of consideration made far more than Hunter deserved. Kurt rewrote the ending of the show for him, just for him, apologizing for how no one else would see it but he couldn't stand to keep their alter-egos apart. Blaine kept pages and pages of sentimental speeches tucked in a drawer in his vanity because he knew Kurt would want them to stay private. Now he had to repay that by telling Kurt this, guilty over what someone else chose to do.

Kurt had been reluctant to share anything intimate at Dalton, but relented with a, "since you ask for so little the rest of the time" and joked they should rehearse that sex scene Blaine coaxed him into writing for their nonexistent show they assumed no one would ever see. Blaine enthusiastically took him up on the offer for that long overdue private reading. Out of all the men Blaine could and did have in his bed, he wanted his boyfriend there, intimate with him in the place he called home with all its familiar, soothing surroundings. Dalton was the safest place he knew, secluded in the midst of the busiest city that never slept.

Hunter didn't seem to register his distress as anything other than a minor inconvenience, watching with an appraising eye as Blaine hummed with a desire to act and no useful outlets for that anxious energy. Pavarotti hopped from perch to perch, back and forth. Blaine covered the cage.

"I'm giving you an opportunity. There's nothing here for you. We do this right and you'll be set long before you lose your looks. Kurt'll benefit too. We all heard of what he'll do for a lame theatre gig no one'll see. I'm giving you a much better deal."

He knew what kind of fame Kurt wanted. He knew how private Kurt was. The toll feeling indebted to Schuester took on him and how much he wanted that part of his life to be over with. "You're giving me the tape," Blaine repeated. "You're giving the tape to me and no one else."

Hunter scoffed. "I'm not threatening you. I'm not that clichéd. You're going to make your own decision. And it's going to be the one I want." Hunter strode back across the room to see himself out. "Think about my offer. And think about your other options. Let me know when you decide."

***

"What was that, honey?" Kurt worked hard to focus on Blaine's words while his mind kept drowning everything else out in its excitement about having a boy in his bed (he could never tire of this, he was sure, no matter how many nights Blaine stayed over). Blaine's mumbling obscured everything else. Sleepy mumbling was one thing, but Blaine didn't sound at peace. "Say it again?"

"Run away with me," Blaine begged against the skin of Kurt's chest.

A short laugh escaped at the suddenness of Blaine's request. "Everything I want is here." He skimmed a hand down Blaine's back. For once he didn't have to ask for Blaine to be there, and Blaine taking initiative had to be a good omen. They could work on the courtesy of advanced notification instead of just showing up at the door in the dead of night. Usually Blaine had manners down. They'd seen each other at rehearsal mere hours before, and their codependency hadn't become so extreme that a night apart should merit such extremes.

Kurt wouldn't send him back under normal circumstances, and certainly at such a late hour given how ardently Blaine avoided traveling outside of his safe little haven at Dalton once the sun fell. The unspoken fear easily explained why Blaine hadn't committed to coming by calling ahead. He almost broke when Kurt tried to calm his fear-facing jitters by saying, "I'm proud of you."

"What if I'm not here?"

Kurt stiffened. Blaine's hands tightened to hold him closer. They agreed not to lie to each other, which wasn't the same as being upfront or asking what they wanted to know. He didn't know where Blaine had been, assuming that Blaine would offer what he wanted to share and he hadn't offered a thing. Asking might give answers Kurt didn't want to hear. He waited, instead, for Blaine.

"If we leave right now, we can both start over. We could have a new life. No regrets, no looking back."

It was too dark to make out more than a hint of Blaine's features half-hidden against his own body. Something had seemed off about Blaine ever since he melted into Kurt's arms as soon as he opened the door to an unexpected visit in the middle of the night. "Are you okay?"

He clutched at Kurt harder but it wasn't possible for them to physically be any closer than they already were unless they lost their clothes again. Blaine already had Kurt's pajamas all rumpled from attempting to mold himself to Kurt's skin.

"I'm fine." Blaine said quietly.

Kurt didn't believe him for a second.