Days passed with no word from Kurt. No returned calls, no texts, no emails. 

Nothing.

Blaine knew he didn't have time for this. Not today. He had been asked by Cameron to sit in on a session, and maybe even contribute backup vocals, for a new artist NSO had  signed, a woman with gospel roots about to get her big break. Her style was described as a classic R&B vibe with modern vocal flourishes. "Whitney meets Aretha," Cameron said. The producer had a hunch that she and Blaine might click vocally, and he wanted to test that theory.

Today was huge, the day he'd been waiting for, but Blaine couldn't focus. He shaved, then checked his phone. He dressed, and looked at email. He ate, sort of, then checked his phone again. He circled the house, once, twice, three times looking for his keys before finding them in his pocket.

He couldn't start his day like this.

He grabbed his phone again and called the Hummel-Hudson home, hoping that Burt or Carol had at least heard from Kurt.

"Good morning, Mr. Hummel? It's Blaine."

"Mr. Hummel is my dad, Blaine. It's Burt to you. How ya doin', son? L.A. treating you well?"

"Well, it's certainly keeping me busy, sir ... Burt ..."

"That's more like it. I suspect you're looking for Kurt?"

"Is he there? Oh, thank ... thank ... you," Blaine said with obvious relief. Burt could hear the worry in his voice trickle through the crackling phone line.

"What? He didn't tell you? He's been here since Saturday."

"I think it may have been a last-minute decision. We've both been ... busy. I guess maybe we just didn't connect."

"Is that really it?"

Blaine couldn't lie, and certainly not to Burt Hummel, who was more a dad to him than his own father had ever been. He respected Burt, had always admired and wanted the relationship Kurt shared with his father. He loved Burt like he assumed sons loved their fathers.

"No, I don't think so, sir."

"Blaine, lay off the 'sirs,' OK? What happened between you and Kurt? Because he's not talking. But something's not right when he just shows up out of the blue."

Burt couldn't have read the situation clearer, Blaine thought. Kurt was a planner. He rarely acted on whims. If he had it in mind to visit Lima, both he and Burt would have heard about it -- weeks ago. The only exception would have been for an emergency, if Burt's health had failed or something had caused Kurt to flee.

"I think it's just the stress of being apart," Blaine said, justifying the half-truth in his head as mostly accurate.

"Well son, he's not here right now -- he and Carole went shopping, lord help us -- but I can have him give you a call."

Blaine doubted that would do the trick, but thanked Burt, assured him that he wouldn't be a stranger, and sent his love to Carole.

"And Blaine? Whatever's going on, I don't have the slightest doubt my son loves you. Always has. You take care, son, and I'll be sure to have Kurt call you."

Blaine hung up, assured, at least, that he knew where Kurt was and that he was alright. He picked up his satchel from the kitchen counter, quickly thumbing through the previous days' mail that Cooper had dumped in a pile next to it.

A bill. A couple of supermarket mailers. 

A postcard.

He quickly flipped it over and scanned the words for hints of the story he assuredly already knew by heart.

Blaine,

It's hard to imagine a more amazing city, but I'm going to leave it behind for awhile. Going home for a visit, then coming home to stay.

Kurt

It was postmarked on the day after they last spoke.

Blaine turned the card over in his hands, shaking his head slowly and briefly wondering how he was going to fix this. He simply didn't have the time to dwell on it.

He rushed to work, darting in to the office minutes before the rest of the administrative staff began trickling in. Cameron Elliott wasn't far behind them. This was going to be an early and possibly very long day.

They walked with side-by-side down the halls, to the basement studio where they would be working, Cameron filling Blaine in on the their work for the day.

"She was a studio singer, working backup and doing some commercials. Then I heard her in  a club. I haven't heard pipes like that since Mariah," he said, opening the studio door. "I want you two to meet, maybe try a couple of songs and see how it feels. Blaine, I'd like you to meet ..."

"Mercedes?!?" Blaine shrieked, rushing forward and enveloping her in his arms. "I can't believe this!"

"Well if it's not Blaine Warbler! How are you, honey? How's Kurt? Are you living out here now? I haven't heard from you guys in ages!"

"And I'm guessing you two don't need an introduction?" Cameron said, looking back and forth between the reunited singers.

"Cameron, Mercedes and I go way back."

"High school show choir," Mercedes said, finishing Blaine's sentence.

"National championship high school show choir," they added in unison.

"Have I just created a monster?" Cameron asked, laughing. "I can tell you two would like to catch up, but we've got a lot of ground to cover today. Mercedes has a showcase on Thursday, and I'd like to get this wrapped so we can get that promo out."

****

Mercedes had been playing occasional weeknight gigs opening at the Catalina Bar & Grill, a Los Angeles jazz club whose stage had been graced by names like Gillespie, Corea and Marsallis over the years. It was at the Catalina, a few months earlier, that Cameron had discovered her and eventually offered her a contract. She'd been building a career, mostly as a backup singer for R&B and pop acts, but was about to try the jump to solo artist. 

This week, she would be a featured performer at a private NSO event there in front of dozens of music industry executives and performers. Cameron scheduled the studio time this week to polish a couple of tracks for a promotional release and to fine tune a couple of songs for the event. Despite Mercedes' big voice, Cameron wanted to fill out the  sound -- more than the piano and bass accompanists Mercedes usually worked with -- and called in additional musicians and back up singers for the rehearsals.

That's when he got the idea to give Blaine a try-out. He hadn't been around when Cameron signed Mercedes, but as Cameron listened to the songs they had developed for her, he started hearing the voice from that late night in the New York piano bar. There might be something there, he thought.

"Mercedes, I was toying with the idea of making a couple of these duets for Thursday for variety's sake. What do you think?"

"If you'd brought in just anybody I would have said 'Hell no,' Cameron. But I can't say no to my boys."

Blaine's smile was effervescent. "I'll make you deal," he said. "I'll be your duet partner Thursday if you'll be my plus-one at a sunset wedding on Friday." 

"Deal, so long as I'm awake," Mercedes said.

They worked all day and part of the night, and only after they finished did they get a chance to caught up, over dinner, sharing a wood-fired pizza and stories for hours.

"It looks like L.A. agrees with you," Blaine said. "You look beautiful."

"I look happy," she said. "Thanks -- and it does. It hasn't always been easy, but this is it. I know it. I'm where I belong, and I'm not leaving unless it's on a Gulfstream. How about you? I thought you were still in New York. What's our boy think of you living here? I'm gonna put myself out there and guess he hates it."

"You know him too well. It's just a summer, but it's been a little rough."

"Give him time. He's stubborn, but he's not stupid. He'll figure it out. He always does in the end."

****

Kurt set aside the towel and set the last of the freshly-washed plates away in an overhead cabinet for Carole. 

The last few days had gone a long way to relieving his stress. Something about repetitive, familiar tasks had a way of comforting him. And updating Carole's closet had always given him joy. She was now the proud owner of practical-yet-not-entirely-unfashionable pumps, two day-to-night dresses and a drawerful of accessories to update salvageable parts of her wardrobe. It wasn't McQueen, but it was an improvement, and Kurt couldn't have been happier about it.

But the environment changed when he learned that Blaine had called the house. It may have been inevitable, he probably should have called Blaine to let him know that he was going to go home for a few days to clear his head, but he didn't, and apparently he hadn't seen the postcard yet -- which may or may not have been a good thing. Since that call, Kurt had endured endless hints, suggestions and out-and-out demands from his father that he open up about his motivation for the sudden, unannounced trip.

"I'll never complain about you coming home, son, but don't you think you booked the wrong flight?" Burt said as they put the dishes away.

"What are you talking about?"

"What are you doing in Lima, Kurt? Why didn't you fly to Los Angeles?"

Kurt shook his head, covered his mouth in an almost prayerful way and took a deliberate breath.

"I'm not sure it would matter at this point. I think he's already gone."

"He didn't say so in so many words, but he was worried sick about you, Kurt. What were you thinking just up and leaving like that without telling him? I didn't raise you like that."

Kurt honestly didn't know. His response was automatic: Go home, and avoid the inevitable conflict that would come with a trip to the West Coast.

"You'll never know if you don't try, son, and I do know this: Your young man called here in a panic because he hadn't heard from you. He didn't know where you'd gone, and I could tell he was worried to death that something had happened to you. Does that sound to you like someone you've lost?

"It's pretty obvious that he loves you. I think he always has. But wasn't there a time when you had to go out and see if you could make it on your own? You just knew a lot earlier than he did that you needed to find it. And even if he has moved away, do you think that's changed the way he feels about you?"

Kurt nodded to himself. "Probably not, I guess."

He looked up at his father, his eyes hazy and red. "I've made a terrible mistake, haven't I?"

"We learn from our mistakes. Mistakes make us stronger, so long as we're willing to learn from them," Burt said. "Kurt, it's moments like this than define us. You have to be able to ask yourself: What's more important? The city, or the man?"

"You're right," Kurt said. "Have I told you how much I miss you?"

"Only every day, Kurt. And don't ever forget, ..."

"Yeah, I know," half rolling his eyes. "I matter."

"You both do, Kurt."

****

He didn't call Blaine, but he did send a text after the cajoling.

Blaine -

I should have told you I was going home. I'm sorry, & I'm OK. I just need a few days on my own. 

Please believe me when I say love you.

K

"Please come home," he said quietly, hitting send before he could will himself to type it.

He was a mess, his head swimming with ideas he knew he shouldn't believe, but he just couldn't help himself.

He always knew he could trust Blaine, but when it really mattered, he hadn't.

Now, he'd left Blaine alone and without the emotional support he needed, and he wasn't sure if he could repair whatever damage he might have done to their relationship. But he knew he had to try -- at least try to explain himself, and apologize. Whether or not Blaine was willing to accept it at this point was uncertain.

At this point, he feared calling Blaine. He couldn't initiate this conversation over the phone, especially since he'd avoided talking to him for close to a week. He paced the floor of his old bedroom, picking up the old framed photograph of their first prom together, when Blaine set aside his own fears to step forward and save Kurt from humiliation.

He looked over every detail of the photo. The crown that made him tower over his boyfriend as they slow danced in public for the first time. The trim black suit that fit Blaine like a glove. The balloon drop that started at the perimeter of the gym and worked its way inward. It made them feel, for once, that the world revolved around them rather than the private little orbit they had established together around McKinley High, and even Dalton before it.

The dance that began on such a sour note, saved by the boy who had reason to fear it far more than Kurt did.

He held the framed picture close to his chest, closed his eyes and tried to relive the brief, sweet slow dance.

It was time.

****

With Kurt in his room, Burt picked up the phone and scrolled through the Caller ID. He found the number he was looking for, and hit redial.