It won't be long before he commits the steep, dusty trail to muscle memory.

Each evening after work -- as long as there is still light left in the hillsides over Hollywood -- Blaine tosses on shorts and running shoes, and sets a blistering pace on the short, challenging circuit that is Runyon Canyon.

He doesn't necessarily go there for solitude. Runyon is a popular trek with locals and tourists alike. The trail is a magnet for fitness boot camps working up a sweat, dog walkers enjoying the lack of park leash laws and unprepared visitors hoping to enjoy the expansive city view and a possible celebrity sighting.

Occasionally, he hikes the longer, equally scenic Griffith Park Observatory trail. Sometimes, he joins the runners looping the Hollywood Reservoir. He even hiked the unmarked trail to the Hollywood Sign one day. 

But his go-to workout spot is Runyon. For Blaine, it has the unusual quality of being both a social hub and a place where despite the crowds, he can be completely alone with his thoughts.

He likes -- needs -- both.

There is a positive vibe to Runyon that’s undeniable: Runners huffing up the steeply carved steps to the peak, while hikers carefully maneuver downhill, signaling thumbs up to those headed uphill, or reassuring them that they’re “almost there.” It often feels like a supportive group effort, like summer camp, and Blaine loves it.

But he also usually goes it alone, and sometimes powers through the breathtaking climb  focusing solely on the precarious footing, knowing that it will clear his head. On those days, he may go extra laps, pulling off his T-shirt and tucking it into his shorts as he works up a shower-like sweat.

It’s not just a workout. It’s therapy.

The Runyon hike has become an evening release, a workout that also has the effect of decompression. He dedicates himself to it in the hour approaching sunset on these long summer days. It's the perfect time for the outdoors this time of year: Early enough to take advantage of the last remnants of the day's sun, late enough to enjoy a cooling early evening breeze and pink and gold-tipped dusk sky.

He hadn't sought out a boxing gym as he had in New York. He didn't feel he had aggressions to work out, but he still wanted a workout. Hiking fit the bill, and gave him the chance to spend time in his head, or outside it completely as he clambered up the rugged hillside.

The canyon was also conveniently located between work and home, and it became easier to find a parking space in the tightly packed rental neighborhood at its base after he bought a used Vespa for scooting around the city. Cooper had let him borrow his car, but Blaine only used it for occasional night events or the rare long drive to a place inconvenient for his Metro pass.

It’s Friday, and much of the office had already left to get a jump on the weekend. With the clock nudging toward 6 p.m., Blaine changed into his hiking gear and headed west to the base of the hills. He squeezed his scooter into a spot near the front gate, and stopped by the stand at the trailhead to buy a bottle of water, a banana and a postcard.

He would get to each of them when he reached the peak of the trail, the lookout spot with views of the Hollywood sign and a panorama of the city's three skylines: Downtown, Mid-Wilshire and the Westside.

Hikers generally took advantage of the benches installed on the peak to rest, drink water and take in the view. Blaine would usually charge through. Not today. 

This time, he shared a bench with a fit older woman taking a break with her energetic sheep dog, pulled the water bottle and banana from the deep left pocket of his cargo shorts, and a pen and the postcard from the other, then settled down for his weekly correspondence.

Kurt,

Here's my workout regimen: I hike the hills, and make friends with the dogs and Cougars. As always, text when you get this.

Love,

B

There was so much more to say.

More than three weeks into Blaine’s relocation, and Kurt still wouldn’t give the slightest hint that he might be willing to visit, let alone have a conversation about the West Coast. If anything, he’d seemed to have dug in his Doc Maartens' heels on the issue.

Blaine had tried showing off the city, highlighting Kurt’s hot buttons: Celebrity, glamour and great desserts, all to no avail. He’d tried romance. He’d tried bribery. He’d tried the lure of sex.

Nothing.

For three weeks, he hinted, cajoled and flat-out begged Kurt to take time out to visit, but nothing. 

Kurt responded by telling him he was busy, which Blaine suspected wasn't entirely accurate, or by changing the subject. He bobbed and weaved like Blaine's old trainer at the boxing gym, and deftly maneuvered around the issue until the next time Blaine brought it up.

What’s worse, this was happening while Blaine was starting to feel connected to the city. He liked the pace, the sun, the casual veneer over the serious business of entertainment. It was beginning to dawn on him that it may be much more than a visit from Kurt that he wants.

It’s not that Blaine disliked New York. He enjoyed it. Correction. He enjoyed being with Kurt. Kurt, who was in New York. 

It dawned on him that it's the person, not the city, that made the home -- something he'd told Kurt long ago, over coffee at the Lima Bean, when Kurt first broached the subject of moving east.

It was in that moment that Blaine committed himself to treating his senior year in high school as a tactical strike, developing and carrying out a strategy that would land him at a university in New York in less than  a year.

Los Angeles was another story entirely. He headed west for himself, not for Kurt, and discovered that the city suited him. He liked its pace, which could range from lazy stroll to athletic run. No one seemed too concerned over which one you chose, either.

While L.A. was a city of big business -- with entertainment at its heart -- it moved at a rhythm that felt more natural to Blaine than that of New York.

He liked being in a city where he could see the sky through the buildings. Sometimes, New York had a way of closing in on him. That's when he would head to Central Park, joining thousands of runners looking for their share of open space. In L.A., he could go to the beach. Or the mountains. Or the meandering hillside parkland that partially ringed the city core. 

He knew that he had begun to feel at home in California, but he also knew that he couldn't be home without Kurt.

****

Kurt,

I'd like you to meet a new friend. We often meet up on my hikes. His name is Max, and he's become very dear to me. 

Kurt's breath hitched as he clicked on the attachment.

It opened, and he found himself staring at large brown eyes, shaggy windswept hair and a tongue like an oversized shoe horn.

He was sitting on a ridge, overlooking the Hollywood sign, looking slightly winded and happy in a way only a dog can be. He was some kind of long-coated collie, a trail dog Blaine had befriended on one of his near-daily treks.

I don't think we've talked much about my hikes, other than the fact that they've replaced the gym for me, so I thought I'd share a little Runyon Canyon with you. Runyon is this open, rangy place, kind of tucked behind the Hollywood Bowl and peering over all the chaos of Hollywood Boulevard. It's another world up there.

A lot of people hike the Runyon Loop -- A LOT. Yet despite all the workout groups and dog walkers and tourists, it can be such a peaceful place. I love taking a break at the summit and just collecting my thoughts. You can sit up there and see everything, just everything: Mountains, ocean, the downtown skyline, the Observatory, the 747s landing at LAX. And all this sprawl is laid out in front of you, but you're seated on this serene, dusty hillside.

Here’s a video I found of another four-legged Runyon hiker’s adventures, so you can see what I’m talking about.

I was up there today, eating a snack and scratching Max's ears, and I started thinking about us. I know, I do that all the time. 

I want to share these things with you, Kurt, through more than just video. I want you to come visit me. It's an amazing city, and I think you'd enjoy it.

And there's this simple fact: I miss you. Please consider it. I know we can make this work.

With love,

B

P.S. What would you think about getting a dog?

****

"Amazing my ass," Kurt mumbled, shutting his laptop. "New York is amazing. Los Angeles is ... sunny 350 days a year. Who needs that?"

"I see we're in a funk again?" said Rachel, who had recently formed a habit of stopping by for dinner, since Kurt's culinary skills were superior to her own. Left to her own devices, she would live on a diet of fruit smoothies and the salad bar at her nearest corner deli. She also knew that her longtime friend was lonely, and when Kurt got lonely, he got grumpy. They both had needs: Kurt needed someone to talk to. Rachel needed a real dinner.

The fact was, she couldn't stand seeing Kurt moping around the way he had the past few weeks, and in obvious denial of it. She also suspected that Blaine was in some form of conflict despite loving his summer job, and after an email exchange earlier that week, was certain of it. He was clearly enjoying Los Angeles, but just as clearly distraught that Kurt wouldn't even discuss a a visit west, even if he wouldn't say it in so many words.

"What's wrong with Blaine being happy with his summer job, Kurt? It's a great job. He's making contacts. He's learning the music industry. That's what you wanted for him."

"What's wrong? Listen to him!" Kurt fired back. "He's like the little kid that sees something sparkly and say 'Oh, pretty!' He sees a shiny skyline and suddenly he's in love with Los Angeles."

"He sounds happy, Kurt. But he also sounds like he misses you."

Kurt huffed, clearing the table. 

Rachel followed behind him, rolling up her sleeves to tackle dishwashing duties.

"You could go see him. He obviously wants you to."

"I'm too busy, Rachel."

"Can't you get off work? I thought it was quiet right now."

Kurt stared at her, incredulous. "Drop it, Rachel."

"Don't you want to see him?" Rachel asked, dropping her voice, suddenly recognizing the possibility that the situation may be a good deal more serious than she realized. 

"Are you guys OK?"

Kurt looked her dead in the eye and considered his possible responses.

"I don't know."

****

The fact of the matter was, not only did Kurt not know how they were doing, he hadn't even sorted out how he felt about Blaine's chirpy postcards, generally followed by a wistful letter.

It had left him off-balance.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have hesitated to hop on the cheapest, most immediate flight available. He would visit at every possible opportunity. He missed Blaine. He missed their life, which had felt so settled just weeks before.

But nothing about this felt normal. And what Kurt needed right now was a little alone time. Time with his thoughts. Time away from anything that reminded him of the routine that they had established since moving in together.

No coffee shop on the corner. No walks in the park. No lottery line picnics.

He threw himself into the design prep he knew he would need for his final classes before graduation. Did it absolutely have to be done over the summer? No. But it never hurt to be ahead of the game, he convinced himself.

His life became a series of sketch pads, separated by seasons. Tailored military jackets  for fall. Flippy, pastel butterfly skirts for spring. 

He haunted fabric stores, looking for fine grade wool felt for an overcoat or silk charmeuse for a draped dress. But when he looked at his fabrics, it seemed that he had only been drawn to rich silk jacquards suitable for neckties, suiting of deep imperial blues and accent pieces in a bright crimson.

Exasperated, he recognized the subterfuge of his subconscious.

"Incredible. I'm making a fucking Dalton uniform."

The work did give him an excuse to be busy, too busy to travel, even if it wasn't the most honest of answers.

Because if he had answered Rachel honestly -- if he'd answered her at all -- he would have had to admit that he feared setting off a chain of events, a domino-effect that would leave Blaine 2,500 miles away once and for all.

Kurt worried that visiting the west coast would only reinforce Blaine's obvious growing attachment to the city, and validate his relocation, perhaps permanently. As far-fetched as it appeared on the surface, Kurt couldn't help but feel that the best way to guarantee Blaine's return to New York would be to ignore his requests to visit him in Los Angeles.

So he did his best to artfully dodge the question, change the subject or repeat mumbled affirmations of his impossible schedule. He knew it frustrated Blaine, but this was only temporary, he assured himself.

Nine weeks. That's all he needed. Then this would be over with and they could get on with their lives.