Life at the ranch was uneventful for the next few days. Kurt had to make an effort and learn how to relax: he had absolutely nothing to do to pass the time and it was beginning to drive him insane. He spent most of his time with the typewriter Blaine had given him. He didn’t know how good what he wrote was, but it was something.

Every now and again, Kurt would glance up from what he was writing and look around for Blaine. He spent most of the time reading case files, running laps around the ranch and looking forlornly at his phone. There were no news of the killer, and Kurt could see the tension growing in the line of Blaine’s shoulders.

As much as he hated being coped up in this house far away from everything he knew, Kurt couldn’t imagine what Blaine must have been feeling, knowing his team was out there working without him, doing all they could to find this man.

It felt as if they both had been removed from the world. Kurt knew why he was here -- he was here because the killer was after him and the FBI wanted to keep him safe.

But he couldn’t understand why they had made Blaine stay away from a case that obviously meant so much to him. Why was he being punished?

*

Blaine dropped another case file on top of the coffee table and sighed tiredly. It didn’t matter how much he read the files, if he wasn’t able to be out there in the streets looking for clues or examining evidence, it just felt like he was a kid playing at being a detective.

He stood up and stretched his arms over his head. It wasn’t time for dinner yet, so he still had time to go out for a run. Maybe that would clear his head a little bit.

Kurt walked into the living room, looking as desperately bored as he felt. He gave him a polite smile, a quick reflection that held no warmth. “Do you mind if I pick one of the books here to read? If I keep staring at a blank page any longer, I think I might stab myself in the eye.”

“I take it the writing isn’t going well?” Blaine said as he gestured for Kurt to just browse the bookcase.

“Well, I’m mostly working on developing the characters now, and there are a few that are irritating me to no end,” Kurt explained vaguely, as he ran the tip of his finger across the spines of the books on the shelf. “You know, every main character on Broadway has a song that is all about their motivations and their goals and where they want to go: Jack Kelly has Santa Fe, Elphaba has Defying Gravity, Alexander Hamilton has My Shot, Valjean has Who Am I. So I’m trying to find this kind of path for my main character, but he’s just… silent. I don’t know what to do with him.”

“Well, most of those songs are about overcoming something, right?” Blaine asked thoughtfully. “So maybe you need to figure out exactly what this character needs to overcome to know where he wants to go.”

Kurt turned towards him and watched him blankly for a few seconds. “Are you telling me I’m locked in a ranch house with an FBI agent who has an extensive knowledge of the Broadway catalogue?”

“I don’t know about extensive knowledge. I do enjoy musicals, though. Always have. I played Tony in a high school production of West Side Story…” Blaine replied, shrugging.

“Ah, Something Coming! Another wonderful motivation-centered song from a lead character!” Kurt almost clapped his hands in excitement. “Agent Anderson, I’m impressed.”

Blaine chuckled. “I’d say you’re easy to impress, then. You’re the one who goes on stage eight times a week, Kurt.”

“Well, you carry a gun. I’d shoot myself on the foot eight times a week if I did, so I guess we all have our strengths,” Kurt muttered as he went back to perusing the shelves. “Still, I’m impressed. You should be warned: if we have to stay here much longer, I will eventually need a duet partner.”

“I’m duly terrified, thanks for the warning,” Blaine said. He suddenly felt in a better mood. He leaned against the arm rest of the couch and watched as Kurt removed books from the shelves to take a look at them before placing them back. “Are you looking for any genre in particular?”

“Not really, I just want something that will distract me for a while,” Kurt answered. His hand stopped on a leather-bound volume. “Ooh, Pride and Prejudice! I was never able to resist Mr. Darcy.”

He removed the book from the shelf. It was a beautiful edition bound in blue leather, the letters on the cover in bright gold. He opened it, and immediately something fell from it, fluttering quickly towards the floor.

“Oh, what is this? A picture?” Kurt said, as he leaned in to retrieve it. His eyebrows rose as he stared at it. He had expected an old picture - maybe of Blaine’s grandparents - but instead, he found himself staring at an adult Blaine, maybe two or three years younger, with his arms around another young man. He had light brown hair and green eyes, his head leaning against the top of Blaine’s.

Blaine had moved closer to take a look. His breath seemed to falter.

“That’s a really nice picture,” Kurt commented, unsure what to say. “Is he your friend, your brother?”

“That’s my ex-fiancé,” Blaine replied in a careful monotone. It was obvious he was making an effort to not show any sort of emotion. “I sent this picture to my mother a while ago. She must have put it there.”

Kurt paused, looking at the picture more intently. The spark of happiness in Blaine’s eyes was impossible to miss. He had trouble believing that the man in the photograph and the man standing before him were the same. There was something so jaded about the Blaine he knew. He wondered what had happened to him to change him so much.

“I see,” Kurt said, unsure if he was allowed to ask more questions. Judging from how tense Blaine seemed, he guessed not. “Well, it’s, uhm. A nice picture.” He handed it to Blaine.

He took it slowly, like he was afraid the photography may burn him. “Yeah,” he whispered. “It was.”

Blaine disappeared into the kitchen without another word, the picture still clasped in his hand. Kurt dropped down onto the couch with the book, but he wasn’t sure he was on a mood to read anymore.

*

It was a perfectly sunny day. In any other circumstances, Rachel would have thrown her head back, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on her face. Instead, she was sitting on a bench next to a pile of protective cups and sweaty football jerseys, watching a group of men run around the field after a ball.

Okay, so she wasn’t into sports at all.

Finn had tried explaining the rules to her the past few days, but it was hard to remember every word he had said when she had been busy looking into his sweet almond eyes. She had discovered they lit up in excitement whenever Finn talked about something he was passionate about. A little wrinkle would appear next to his mouth as he smiled, and the world would suddenly stop spinning.

Okay, so she had a little crush.

It didn’t mean anything. Rachel was nothing if not professional, but she was also a woman, and she had eyes. Finn was nice and goofy, and every time she looked at him, she felt her heart flutter in her chest.

It had been a very long time since she had gone out on a date. Working at the FBI meant there were a lot of lonely nights. She was more used to being in the company of felons in handcuffs than sitting in a restaurant with a man she liked. Mostly, Rachel was okay with her loneliness: she was a career-driven person, and being successful in what she did would always come first. But she also had to be honest, at least with herself, and admit that sometimes she longed for someone to cuddle on the couch with, someone to share the details of her day with, someone who would hold her hand as they walked in the park. When she got home after work, usually late into the night, there was no one waiting there for her, no one who noticed if she was tired, or hurt, or excited about catching a criminal.

Sometimes she looked at Santana and wondered how she did it. How did she manage to dedicate her whole body and soul to a difficult case, and still be able to dedicate her heart to someone else? Rachel knew Santana had gone through very rough times when she was younger. They had briefly met at Quantico, when Rachel had got in, Santana was about to graduate. She remembered the hard look on her eyes, the way she closed up, how aggressive she used to be. Being in love had softened her, at least with the people she cared about, and it had never stopped her from being excellent at her job.

Rachel had never thought she would say this, but sometimes she wished she was more like Santana.

She shook her head. It wasn’t useful to dwell in these matters. There was no point, especially for Finn. Even if she found him cute, there was nothing she could do about it. She was only here to protect him. Once the killer was caught, Finn would get his guest room and privacy back, and Rachel would move on to the next case.

Finn was a pretty well-known football player. He probably had tons of girls. He probably dated all the time. Why would he even look at Rachel that way?

Disgusted, Rachel realized she was beginning to sound like her old high school self. She hated that. She wasn’t the same clingy sixteen year old girl. She didn’t need a man to validate her and her achievements. She was fine.

Forcing herself to focus back on the task at hand, she glanced around the practice field until she spotted Finn. As she watched him, he caught a pass from one of his teammates, held the ball closely, and ran towards the end of the field. The players in the opposite team tried to stop him, throwing themselves at him, but Finn suddenly seemed unstoppable, a force to be reckoned with. He pushed his way to the goal line, and threw the ball against the ground in victory. Unable to contain herself, Rachel clapped her hands and smiled widely at him.

Finn removed his helmet, a broad, beautiful, dazzling smile stretching his lips. Even from the bench, Rachel could see he was looking straight at her. Her heart fluttered again.

Damn it.

*

It had been another extremely long night. The FBI had received a tip from an anonymous source telling them they knew where the killer was. Santana had lead a team to raid an apartment in Queens, but they had found nothing. The apartment was empty. It had either been emptied out on purpose, or the killer had never been there in the first place. It didn’t matter -- it was terribly frustrating.

She rubbed her eyes as she read through her emails. There were a million things to do, but she couldn’t bring herself to do any of them. She was tired, and in desperate need of a cup of coffee. But she was too lazy to get up and get one.

There was knock on the door and when Santana looked up, all her exhaustion and weariness seemed to melt away. Brittany was standing at the threshold, a radiant smile on her beautiful face. She was wearing a white sundress with flowers on it, and her blonde hair was pulled up in a messy bun. Her big belly seemed even bigger than when Santana had last seen her yesterday, and she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of it.

“Hey you, am I interrupting?” Brittany asked.

Santana got up from the desk and walked towards her. “Never.” She kissed her wife, one hand on her jaw, the other on her belly. The baby kicked, like he knew his other mommy was there. They smiled against each other’s lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I missed you. And I thought maybe you could use a cup of coffee,” Brittany replied, showing her the Starbucks cup and bag she was holding. Santana almost groaned in appreciation.

“You’re the best. This is why I married you,” Santana said, giving her another kiss, before practically throwing herself at the coffee cup.

Brittany passed it over with a laugh, and came into the office to sit at the desk. She opened the bag. “I brought you a bagel, too. I know how you are, you probably forgot to eat anything last night.” She handed over the bagel, and then fished in the bag for a chocolate-filled croissant. She bit into it eagerly. “Oh yes, that’s the stuff.”

Santana smiled at her over the rim of her coffee cup. “Croissant cravings again?”

“They never stop,” Brittany practically moaned around another bite. When she swallowed, she looked up at her wife. “How are you? Do you think you can come home for a nap? You look tired.”

“I’m definitely leaving the office earlier today,” Santana said. She sat and reclined against her seat. She could have fallen asleep right there. “But we have a team meeting scheduled at noon. With Blaine away, Captain Jones is pretty much in charge of the case, and she wants a debriefing.”

“I’m sure it’ll go well. You’re bound to catch this man sooner or later, and with you on the case, I’m sure it’ll be sooner than later.” They simply smiled at each other for a few seconds, content with just being together. “Have you heard from Blaine? I know it’s also bothering you that he’s away.”

“He calls pretty much all the time. He hates being away, and I feel like he’s mad at me because I talked to the Captain about him. But he’s my friend, and I was worried. I couldn’t let him go on like that,” Santana took another sip of her coffee. She could feel the caffeine waking every single inch of her. “But please, let’s just not talk about anything work-related right now. You look so beautiful in that dress, I wish I could stick my head under it.”

Brittany laughed, an incredibly beautiful sound that seemed to explode out her. “Santana! Don’t say things like that here! Anyone could walk in!”

“No one’s going to walk in. And I’m allowed to tell my wife how much I want her…”

“Santana… oh hey! Sorry for interrupting!”

They both looked at the door, Santana with a gaze that would have scared even the bravest of men, and Brittany pressing a hand to her mouth, amused. Agent Sam Evans stood there, like a deer caught in the headlights, wishing he was anywhere but here.

“What?” Santana asked dryly.

“San, be nice,” Brittany murmured quietly, still looking quiet entertained.

“I’m really sorry to bother you, but… uhm,” Agent Evans looked around the office, anywhere but at Santana’s face. “It’s just that you told us to let you know if anything suspicious happened so…”

Santana arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“I think someone’s been through my things,” Sam said. “I’m very particular about the way I keep everything. Things were out of place. It doesn’t look like anything’s missing, but someone’s definitely read my files…”

Santana stood up abruptly. The smile was gone from Brittany’s face in a flash. “Are you sure?”

Sam nodded. “Like I said, nothing’s missing, but I’m sure someone’s been messing with my things.”

“I want you to go through all your stuff again and make sure that nothing’s missing. And get me all the files you were working on, I want to see what kind of information they could’ve found.” Santana walked towards the door and peeked out of the office. “Castro! Hart! My office, please!”

Brittany stood up, balled up the remains of their breakfast and put a gentle hand on Santana’s arm. “I’ll leave you to it. Call me when you have a chance and let me know what time you’ll be home.” She pressed a quick kiss to her wife’s lips and looked intently into her eyes. “Take care.”

“I always do,” Santana muttered, and put her hand on Brittany’s belly one last time, before her wife left the office. Agents Hart and Castro walked in, looking at her expectantly. “Someone’s been through Agent Evans’ desk. We need to find out who did it. Castro, please go downstairs, talk to security, have them show you records of who got into the building last night. Hart, go through the security cameras footage. We have security cameras up our asses in this place, at least one’s bound to show us who was here. Report back to me as soon as you’re done.”

With a nod, both agents disappeared down the hallway to fulfill her orders. She turned towards Sam, who was frowning at her.

“You don’t think he managed to come into the bureau, right?” Sam asked.

Santana leaned against her desk, her brain working a million miles per hour. “I hope not. But it is kind of weird that we got that dead-end tip out of nowhere, and just when no one was here, someone went through your stuff.”

Agent Evans ran a hand through his blonde hair. “I’ll go check again. Maybe I’m mistaken.”

Santana blinked at him. All of her was tension and alert. “Let’s pray you are.”

*

He was back in the alley. He could see the pool of blood coming from the girl on the ground. He could smell the metallic, oxide scent of it. It filled his nostrils, making him dizzy.

“Don’t run,” that horrible voice said, too close to his ear. “Don’t run, pretty one. There’s no use. I’m going to catch you anyway.”

Kurt could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest, it was so fast. He wanted to implore for his life, but what would be the point? You can’t reason with a person who’s just killed someone without a bit of regret. You can’t ask them for mercy -- they don’t know what that is.

Suddenly, a knife cut through his clothes. With a swift movement of the blade, he was naked, unprotected. He felt fingers grazing his skin from all angles, but no matter how much he tried to stop it, how he moved, he couldn’t. They were always there, probing, violating.

And then it wasn’t just fingers. The blade ran all the way down his chest, his stomach, pausing right above his hipbones. Blood started pouring out of his open cuts, but he could feel no pain. He looked down and found a heart carved into his stomach, crooked and imperfect.

Kurt woke up with a scream. This time he didn’t sit in bed and wait for his heart rate to go back to normal. He didn’t try to convince himself that it had only been a dream. He simply jumped out of bed and ran out of the bedroom. He couldn’t sit there in the dark.

Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He wished he could turn back time, be a little boy again, and run into his father’s bedroom to look for comfort, wake him up and ask him to hold him. He wished none of this was happening, but there was no point in wishing for impossible things.

Kurt knew he wouldn’t be able to calm down so easily. The dream had felt too real. He walked across the hallway and knocked on the other bedroom’s door. He didn’t want to bother Blaine, but he just needed to know he wasn’t all alone in the world. Being isolated from everything he loved and everything he knew wasn’t helping.

When he didn’t get an answer immediately, Kurt pushed the door open gently. In a normal situation, he would have turned around and gone to the kitchen to get a cup of tea instead. But now… now he just desperately needed someone.

It was dark inside the room, but the curtains in the window were open enough to let a sliver of moonlight in.

“Blaine?” He called in a shaky voice. He walked inside. He realized there were two single beds in the bedroom. “Blaine? I’m sorry to bother you, I just…”

He reached the bedside table between the beds and felt for the switch to turn the lamp on. When he found it, and the room was bathed in a soft light, he felt confused. Both beds were empty.

They weren’t only empty in a way that meant that whoever slept in them hadn’t gone to sleep yet. They looked empty in that way that rooms that haven’t been used in years looked. There was a thin layer of dust on the bedside table.

He wondered if he was still trapped in the nightmare when he heard his voice.

“Kurt? Kurt, are you okay? I heard you scream. Kurt?”

“I-I’m here,” he replied, loud enough to be heard from the hallway.

Blaine appeared in the doorway. He seemed confused to find him there. “What happened? What are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you,” Kurt said, swallowing with difficulty. “I thought you slept here.”

Kurt realized Blaine’s eyes were stubbornly fixed on him. They didn’t glance around the room. He also didn’t come inside. “Are you okay?”

“I had a nightmare,” Kurt answered. He felt his legs weakening. He could still feel the touch of those fingertips all over him, the slide of the knife against his body. When his knees buckled, he let himself fall onto one of the beds. “I can’t… he was…”

“It’s okay,” Blaine said. “You’re safe.”

Kurt felt pathetic as he hid his face in his hands and let out a strangled sob. He was safe. No one was going to hurt him here. He had no reason to cry. But still… the whole ordeal suddenly felt too heavy to carry alone.

Blaine’s hand held onto the door frame for a moment. His knuckles went white with the strength of it. He looked at Kurt’s shoulders, shaking miserably as he cried, and took a deep breath, before finally stepping into the room.

Kurt felt the bed dip as Blaine joined him. Hesitantly, Blaine’s arms wrapped around him, pulling him closer. Kurt allowed himself to be held, resting his head on Blaine’s shoulder, grasping his shirt with his fists. He wondered how Blaine managed to be so brave all the time. How did he face so many nightmares for a living?

Maybe that’s why I never find him sleeping, Kurt thought.

Blaine was making quiet, soothing noises, his hands firmly pressed against his back. No one had ever held him so carefully and so fiercely at the same time. “It’s fine. It was just a dream.”

The longer it took for Kurt to stop crying, the more embarrassed he felt. When he managed to catch a breath, he straightened up and wiped his tears with the hem of his shirt. “I’m so sorry…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” Blaine assured him softly. “It’s understandable. You went through a traumatic experience. It isn’t over yet. You just need some time to put it behind you.”

“What I’m going through isn’t even as bad as what others go through,” Kurt said, shaking his head in shame. “I can’t stop thinking of that poor girl in the alley.”

“You couldn’t have done anything for her. And just because she didn’t manage to escape, it doesn’t mean you’re not going through a rough time now,” Blaine said. “Don’t feel guilty for surviving, Kurt.”

Kurt looked up at him, his eyes still watery. He didn’t know what to say. Everything in Blaine seemed so deeply wise and experienced. Kurt wondered how many deaths he had witnessed, how many tragic endings. How many things even more grotesque than death.

He looked away when he couldn’t bare the intensity in those whisky eyes anymore. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for barging in here like that. I shouldn’t have.”

“It’s fine,” Blaine murmured, but the tension in his words told a different story.

“No, it’s not. I assumed it was your room. I didn’t know if this was off-limits or…” Kurt glanced around. There was dust on all the furniture. He saw a few picture frames, but it was impossible to see the pictures in them under all that dust and abandon. “It looks off-limits.”

“This was the room me and my brother shared when we stayed here with our parents,” Blaine explained, his voice completely neutral. “I just haven’t come in here in a very long time.”

“Why not?” Kurt asked, frowning slightly.

“He died.”

Kurt gasped. Maybe he should have expected that answer. Everything in the room’s state and Blaine’s reluctance to be there hinted at it. But Kurt was still surprised. “I’m so sorry…”

“Thank you,” Blaine nodded. Taking a deep breath, he reached for the picture frame on the bedside table. He wiped the dirt away with his hand, revealing two joyful, smiling faces. Kurt had seen pictures of Blaine’s family in the living room. He just now realized that they had disappeared after their first day in the ranch. Blaine must have put them away. “That’s Cooper.” He pointed at a tall boy, probably eighteen or nineteen, with beautiful blue eyes and dark hair. He was so handsome, the kind of boy who would have made Kurt swoon back in high school.

“He looked like a great guy,” Kurt commented, smiling down at the picture. “Did he… die long ago?”

“About a year ago,” Blaine replied. He put the frame back on the bedside table. “Both he and my dad died the same day.”

“Oh Blaine,” Kurt was breathless with grief. He couldn’t imagine what pain Blaine must have been through. “That’s terrible. Was it an accident?”

“No, it was actually a raid,” Blaine said. He looked at his hands, knotted together on his lap, like he couldn’t bear looking anywhere else. “They were both in the FBI. We were working on a terrible case, human trafficking. We got a tip that they had a hide-out near the pier, so my dad put together a team and we went there. Someone must have alerted them that we were coming, they clearly had no time to scatter, but they did prepare for us.”

Blaine was expressionless, like he didn’t want to give away what was truly going on inside of him. But Kurt could feel the tension and the pain coming in waves from him. He almost drowned in them. He wished he could say or do something. He almost stopped Blaine from telling him the rest of the story, but he couldn’t. He realized it was taking a lot of effort and bravery to say these words. Kurt wondered if he had even talked about this since it happened.

“As soon as we went in, we were ambushed. It was crazy, I can barely remember what happened. It was so loud and dark, and…” Blaine shook his head. The more he talked the more he seemed to be lost in his own words, like he was far away from the ranch. “Santana was next to me most of the time, but at one point I just lost her. When I finally saw her again, a guy was pointing a gun at her. I ran towards her, but I wasn’t fast enough. And then Cooper was there, pushing her aside, and…” His breathing had picked up gradually as he spoke. He was almost shaking, the memories buzzing and scratching at him. “Santana reacted first and shoot the guy, but when I finally got to them, Cooper just… he…” His hazel eyes filled with tears. He frowned, like he couldn’t believe it. Still, a year later, and he couldn’t believe it. “He looked at me. He said my name. And then he just died.”

“Blaine…” Kurt whispered. He inched closer, unsure whether touching him was a good or bad idea.

“It wasn’t until it was all over that I found out my dad was dead, too,” Blaine continued, as if he couldn’t even hear Kurt. “It all probably took about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and it just tore my family apart. Twenty minutes.”

Kurt couldn’t stop himself anymore. He put his hand on top of Blaine’s, which were tangled in his lap. “I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t know how to tell my mom,” Blaine said with a bitter chuckle. “How do you tell someone half their family is gone? She always knew the risks. Sometimes she hated that we were all in the FBI. She joked that we liked worrying her, keeping her on her toes, appreciating every day we could all be together…” Blaine watched Kurt’s hand as if it was something so foreign, he couldn’t understand it. “It destroyed her. She wasn’t the same again. She packed her life and moved to California with her sister. I haven’t seen her much since the funeral. She’s mad at me, thinks I should quit, do something less exciting, like become an accountant. Something that won’t mean she’ll get another call in the middle of the night…”

“They were so brave,” Kurt whispered, and when Blaine looked up at him, he squeezed his hand. “And so are you. I have never met anyone as brave as you. I know it hurts losing someone you love… but they gave their lives for a good cause, to protect others. Don’t be afraid to remember them. Honor them, Blaine. They deserve that.”

“I should have been faster…”

Kurt cupped Blaine’s face, made sure their eyes were locked, that he was truly listening. “Don’t feel guilty for surviving, Blaine,” he said, echoing Blaine’s earliest words.

Blaine sucked in a breath, his pupils going dark, his whole body shaking. Kurt mostly moved out of instinct and reflex. He wasn’t planning to, but he still kissed Blaine.

It started soft, a small comfort after a painful moment. His lips caressed Blaine’s, as if hoping that would erase his wounds. But then Blaine was surging forward, a hand on the back of Kurt’s neck, the other on his shoulder, kissing him like it was the only thing that kept him alive. Kurt was shocked for a moment, but then followed, allowing himself to melt into the passion, tangling his fingers into Blaine’s loose curls to bring him impossibly closer.

It was like Kurt’s body was suddenly awake after a long sleeping spell. It was thrumming, nightmare forgotten, like everything that was wrong in the world had gone away as soon as Blaine’s lips touched his. He didn’t want to stop. He never wanted to stop…

Blaine pulled away.

His eyes were wide, and his lips kiss-swollen. He looked so attractive that Kurt could have moaned at just the sight of him. But he stopped himself when he realized how alarmed Blaine seemed.

“I…” Kurt said, standing up from the bed abruptly. “I shouldn’t have… I just wanted to…”

“Kurt,” Blaine murmured, looking up at him with those huge, mesmerizing hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that. It was completely inappropriate,” Kurt retorted, doing his best to sound normal and to ignore the wild beat of his heart. “I think I should probably… you know, go back to sleep. It’s really late.”

Kurt waited, half-hoping Blaine would stop him, would say something to keep him there. But when he didn’t, Kurt couldn’t get out of that room fast enough. He was so embarrassed. How could be so stupid?

He didn’t sleep that night. His lips tingled with the ghost of Blaine’s, and he couldn’t help feeling mortified about what the morning would bring.

*

Blaine stood outside Kurt’s door, his hand pressed to the white wood, his eyes closed. He told himself it was all complicated enough. He told himself that Kurt was right, it had been inappropriate. He talked himself out of knocking a million times.

But the truth was that those few seconds had made him feel more alive than anything else in the past year.

Finally, he took a step back. He wouldn’t go chasing any impossible dreams.

He was too busy chasing nightmares.

*