Days Go By

Christmas holidays were over and the wheels on the preproduction started churning. The first dot on the agenda was to get the story written. The plan they concocted was so obtrusive, it landed me the equivalent of ten blocks away from my comfort zone. Nina, Rachel's faithful and insensitively organized assistant—she is a scheduling monger, probably because she had to deal with an errant Rachel for a good eight years—took us through the terrifying writing schedule, which included ungodly hours with four writers that I've never met before. Sorry, but I couldn't dish my dirty laundry outside my circle, at least not face to face! So, inevitably, down went my foot.

January 9th 2018 Porcelain Photography Studio/ Annex room with fantastic view of Central Park/ Kurt's private office 10:12am

"I'm sorry Rachel, but I am not going to spill my life's details in front of a bunch of strangers," Kurt demands on speaker phone, doing his best to keep his patience astride amongst all his negative emotions associated with that stupid schedule.

"They are writers not gossip columnists," Rachel mitigates, but Kurt is having none of it.

"Yes, I know they are writers," Kurt says his voice a touch annoyed by Rachel's patronizing tone. "They are still people I don't know and I don't feel comfortable with this arrangement," Kurt continues his rant as he hooks his camera up to the computer to upload photos form his latest shoot.

"Would it help if I said they are extremely nice people?" Rachel attempts.

They were most definitely nice, except for Zizes, who always gave me that weird, penetrating look that made me want to crawl back into my mother's womb. Remember? Who knew the two of us would become such kindred spirits?

Kurt rolls his eyes and replies, "No, it doesn't. I don't care if they are the nicest in the world. The idea of airing out my personal life in front any stranger, nice or not, gives me a major case of the goose bumps and not the good kind. I'm even nervous to share some of that stuff with Blaine. There are so many things he doesn't know about and I don't want the first time he hears about it is in a conference room with four people ogling at us." A small shiver runs down Kurt's spine as he imagines them all staring with big hungry, tennis-ball eyes. "Just gives me the shivers."

"Oh no, goose bumps and shivers…not a good combo. So what do you have in mind?" Rachel asks nonchalantly as she lends him an unexpected ear.

"I'm sorry, what?" Kurt falters at her astonishing tolerance.

"If this is not what you want, then how do you suggest we go forward?" She repeats patiently.

"You really want my opinion?" Kurt asks cautiously. Gosh, he still needs time to get used to this fresh and accommodating Rachel.

"Yes, Kurt. It's your show as much as mine and Jesse's. I want you guys to be as comfortable as possible. We're a team; we're on your side," she adds genuinely.

"Okay." Kurt's tension melts and relief seeps into his bones. "I was thinking that Blaine and I should write the first draft…alone. I mean I don't know the first thing about screen writing, but we could write it as a book and that way you guys can have a comprehensive version of the story with as many details as possible."

"Huh," Rachel hums contemplatively. "You know what you might be onto something good here. Why don't you let me pitch the idea to the guys? In fact I'll do it now; I'm just on my way to a crew meeting. I'll get back to you later this evening."

"Really?" Kurt says incredulously, not believing his own ears.

"Yeah, why not?" Rachel dismisses his apprehension. "Besides, I read all your vogue columns for the past ten years, especially that one surrounding the reimagining of the cheetah print! I mean If your words can convince young people to wear animal prints, imagine what you can do with a story!"

The plan was received with open arms by the writing team and Netflix alike. The only two demands were to uphold to the same deadlines for every episode and give the writing team some creative freedom over the conversation in the bedroom scenes at the beginning of every episode. The past was all ours.

With the deadlines mapped out, it was time to buckle down and tackle the monster. It started on a cold day like any other in a New York January: a perfect fit for a crackling fireplace, platter of Brie cheese, aged pepperoni, thin slices of prosciutto—your favourite—and two piping cups of dark, cinnamon hot chocolate…

January 15th 2018 The Hummel-Anderson living room and a cozy fire place 5:04pm

"Hey, Blaine! Are you ready?" Kurt shouts from the staircase landing, his arms wrapped around his chest, a demanding pose he always assumes whenever he's in a hurry to get started.

"I'm coming! Just give me one minute!" The namesake hollers back from the master bedroom. For the duration of that minute, Kurt paces around, his gait anxious, not out of fear, but that of excitement. It's funny that he was the first to object to the idea of a TV show based on their life, and now he was the first to want to get started.

"I'm sorry, took me a bit to find it," Blaine explains as he ejects from the bedroom with hurried feet.

"What's this?" Kurt asks as he points at the shoe box in Blaine's hands.

"It's my memory box."

"All your memories are in this tiny box?" Kurt says wide-eyed.

"No silly." Blaine chuckles. "There's also Facebook and the list in my wallet."

"Aww, so compact," Kurt remarks with a cooing visage as they walk together into the cozy living room.

"Wow, nice spread," Blaine praises his husbands efforts at creating a comfortable atmosphere and obviously delicious treats. Always leave it to Kurt to help set the mood. For the last few days they've been on edge ever since they were handed the responsibility of writing the first draft. Blaine was more nervous than Kurt, seeing that he has never been good at creative writing. Luckily, Kurt offers permanent services over said task, and all Blaine had to do is R&R—relax and recollect.

"Thanks, hubby." Blaine wraps one arm behind his husband's back and plants a sweet peck of deep gratitude on his lips.

"You're welcome. I know how much hot chocolate calms you down, so it was a no brainer."

"What are these?" Blaine asks as he points at the two filing boxes sitting by the coffee table.

"These are my memory boxes," Kurt announces as he walks up to the first box.

"Woah…" Blaine's eyes pop out.

"I'm surprised that you're surprised," Kurt chuckles as he lifts one of the lids and Blaine peaks in like a curious puppy. Inside, the box was packed to the brim with notebooks, all labeled with different months and years.

"OH! Your agendas!" Blaine says as he recalls all the times Kurt had been pouring into these notebooks.

"These are my diaries."

"Diaries?! What?" Blaine exclaims. "Since when?"

"Since the year we met," Kurt point out casually. "I thought you knew."

"I had no idea." Blaine scratches his head. "I just thought you were busy planning things…"

Kurt cracks up at Blaine's innocent confusion. "Oh my god! All this time you thought I was just filling out my calendar? I haven't used a paper agenda since my dad bought me a laptop Blaine, and now I use my phone. You should know that! You get my alerts don't you?"

"Yeah I guess." Blaine scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Are both boxes full of diaries?"

"No, the other one's for photos," Kurt continues to explain as he pulls out one of his diaries and flips through the pages in one quick swoop. "Jeez I would need another fifteen years to fill up another box as big as this one!"

"Damn…and who writes in a diary in broad daylight?"

"I didn't know there were rules about diary writing," Kurt raises a sarcastic eyebrow at his husband.

"Didn't you ever worry about them falling in the wrong hands?"

"Well obviously my worries were for naught," Kurt quips. "Besides I had them under lock and key until a month ago. So you and especially Mr. Playboy would have never had the chance to find them."

"I stand corrected," Blaine concedes. "So, why the diaries?"

Kurt replaces the diary back in the box and gets comfortable on the couch. "Remember that seminar LastLady dragged us to the first week of University?" Kurt asks, even though he knew Blaine's answer. He spent three-quarters of the seminar snoozing away with his head on LastLady's shoulder.

"Um…" Blaine tilts his head adorably as he pretends to remember. "Yeah, totally."

"Really?"

"No."

Kurt snorts, "It was about Human Memory, ironically."

"Ah, well, I do remember falling asleep halfway through." Blaine laughs as he sits next to his husband.

"Yeah, I remember that and a bit of drool too," Kurt says in mocking scorn. "Anyway, the reason I started writing was because of flash-blub memories."

"Flash-bulb memories?" Blaine asks, his curiosity piqued.

"They're the most vivid memories in our minds, the ones that carry the most detail and accuracy."

"That's apropos…"

"Some say that's where the expression 'burned in our memory' came from," Kurt says in a knowledgeable tone, "and here I thought it came from cow branding."

Blaine smiles to himself, loving how much of a nerd his husband can be. It is both endearing and sexy.

"I remember the professor saying how they are the only memories we can rely on to be true," Kurt continues, excited to have Blaine interested in the subject. "The rest of our memories, however, eventually become obscured by our emotions. So ever since, I decided to write down as much about my life as I could and take as many photos as possible, that way I can return to those memories again when they were still in their true form."

"Wow." Blaine gazes at his husband in awe.

"What?" Kurt tilts his head inquiringly.

"We haven't even started the story yet and I already found out so many new things about you," Blaine says his eyes full of adoration.

Kurt blushes under his husband's adoring attention. Despite of his reddened cheeks, he raises his mug. "Here's to knowing you better."

Blaine repeats his husband's words and they clink their mugs together.

"So where shall we start?" Kurt says happily as he sets his cup on the table and reaches for his laptop on the coffee table.

"Hmmm," Blaine scratches his five o'clock shadow. "I guess the most logical place to start is my list."

"How very Vulcan of you…" Kurt says mechanically, his hand held up in the Vulcan salute.

"Did you just pull a Spock?" Blaine says wide-eyed.

"I was going for Tuvok, but sure," Kurt grins impishly.

Blaine cracks up and claps his hands together. "Oh my god, I love you."

"Yeah, okay," Kurt rolls his eyes teasingly. "It's all because of Star Trek…is that why it took you years to notice me? Is it because I never watched Star Trek until that one fateful night after the break up with Peter Pettigrew?"

Blaine gasps mockingly. "Oh my god, you finally found me out."

"Shut up…" Kurt shoves Blaine with his shoulder. "I think the more logical place to start is how you formulated that list of yours."

"Oh no, please don't let me tell that story…" Blaine moans as his face contours with embarrassment.

"No way, I have my share of embarrassing stories to tell," Kurt chides his husbands. "There's no get-out-of-jail card for you Anderson."

"Okay, fine," Blaine resigns, as if he had a choice.

"Great." Kurt opens his laptop. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be…"

January-ish 2014 Blaine's living room couch/ bed/ kitchen/ abyss of despair intermittently interrupted by Netflix binges 10:35 am

"Honey, I'm home!" Playboy—aka Blaine's Childhood Best friend/ Long-time Roommate—hollers as he walks into the house with a carry-on dragging behind him. Immediately, Playboy stops in his tracks. The whole house is shrouded in darkness, and…what is this caustic smell? Something awry is happening here. Overcome with an equal mix of concern and revulsion, he abandons his bag by the door and takes a few calculated steps further down the foyer.

"Oh my god…" Playboy gasps and covers his mouth and nose from the assailing smell, which strengthened exponentially as he entered the living room…if one can call it that anymore. "What the hell happened here?" he says as he warily scopes the space: there was no living room left, just boxes upon boxes of pizza, Chinese delivery, and dozens of—is that Coors Light? ARRRGHHH!—monopolizing every conceivable surface the room had to offer. Amidst all the rubbish, Playboy noticed a minor movement under a familiar crocheted cover gifted to Blaine by his late grandmother. Playboy's blood froze, wondering if he is dealing with a break-in and about to come face to face with a filthy squatter. After all, Blaine is not back from his trip for another week. The mysterious form shifts again, this time the cover slips off its head, uncovering a fluff of patented, black curls belonging to none other than Mr. Blaine Devon Anderson. Playboy's eyes grow wide… Regardless of all the W.T.F. thoughts that surge through his mind, Playboy is relieved; he isn't exactly the kind to fight back anyone, let alone a squatter. Not because he's weak, hell no, but because he does not condone violence, except maybe when it comes to self-defence. Before he could call out his name, Blaine turns one more time and this time he bares his entire, naked back, including his ever-present, hairy ass. It is like looking at a CD cover with no censorship. Then again, Madonna would probably approve. If anything merits this picture it would be how perfectly round Blaine's butt is, or bulbous as TMZ always puts it.

"That's lovely." Playboy cringes at the sight. Not an unfamiliar view—they had their fair share of skinny dipping in the past—but definitely not welcome, especially in the middle of the living room where nakedness is prohibited. At least that is the rule: No sitting on the couch with your bare ass and definitely no sex.

Pause

"Omg, we totally broke that rule at least a dozen times," Kurt snickers.

"Oh I'm pretty sure Playboy is not innocent in that department…" Blaine points out. "I had a few dates on that very couch with Pizza Boy."

"I'm not going to lie," Kurt admits with some guilt. "TMZ and I conspired on this couch a few times."

"You devil," Blaine scoffs in jest.

"So did we, countless times." Kurt waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

"No one's innocent in this house. It was kind of a stupid rule, to be honest."

Kurt laughs and scrunches his nose. "I'm just glad you go it reupholstered."

"Oh god, first thing I did when Playboy moved out."

Unpause

"Hey, Blaine." Playboy tries to wake him from where he's standing, but Blaine is still lying there, oblivious. Usually Blaine gets up from the lightest noise, which means he is either drunk or still recovering from a hangover. Playboy shakes his head reproachfully; if only his grandma can see what he's doing to her precious crochet. He is sure she would give him a few nasty words and a hot slap on the ass. Not all is lost though, she would still approve of the bed sheet he managed to put on the couch before he assailed it with his naked bits.

"Blaine!" Playboy tries again, a little louder. No dice.

Left with no other choice, Playboy wades his way through the sea of fast food and accidently steps on an unfinished box of shanghai noodles.

"Damn it," he curses. As he lifts his foot to check out the damage he trips and hits the coffee table and knocks a half-full can of beer all over his right leg. Wait…that doesn't smell like beer…

Pause 

"Oh my god! You peed in a beer can?!" Kurt reprimands in horror, "but… The guest bathroom is just around the corner."

Blaine Shrugs. "What can I say? I was a miserable mess."

"Oh my god, good thing I didn't find you myself. I would have barfed all over your coffee table." Kurt pretends to gag.

"If it makes you feel better, I did use the bathroom for more important things…"

"Thank god," Kurt says, relieved. "For a second there I thought you used a pizza box…"

"I'm not going to lie I was tempted to do that."

"BLAINE!"

"I'm kidding! God, I was depressed, not unhinged!"

Un-Pause

Playboy stood there, fuming, leg covered in urine and a mood quickly souring. Sleeping or not, he is going to kick his ass. Still determined to wake the bastard, Playboy walks over behind the couch and gathers the sheets with furious fists. With one swift move he pulls the sheet right from under him and flips him onto the floor. Shocked by the sudden, harsh tumble, Blaine immediately jumps up, ready to fight the intruder, eyes ablaze and hair standing up at all ends. He looked like a caveman whose lunch has been stolen by coyotes. When his brain catches up with him, he realizes it's only Playboy, and loses his defensive pose.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" Blaine snaps furiously, but the effect is dulled when his unused voice cracks.

"You know, TMZ wasn't lying when he said you're as hairy as an ape." Playboy recoils Blaine's anger with a joke. But then he realizes it is more of a gripe, which is the equivalent of throwing salt on fire.

"What the hell does he know?" Blaine yells, this time his voice a lot clearer, and slightly more affronting.

"Woah, take it easy," Playboy says, thrown off by Blaine's unusual anger. Then again nothing is usual about this situation.

"I don't want to take it easy," Blaine counters feeling dangerously irascible from all the drinking he had done the night before. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going back to sleep."

"Oh no, no, no!" Playboy vaults over the couch and lands in front of Blaine, blocking him effectively. "Not until you explain why the hell this place is a fucking dump." Playboy gestures at the island of rubbish they're stranded in. "And apparently you forgot that there's a bathroom down the hall." he lifts up his leg to demonstrate the stain on his precious dress pants.

"It's my house. I can do whatever I want," Blaine replies petulantly.

"Excuse you?!" Playboy clicks his fingers with sass. "I pay rent, so technically it's my house too."

"Feel free to move out then!" Blaine sasses back. "And you can keep the damage deposit," He adds hoping it would sting. Playboy raises his eyebrows at his friend's insolence and scoffs.

"Why should I move out? You're the one who's going through something…" Playboy gestures wildly at Blaine's unpleasant appearance, "…whatever it is you're going through. And could you please, for the love of god, cover yourself?...NOT with this blanket, your poor grandma will roll in her grave! Use this." Playboy shoves the sheet in his arms. Blaine complies grudgingly, and pulls the sheet over his shoulders. Great now he looks like a lost goat herder. All he needs now is a gnarled walking stick and a pair of chewed up sandals and it'll complete the look. Oh well, better than naked.

"Thank you," Playboy says his voice calming down a bit as he feels a pang of pity for his friend's wretched state. "Now, would you care to tell me what's going on with you? You look like you've given up on life."

Blaine doesn't answer, instead he just dips his chin to his chest like a chastised kid and stares at the floor.

"Did you even go to work since I left?"

"I'm between jobs."

"But I thought you had a job until the end of next week."

"It got cancelled…" Playboy is not an idiot; Blaine was oozing of signs of a weak witness on the stand. A movie studio doesn't just cancel a recording on a whim, especially when the release date is only a couple of months away. He knows Blaine's job inside out. The fucker is lying!

"Are you sure?" he says unconvinced.

"Fuck off, Playboy…" Why is Blaine even trying? He knows the odds are stacked against him since Playboy is such a sterling arguer. No wonder he's such a popular Defence Lawyer. With that unfortunate acknowledgement, Blaine makes to leave the living room to avoid confrontation.

"Something happened at the wedding, didn't it?" Playboy says confidently. It's a tactic he always follows. He always lulls his witnesses into a warm sense of security and then throws the real stuff out of the blue, taking the witness off guard. After all, all the Jury needs is body language. Blaine stops in his tracks, his shoulders hunched. He gives Playboy a furtive look over his shoulder that tells it all. Voilà.

"I don't want to talk about it," Blaine says his voice so morose it almost breaks Playboy's heart.

"Since when?" Playboy insists, just as quietly, hoping it would convey his genuine concern. "You always tell me everything."

"No I don't."

"What do you mean?" Playboy dismisses Blaine's ridiculous claim.

"Since you're such a smart lawyer, why don't you fucking figure it out?!" Blaine suddenly snarls.

Okay this is getting scary. Right about now, Playboy is not averse to ruling split-personality disorder. "This is not like you, Blaine." Playboy says, still maintaining his calm voice. "Why are you talking to me like this?"

"Because!" Blaine turns to his friend, eyes wide with frustration. But it quickly dissipates as the pain in his heart takes over his voice. Instead of explaining, Blaine shifts the sheet further up his shoulder in an attempt to hide his shame and resumes his laborious trek up to his bedroom. The pain of his hangover, now that he was awake, was everywhere. His head was pounding, and his back was sore, and his knees felt like two rusty joints in need of oiling…Who knew two weeks of no running and yoga can really fuck someone up.

"Blaine! Please!" Playboy follows him, but he is hindered as he tries to tip toe through the rubbish without any more damage.

Blaine keeps on going, his mind set on his mission: his king-size bed.

"What happened that day?" Once released from the confines of rubbish, Playboy follows him up the stairs.

"Go away, Playboy." Blaine warns weakly as he does his best to climb up faster with his creaking knees. With a failed attempt, Playboy grabs his friend by the arm, but Blaine heaves him away with whatever strength he has left. Miraculously, and with lots of last-tether effort, Blaine makes it to his bedroom door, pain be damned.

"Blaine!" Playboy protests incredulously at his friend's unexpected retaliation. In appropriate answer, and honestly deserved—who does he think he is grabbing him like that?—Blaine slams the door in his face.

"Fine! Be that way!" He hollers angrily, but his anger quickly dissolves into serious concern.

Playboy waits a few minutes, pacing the hall outside Blaine's door. After a few minutes of fruitless contemplation, he decides to call TMZ—aka Blaine's University friend/ Blaine's other Lawyer friend/ Kurt's temporary lover and back-up husband in his 40's—

Pause

"Wait…TMZ?" Kurt looks up from his laptop. "I didn't know TMZ was involved in this."

"Yeah, Playboy knew if anyone would know what happened, TMZ would."

"He called him on his honeymoon?" Kurt says, affronted. How rude.

"Apparently, he did him a favour by calling. Mr. Hankey was being a bitch and refusing to go down for crumpets and tea at 5pm. Too English he said…whatever that means."

"Yeah, Mr. Hankey never knew how to let loose and enjoy the moment. Always so fucking square. Thank god TMZ dumped him."

"I know, right? I mean, who wants to be married to someone who doesn't like crumpets and tea?"

Kurt snickers and Blaine joins him. It's moments like this that Blaine loves, when they share a conspiratorial laugh together.

"Hmmm. Maybe we should add that phone call to the story?" Kurt suggests with questioning eyebrows.

"How? We don't know what they talked about."

"I know." Kurt concedes. "But TMZ does. Ever since that one lawsuit that almost got him fired from his Law firm, he's been recording every single phone call that goes through his phones."

"Seriously?" Blaine says in surprise. "That's…kind of creepy…"

"But absolutely necessary in his line of work."

"But I don't remember what day it was…"

"Well it was a couple of weeks after TMZ's wedding which took place on New Year's Eve."

"Oh yeah," Blaine agrees. "That was a painful Christmas holiday…What a terrible time to get married."

"God don't remind me, Mr. Hankey's mother was such a ho. Remind me again why you let them stay at your house?"

"I was the best man, what was I supposed to do?"

"Pay for a hotel room at the Radisson? But it's too late for that…What do you think? Should we call TMZ?" Kurt switches the subject back to the phone call.

"Don't you think it's weird?" Blain asks, a little apprehensive. "It is a private phone call…"

"Blaine, please…it is TMZ and Playboy." He dials the former's number and puts the phone to his ear, clearly unconcerned. "Anything they said in that phone call they probably told you already."

Un-pause

January-ish 18th 2014 Blaine's now immaculate living room 4:15pm

After Playboy rigorously brings back the living room into its original state—one garbage bag at time—he sits himself on the thoroughly-vacuumed couch and anxiously waits for TMZ to call him back. He is actually surprised that TMZ even answered his call, considering that he's on his honeymoon in London with the insufferable Mr. Hankey. When he calls back, hopefully TMZ will fill him in on what happened at the wedding; speaking of the devil…

"Hey! Thanks for calling back," Playboy answers his phone after half a ring.

"Not at all," TMZ assures. "I'm actually glad you called. Mr. Hankey and I were fighting and you helped end it."

"Your marriage?!"

"Come on, Playboy!"

"Damn it…it was worth the try…"

"Yeah, yeah…how can I be of assistance? I know it's urgent, because I know that you wouldn't call me on my honeymoon unless it's a life threatening situation," TMZ teases.

"That's right," Playboy chuckles, "except it's not a life threatening situation, but it is pretty serious."

"Oh? What's wrong?" TMZ drops his joking tone. "Did someone get hurt?"

"No, well, not in a physical sense," Playboy eases his friend. "I came back from my yoga retreat today and I found Blaine in a really bad state. And I mean, unwashed for weeks, take-out food and garbage all over the living room. He even resorted to drinking Coors Light…"

TMZ gasps dramatically. "Ohhhh no, from Guinness to Coors Light?…that brings it pretty close to a life threatening situation…"

"I know! Before I left I kind of sensed that something was wrong. He hardly talked to anyone and he always had that woeful look on his face ever since he came back from your wedding."

"Right…" TMZ says in an all-knowing tone.

"Ah, so something did happen at the wedding," Playboy says. "I knew it!"

"Yes, Kurt got engaged." TMZ explains.

"Shut the fuck up! How come no one told me…"

"Well it's kinda hard to get a hold of someone on a yoga retreat…"

"Shit...Kurt's engaged," Playboy says and then his hand flies to his mouth. "Oh!...Ohhh.."

"Yeahhhhh…." TMZ echoes his friend's realization.

"I see…and Blaine is…"

"Crushed."

Playboy sighs.

"So you knew about Blaine and Kurt?"

"And Kurt? Something happened between them?"

"They kissed a few years ago."

"They did?…I mean I knew Blaine has a thing for Kurt but I never knew they kissed! When did it happen?"

"Remember Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yeah the guy that dumped him over text?"

"Yup, that one. In effort to console him, Kurt spent a whole week trying to cheer him up with dinners and movies …and one night, one thing lead to another…"

"Damn. But that's so long ago…how can he be hung up on a kiss for that long?"

"The heart wants what the heart wants…but yeah you're right…it does seem a bit extreme for Blaine to go off the deep end because of a kiss…do you think maybe they…."

"fucked? No way man, Kurt is far too skittish about that stuff…"

"There's always a first…"

"Nah I can't see it…Kurt is against cheating..."

"Well they did kiss…"

"That's not cheating."

"Is so!"

"Whatever man…I'm more concerned about why Blaine didn't tell me."

"No offense, Playboy, but you're the Take-Action kind of guy and Blaine didn't feel like becoming a homewrecker."

"I am not!"

"Yes you are! I bet you right now you are plotting something…"

"I'm not plotting anything!"

"So you're saying you're just going to leave Blaine alone?"

"No, but…"

"No buts Playboy…if he wants to do anything about it let him do it on his own."

"Right and where does Kurt stand in all this?"

"You know Kurt, he's a bit tough to read."

"Not if I interrogate him…"

"No! Don't you dare! This is not one of your cases, this is personal and people could get hurt!"

"Okay! Jeez, I won't," Playboy backs off. "It's just so hard to see him like this. You know Blaine; he's always so rambunctious and happy. Even when he's sad he always has that glimmer of hope in his puppy eyes. But even that is snuffed."

"Oh lord," TMZ sighs. "So it is pretty dire."

"It is indeed…"

"Jesus…I wish I was there. I would have come over ASAP."

"Don't worry about it; I'll take care of him. I'll see if I can at least get him out of bed and take a shower. He smells like a fucking goat."

Pause

Blaine laughs. "He did tell me that as he dragged me to the shower."

"See? Nothing they wouldn't tell you…or me…when I broke up with TMZ and he said he'd rather break up than try to decipher my expressions."

"You were harder to read when you were younger, but not anymore."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you were super uptight."

"No I wasn't!" Kurt says with a defensive laugh.

"Yeah you were," Blaine insists. "It took you three years to admit that you were a year older than me! The whole time I thought you were my age and then one day, that one time you actually got drunk you finally told me your age. Among other things you never talked about."

Kurt looks at him like Blaine had just hit him with the flat side of a frying pan. "Oh my god…that's how you found out?! What else did I tell you?"

Gosh, Kurt always blabbes whenever he is under the influence of devil sauce. He hardly remembered anything that night, and all he recalled the next day was his major hangover and his memory of Blonde Cowboy—aka one of Rachel's Co-Stars— Rubbing his half-naked body all over an intoxicated Blaine. He was hoping he never mentioned anything about his sordid past during his first year out of high school. He was such a slut…Or worse, if he had confessed his undying love for Blaine…nah he couldn't have.

I didn't confess my love.

"You talked about your mom, mostly," Blaine said affectionately and Kurt relaxes.

Okay, that's not bad. Kurt sighs mentally. Wait…

Kurt turns a suspicious eye on his husband. "So, when I actually told you about my mom, you already knew everything?"

Blaine gives him an incriminating look that leaves no room for innocence. "It was our first official date in the city; I didn't want to ruin it. Besides, I love it when you talk about her. You always get that big wistful smile on your face."

"Aww, that's actually pretty sweet," Kurt says genuinely. "And here I was going to hold a grudge against you."

Blaine shrugs and changes the subject seamlessly. "So, you had a crush on me back in Uni, ha?" 

Kurt blushes. A crush is an understatement. "Something like that," Kurt says with a hint of mischief.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Blaine asks his tone now serious but tender.

"Other than the fact that you were still dating LastLady and you were still in the closet? I saw no reason to rock the boat."

"But I did come out later that year."

"I was dating Mr. Helicopter, remember?" Kurt sighed sadly.

"Oh right. The Helicopter Boyfriend." Blaine recalls the overly jealous boyfriend. So much as a glance and he would fly off the handle. He was once kicked out of the pub for laying a black eye on a waiter who offered a free beer on the house to Kurt. Kurt didn't speak to him for a week.

"Yeah, I guess it was never in the cards back then," Kurt says, surrendering their luck to fate.

"I guess not," Blaine agrees.

Unpause

January 18th Blaine's messy bedroom darkened by a doube-cell honey comb Blind 7:43pm

There it is, that infamous Turkey Sandwich his mother makes every year with Christmas leftovers, sitting there, all juicy and delicious—the golden gates of all sandwiches—beckoning him, to gain a few more pounds, and yes he doesn't give a damn. When he reaches out to grab it, he hears someone calling his name from behind.

"Blaine."

He turns back to the table and the sandwich is gone! That amazing concoction of turkey, gravy and spinach with sautéed onions and balsamic vinegar is GONE!

"Blaine…" the voice persists. The man sounds familiar, but Blaine can't pin point his face. Blaine flicks his head from one side to the other, but he sees no one around. Who cares, though?! THAT SANDWICH! HE NEEDS IT! As he turns his eye back the to the table the turkey sandwich reappears, and just as he gets his hands on it, he feels the rug being pulled form under his feet…wait a rug? Why is there a rug in the kitchen?

"BLAINE! WAKE UP!" Playboy yells into Blaine's ear. Startled form his dream, Blaine's eyes fly open and he suddenly finds himself scrambling for purchase as his ass and the sheets under him are pulled off the bed. BAM!

"What the hell, Playboy!" Blaine croaks as he struggles to sit up.

"You've been sleeping since ten o'clock, I thought it was time for you to get up," Playboy chastises. "And thank you for finally making an effort to put on a pair of briefs."

"Fuck off," Blaine curses and makes for the bed.

"Nah ah, you're not getting back in there again." Playboy takes Blaine by the leg and pulls him away from the bed.

"HEY! STOP IT!" Blaine yells as he endeavours to loosen himself from Playboy's grip.

"Resistance is futile my friend," Playboy says mischievously.

"LET ME GO!"

"NO!"

Determined to get him into the shower, Playboy grabs his other foot and drags him towards his ensuite bathroom. "You need a shower! You smell like a fucking goat!"

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! LET ME GO!" Blaine bellows, but his words fall on deaf ears. Once inside the bathroom, Playboy lets him go to open the shower door. In that opportune moment Blaine takes a run for it, but Playboy is too quick and pulls him back by his briefs. They wrestle for about a minute and finally, being the stronger of the two—even on a good day—Playboy ends the skirmish as he successfully shoves Blaine into the shower and turns the water on. To keep him inside, Conner uses the plunger and sticks it between the handles, effectively locking Blaine in.

"LET ME OUT!" Blaine yells as he bangs at the glass doors, but Playboy won't budge. It isn't until Blaine tries to climb over the door that Playboy starts to get worried. Ostensibly, putting an angry person in a slippery shower is definitely not the smartest nor is it the safest combination. And just as he came to that unfortunate conclusion, Blaine slips against the glass and ends up hitting the back of his head against the tiled wall. Shocked by the blow, Blaine slowly slides down to the floor into a fetal position and hugs the back of his head with his hands. Mortified, Playboy immediately releases the door and hurries to Blaine's aid.

"SHIT! I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" He turns the water off and inspects the affected area. Thankfully there is no bleeding, but he is sure a good sized bump will rear its ugly head soon enough.

"I'm really sorry." Playboy says ruefully. "I was just trying to get you out of your funk."

Not able to hold it together any longer, a deep, wretched sob tears out of Blaine's lungs. Playboy kneels by his friend and puts his arms around him. He stays there with him as he heaves short breaths, trying to hold whatever pieces his friend has left of himself. It is a release Blaine had been denying himself for weeks. He had been in shock ever since that moment Doctor Perfect kneeled down in front of Kurt and promised him a wonderful, full life together. That stupid speech was perfect, just like everything else in his life. Perfect looks, perfect body, perfect job, perfect personality…and worst of all he has the perfect man. His perfect man…it is all just perfectly unfair.

The heaving sobs dissolved into sniffs, occasionally breaking the reign of silence. Once Blaine is breathing normally again, Playboy takes the opportunity to breech the subject.

"Does this have anything to do with Kurt getting engaged?" Playboy asks candidly, but not unkindly.

Blaine waits a moment before he nods. How Playboy knows, he has no idea how, but it doesn't matter anymore. He is beyond caring at this point. With the reminder the question poses, a fresh bout of tears takes hold of him and he doubles over. Playboy sighs, unsure of what to do, so he lets Blaine cry to his heart's content. When the man cools again, Playboy ventures another question.

"How come you never told me?" he asks. Blaine shrugs his throat hoarse form crying. God, what a sad story he has become.

"How did you get from one kiss to this?" Playboy asks, genuinely confused. "I could see if you guys dated or hooked up, but—" Playboy stops his mind goes back to his most recent phone call. "TMZ was right, you guys hooked up."

Blaine stays quiet which is enough for Playboy to confirm their suspicions.

"When?" Playboy asks.

Not feeling the fetal pose anymore, Blaine unravels himself from Playboy's hug and leans against the shower wall. "three years ago."

"How?"

"It was after Green Gables's party." If Playboy's calculations are correct that takes them back to 2011. "We were both a bit tipsy and got really flirty and one thing led to another…"

"Wow, he must really like you, Blaine; because the Kurt I know is not a cheater…he's like the poster boy for monogamy."

"He didn't cheat," Blaine shook his head. "He and his boyfriend had a deal."

"What kind of deal?" Playboy furrows his brows and his eyes narrow in suspiciously.

"A kiss and don't tell deal…"

"Excuse me?" Playboy couldn't believe it, Kurt had agreed to an open relationship? What the hell? "We're talking about the same, Kurt, right?"

Blaine nods affirmatively.

"Wow…" Playboy shakes his head in disbelief as all his beliefs about a fair and wholesome Kurt fly out the window. Then another question occurs to him. "Was it just the one time?"

Blaine shakes his head.

"How long?"

"Six months," Blaine answers quietly.

"Six months?" Playboy exclaims. "Fuck…how did I miss all this?" But he knew the answer to that already. After the sudden death of Red Rose—aka the only woman that ensnared Playboy's heart—In a car accident, his whole life was thrown into an endless loop of depression. He couldn't think straight for months, cursing himself for letting the chance of something more slip out of his hands, forever. For a while he blamed himself for her death, just because he never had the guts to ask her out. Thankfully, and with a help of a professional grief counselor, he was able to get his head out of the fog and back into world of the living. And apparently during all that time he had missed an entire relationship between his two housemates.

A grumbling sound interrupts his reverie as Blaine's stomach issues its protest.

"Someone's hungry," Playboy laughs lightly, finding the opportunity for some levity. However, the moment is snuffed as he turns to Blaine a dull desperation in his eyes.

"When was the last time you ate?"

Blaine shrugs, "yesterday, I think."

"How about we go out for a hearty steak and veggies at your favourite place?"

Blaine looks at him with tired eyes; just the idea of going out repulsed every inch of his body. However, a good steak didn't sound too bad, especially since he hadn't eaten a proper meal for weeks.

"Come on," Playboy encourages him gently. "Some fresh air will do you good."

At length, Blaine agrees.

"Great, but please have a shower first." Playboy gets up and points accusingly at his friend's primitive beard. "And shave that shit off your face. You look like a goat's uncle."

"Goat's uncle?" Blaine raises an eyebrow at his friend with whatever quizzicality he could muster.

"Well I'm guessing if a goat had an uncle he'd have a beard like this one."

Blaine shakes his head and chuckles. "You're stupid."

"And there's Blaine I know!" Mission accomplished, for now at least.

Pause

"Wow he really did drag you to the shower," Kurt says amused. "That slip must have hurt though," Kurt winces sympathetically.

"I didn't even notice the pain; my head was already pounding from a hangover."

Kurt chuckles then he fades into silent contemplation.

"What is it?" Blaine asks as he sees a frown form between his husband's brows.

"I wonder what would have happened if we never hooked up."

"I don't know," Blaine answers truthfully.

"Do you think we would have ever gotten together?" Kurt asks.

Blaine looks at him and smiles. "I think so. I mean…those six months were amazing…but I had fallen in love with you way before then. So in way I knew we were destined to be together." Yet somewhere along the way he lost sight of that destiny, until The List happened.

Kurt raises his eyebrows curiously. "Really? When was that?"

"I don't know exactly," Blaine teases. "But it was somewhere between the Star Wars and Star Trek marathons…."

"But that could be any time between the day I met you up to the last summer before I moved out," Kurt protested.

Blaine winks. It would be remiss if he would tell that story now. "All in good time."

Kurt scoffs, clearly disappointed but not upset as he gives his husband a reproachful smile.

"I know one thing, though," Blaine confesses. "I would have gone down that rabbit hole regardless of what happened between us. It wasn't just about losing you. It was also about the idea that my friends were slowly settling in, one after the other, while I watched from the sidelines. And with my abysmal track record with relationships…let's just say it can get to a person after 15 years… far too many regrets to handle."

A twinges pulls at Kurt's hearts at this unexpected admission, which brings him to the next question. "Did you ever have regrets, about us?"

I have to admit when I asked you this question I could almost feel the acid in my stomach climbing up my throat. I know it sounds silly, because we were already married so what would it matter if there were any regrets? Regardless, I was suddenly infused with fear, wondering if it was the wrong time to ask such a question. It felt like I was stepping on a landmine. But sometimes what appears to be a landmine turns out to be just a patch of wonderful green grass.

Blaine takes a moment to think about his answer honestly.

"No, not really," he answers truthfully. "I guess the only thing I regret was that it ended far too quickly…"

Kurt sighs inwardly, not wanting to give away his initial misgivings.

"Do you?" Blaine ricochets the question at his husband.

Kurt looks down at his hands nervously. "I do, and I don't," he admits ruefully. Blaine tilts his head questioningly.

"The only reason I regret it is because I never had the guts to tell you how I really felt. Instead I cease the opportunity of an open relationship to satisfy my own selfish needs. And I used it, thinking it wouldn't hurt anyone. Then again, I don't regret it, because I got to be with you, and I got to truly know what's like to be in love…I don't know," Kurt dismisses his reasoning as foolish ramblings.

"I know what you mean." Blaine reaches out to fix a few rogue hairs that escaped Kurt's perfect chestnut coif in a reassuring gesture. "I get it. I wasn't exactly forthcoming either; it took me years to face my feelings, and spent one of those years talking to the wrong people, when I should have been talking to you. You should have been the first on my list, and I should have told you the truth. Instead, I chose to give up and push you away in the process. But things were complicated, it wouldn't have been an easy thing to admit when there's so much at stake. Besides, it wouldn't be you if you didn't try to save everyone's feelings from getting hurt."

As Blaine speaks, Kurt's chest loosens the breath he doesn't remember holding, absolving him from a guilt he had carried since the day they crossed the line into the physical realm of their relationship. When Blaine is done, Kurt reaches out and laces his fingers through the curls at the back of Blaine's neck and brings his mouth to his in a firm, hot kiss. Momentarily, Blaine is surprised by the kiss, but he quickly melts into to it and lets out an appreciative breath through his nose.

"There's another reason why I don't regret hooking up," Kurt says as he pulls away from the kiss, his tone a bit coquettish.

"And why is that?" Blaine asks playfully.

"Because…it was fucking hot." Kurt's crystal blue eyes, turned soft-green by the incandescent light of the crackling fire, glint impishly.

"It was fucking hot," Blaine licks his lips before he takes Kurt's face into his hands and lays another kiss on his mouth, with a little more exploration.

"Like the make out in the theatre after the party," Kurt says between kisses.

"Oh yeah, it was like fire."

"What about the one in the cab after the movie?" Kurt giggles. "I swear I saw stars after that kiss."

Blaine chuckles at Kurt's hilarious choice of words. "Remember the grumpy Scottish Cabbie?"

"'Oy! Can yeh no' read the sign? No PDA in my cab laddies!'" Kurt imitates the cranky old man.

"He did not say laddies," Blaine counters.

"No, probably not, but it just sounds right, doesn't it?" Kurt snickers.

"Yeah, it does," Blaine laughs.

"What about that one night after you helped me with my vogue article." Kurt's giggles fade into a shy smile as he recalls the night he crawled into Blaine's bed at midnight with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips and a heart full of nothing but love.

"The first time we made love." Blaine knew Kurt felt the same way about that night, because it was the first time Kurt had shared his bed through to the morning. Even Neverland didn't feel as magical as having Kurt laying by his side, his arm wrapped over his waist and his nose nuzzled into his hair, tickling his scalp with even, soft breaths. As their minds wander back to that wonderful memory, their mouths find each other again.

It was Kurt who finally pulls apart and clears his throats. "If we keep this up we'll never get done on time."

Blaine groans, but he quickly resigns, understanding the importance of getting the job done.

Unpause

January 18th Arlington Club and the wonderful aroma of sizzling steak 8:45 pm

Merlot wine is poured—only for Playboy as Blaine was much too done with alcohol for the time being—after the waiter places two plates of steak, perfectly ornate with fresh green salad and double-baked potatoes. The boys waited patiently as their server finishes his duties. When done, the man bows his way out genially with a common restaurant pleasantry and a quick assurance that he's nearby if either of them need further assistance. 

As Blaine plops the first bite of steak in his mouth, he leans back in his chair and his eyes close with sheer delight as the juicy meat, so eloquently marinated and braised to perfection, soaks into his taste buds. This is the third rush of joy he has experienced today: the first being the satisfying feeling of freshly cleaned skin after a much needed shower, then came the next burst of joy when crisp air flowed into his lungs as he stepped out of the house for the first time in two weeks. Being around the rest of civilization made him realize how ridiculous he had been, ensconced in the living room on the same couch moping and eating unappetizing variety of grease and drinking shit for beer. That being said, with no one around to scold him and kick him off his ass, it was easy to fall into the rut.

After dinner, the boys decide to walk back the twenty blocks to their home, neither of them in a hurry to turn in for the night. The walk was mostly silent, peppered with a few inquiries about the retreat. Halfway through their walk, Blaine stops, his eyes aghast.

"What happened to the bakery?" Blaine asks, too shocked by the absence of the confectionary display that he is so used to seeing when passing down this road countless of times.

"You mean Marvin's Bake House?" Playboy says undisturbed by the sight in front of them. "Blaine, it's been closed for over three years."

Three years! Damn…where was he when this happened? It was their go to place during exams and breakfasts on party weekends. As they graduated University their visits became less frequent, and it all but ceased when Kurt moved out. And look at it now, all so lonely and desolate. Just like Blaine.

"But don't worry, they reopened on 5th street," Playboy amends his comment, hoping it would brighten up Blaine's mood. "The new place is really nice, and the food still tastes the same."

"But it won't be the same," Blaine disagrees forlornly.

"I know what you mean," Playboy sighs in agreement. "But at least it's not gone forever."

It used to be such a robust part of the otherwise gloomy strip-mall, and seeing it now stripped to its bare bones rent Blaine's heart in two. A part of his past was gone and he didn't even notice. At that thought, Blaine couldn't help but see the analogy within the disused display and the ghostly glass windows of the bakery. Just like places, people move on, drift apart to the point of forgetfulness, an analogy that fit Blaine like a glove. Kurt will eventually forget about him. What was that song again? Kurt and Perfect sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes the baby in a baby carriage... It makes sense why friends aren't mentioned because it doesn't rhym with reality, unless said friends are singing the same song. At Blaine's pace, he will never catch up to anyone.

After the depressing discovery, the rest of the walk is fraught with sad silence and when they reach the steps to their home, Blaine holds back.

"Aren't you coming in?" Playboy asks, concern writ on his face.

"I think I'll sit out here for a bit."

"It's five degrees outside..."

"I know, I just need a couple of minutes to think."

"Okay," Playboy nods and disappears behind the front door.

And before Playboy closes the door behind him, Blaine calls out and his friend reopens the door just enough to show his inquiring countenance.

"Thanks for kicking my ass today. Twice," Blaine says genuinely. Seriously if Playboy hadn't shown up he would probably still be sulking on the couch probably munching on a stale piece of pizza. "And thanks for cleaning up."

Playboy grins from ear to ear. "There's more where that came from and don't mention it."

For a little while Blaine sat on the stairs, even though the concreter is a cold as Ice. Blaine looked out into the neighbourhood, his mind not focusing on any particular thought, until his eyes fell on the fence where Kurt used to lock his bike. Then he looks around him and realizes that this place is riddled with memories of Kurt, inside out. If he were to move on hewould have to…And just like that, he decides exactly what he is going to do. But first, he will have to talk to Kurt.

But the talk never came.