Part Eleven

It might look to the untrained eye that Blaine was wholly immersed in Pride and Prejudice, but to those who knew his mannerisms and gestures and expression inside and out, he was clearly in very deep thought.

His last encounter with Kurt had been different from all others, that was for sure. He hadn't been paid, not that he'd expected to be. Kurt was no longer a client, had never really been one in the first place. It had always been something more than prostitute and client between them. But that last time, it hadn't been just sex, and definitely not factory farm fucking. In fact, it had almost been making love, slow and sweet and tender. Having Kurt in control had made it so, not to mention the man had been the first Blaine had ever allowed to top.

And Kurt had actually told him he loved in. Sure, the world had still been blurry around the edges and Blaine's ears had still been ringing, but it had been a serious statement. Blaine had inadvertently made an innocent man fall in love with, and he would never be able to give Kurt anything but hurt and heartbreak. He wasn't good enough, with his job and his emotional baggage and tangled past and wounds still raw.

Kurt deserved so much better. Someone who wouldn't be afraid of hurting him at every turn, someone who didn't cheat on him just to keep a roof over his head, a man who would respect and love and cherish him every day for the rest of their lives.

"Gay for you in the foyer," Quincy said, snapping her fingers vaguely at Blaine as she passed. "And yes, I meant gay, not guy. You better hurry, you have the McArthur appointment in twenty minutes."

Blaine marked his place in the book and dragged himself to the foyer to find Kurt standing there awkwardly. "We're on our way to the airport, so I just…I came to say goodbye," he mumbled, holding out a hand for Blaine to shake.

"When can I see you again?" Blaine asked, the words slipping out before he could stop himself. And then he wanted to kick himself, because he hadn't meant to sound needy or pressure Kurt.

"We're not coming back for Christmas," Kurt explained softly, tangling his fingers together nervously. "Santana had a huge fall-out with her brother so her girlfriend is coming out to visit us and Rachel's dads are going out to the Caribbean for their twentieth anniversary so we're staying back in New York. We, or at least I, won't be back here until summer."

"I wish you didn't have to go," Blaine said softly. Kurt looked at him with an unreadable expression.

"What does that mean?" he asked quietly. "Seriously, Blaine, what do you mean by that?"

"Just that I'll miss you," Blaine answered brightly, perhaps a trifle falsely. "We are friends, after all. You'll be gone and I'll notice. It's not gonna be the same round here without you."

"Well, you've got my number, call me or text me if you need me to cast a little light on things," Kurt said, cocking his head in the direction of the door and biting his lip. "I have to go, but what does noticing I'll be gone mean?"

Blaine took a deep breath to steady his jangling nerves. This was it. The time was now. To tell Kurt, to do his best to persuade him to stay. "Kurt, I-" He was cut off by Kurt's lips pressing briefly against his, warm and soft.

Kurt pulled away, leaving Blaine a little dizzy and breathless as he opened his eyes to see the flush rising on Kurt's cheeks, the tiny smile tugging at his lips. "Our last kiss," he murmured. "I thought I should make it count. Good luck, Blaine. I love you." With those words he was gone, running down the steps and shouting something Blaine couldn't quite hear as the honk of a car horn blared around the building.

He shut the doors carefully, kneed in the stomach by longing as a thousand memories assaulted his senses. Kissing Kurt in the back of a taxi, holding him as they slept, laughing with him before the feelings set in and ruined everything, Kurt making love to him, Kurt's fingers twisted in stained sheets, Kurt's eyes bright and young and filled with hope, Kurt's face when it was ravaged by tears and still so beautiful. At the same time, he saw hundreds upon thousand of images of what they could be: a whispered confession of love in the night; those three words said so often and so casually they were burnt into skin like a tattoo; being able to come home at the end of a long day and collapse into his welcoming arms; tear-filled eyes at a proposal that rambled on and on about forevers and true love and happily-ever-afters; feverish wedding planning, fighting like cats but still loving each other; a golden band slid onto a finger as eyes met, wet and filled with love and devotion; a pet and rambunctious children playing as they watched proudly on; a wrinkled hand covering his, a silent promise of being together until their last breath on God's green Earth.

"It means I love you too," he whispered sadly into the wood, collapsing back against the door. How could everything be so wrong and yet so right? And why could he only have the courage to speak those words when Kurt wasn't around to hear them?