"You heard me," Blaine says. His voice is gentle, but firm; unwavering.

"That can't be... how can that be?" Kurt asks.

He doubles over again, holding his stomach, sure that he'll end up vomiting on his Ferragamo loafers. He expected a different answer, a story of how Blaine fell in love with him over time or all at once, but later, not from the beginning. They couldn't have been in love with each other at the same time, this whole time. Could they have? Because that would be insane, and tragic, and insane. He expected an answer pulled from the past, but not from the very start of it all.

It would have made more sense if Blaine had said, I fell in love with you that Christmas, when we picked out your tree together and stayed up all night staring at it and talking. That year Blaine showed up at the Hummel-Hudson house unexpectedly. It was their last holiday break as college students. Their friendship had started to fade in the wake of new experiences, new interests, new friends, new everything. Kurt hadn't talked to Blaine since October, so he had no idea if Blaine planned to come home for Christmas.

It was tradition for Kurt to pick out a tree with his dad, so Burt and Carole had waited until he arrived from New York to get a tree. Blaine showed up just as they were pulling out giant plastic tubs from the basement marked "Christmas Ornaments" and "Lights: Color." Blaine wore a bright smile on his face, his navy pea coat covered in a light dusting of wet snow. Kurt was flustered but ecstatic, and suddenly they were all climbing into Kurt's Navigator en route to the same firehouse tree lot from which the Hummel's had purchased trees since Kurt was in grade school.

Kurt never asked Blaine why he showed up that night, but everyone assumed he'd stay through dinner, through hanging lights and stringing popcorn and cranberries, through trimming their giant, fat tree with every Hummel, Hudson and Hummel-Hudson ornament they owned.

After Finn hung the star, after Burt and Carole went to bed and Finn left to meet up with Puck, Kurt and Blaine turned out all of the downstairs lights and talked for hours, Kurt's feet in Blaine's lap. It was easy and sort of magical; that could have been the night Blaine fell in love with Kurt. That confession would not have taken him by surprise, not at all.

Or if Blaine had said, It was that night I called you from London and we talked for nearly four hours. Blaine was a little drunk and a little sad that night, having just put his parents on a plane after a tense visit. Kurt sat on the rooftop of his Brooklyn apartment and watched the Staten Island Ferry go back and forth across the East River as he listened to Blaine rant, and qualify, and fight back tears. He clung to his phone like a lifeline as they tested and teased each other, and sighed heavy sighs when the unspoken, lingering want became too much. Kurt would have accepted that Blaine fell in love with him that night—hell, after that marathon call he half expected him to show up on his stoop the next day.

Or it could have been any number of moments Kurt never witnessed, moments when Blaine looked at old photographs or videos of Warbler performances and suddenly everything clicked and he just knew; moments when he was caught up in conversation with someone Kurt had never met, talking about old friends, and his best friend, his Kurt, and he would finally get it; moments when he compared a boyfriend's face to Kurt's face and realized, in an instant, that he had fallen madly in love with his most treasured friend.

But no. It goes back to the beginning, to a time when Kurt thought he was alone in his desires, his vision for the future, their future. He can't wrap his head around it. It's amazing and thrilling and too much.

So he asks again.

"You're in love with me?"

"I am."

"Since—"

"Since forever," Blaine interrupts.

"No, no. No. You didn't want me... you said—"

Kurt sways a bit. He feels like he might fall, just collapse right there in the Santa Fe Opera parking lot where not two hours ago he was sipping champagne and laughing at all of the wonderful running through his veins.

Blaine grabs his elbow to steady him, and Kurt tugs his arm away and sits on the ground. The asphalt is smooth and dirty, but he can't bring himself to care about the damage to his pants. Blaine flops down beside him, close but not too close, and reaches for his hand. Kurt hesitates but takes it, bringing their joined hands into his lap. Still slightly nauseated, he takes a few deep breaths.

"The other night, at The Pink, when you told me that you've always wanted me, I thought you meant sex. Just... sex."

"If this, this," Blaine says, squeezing Kurt's hand, "were just about sex, we would have fooled around ages ago. It's always been more than sex."

"Of course it's more than just sex. That's not what I meant. It's more because we're friends. We used to be best friends, and sometimes we still are. I know it's more than just sex, I know we love each other like family, but—"

"You are my family, Kurt. You're the only family I'll ever want," Blaine says, and Kurt is stunned silent again. He stares at Blaine, looking for something, some clue as to what the hell is going on with him. Kurt is still not sure this is real, and if it is, well, he can't even think about that right now.

"You... the things you say, Blaine—"

"I mean every word—"

"We haven't seen each other in five years, Blaine. How can you—?"

"Four. It's been four years."

"Whatever. It's still years. Years. And now this... just.... out of the blue—"

"That's what I'm trying to explain. It's not out of the blue."

Kurt looks away and says, "I feel like I've had the wind knocked out of me."

"I'm sure. And I know none of this is simple, and I have a lot of explaining to do, but just so we're clear," Blaine says, shifting to face Kurt. "When I said I've always wanted you, I meant all of you: your body, your ideas, your memories, your whole heart. I want your dreams, your spare drawer, your mornings, your worries. Your triumphs, your laughter, your bad nights, and your quiet days. I want your future, Kurt.... just so we're clear."

"Holy hell, Blaine. Did you practice saying that?"

Blaine shrugs and smiles. "Well, I am a songwriter. I may have practiced, but it doesn't make any of it less true."

Kurt searches Blaine's earnest face. He looks nervous, like maybe Kurt will reject him. The long-awaited turnabout is not as delicious as Kurt had imagined years ago; he's not entirely sure that he won't walk away from Blaine. The stakes are higher. Everything is different. They're all grown up, now.

"I would never give you a spare drawer," Kurt teases, trying to smooth out Blaine's furrowed brow with words. "I need all of the storage."

Kurt leans over and places a soft, tentative kiss on Blaine's lips. As he pulls away, the questions and concerns remain behind Blaine's eyes.

"Blaine—"

"Kurt—it was more than just sex for you, right? This thing between us, it's always been more than this crazy chemistry. Right?"

Kurt wants to agree, to come back with something like, Yes, it's always been everything, but he can't say it. He can't confirm or deny his feelings, or give Blaine a chance to exhale and think his admission was worth it. Because if he does, if he admits to loving him and needing him, if he admits that no other man has ever even come close to claiming his whole heart; if he admits that he's been pining for Blaine for so long it's a fucking lifestyle, that he's good at it, that he's used to it, that he might not know who he is without the ever-present shadow of unrequited love at his heels, he'll have to start over.

If he confesses this one, sacred, life-altering truth, he'll have to let go of every self-deception, knock down every wall, reveal every choice made in the name of vanity, or conformity, or "personal growth," and embrace the man he was meant to be. Because loving Blaine has never just been about loving Blaine; loving Blaine has always been about becoming, about meeting his own destiny and saying yes to a life he hasn't planned out to the letter.

Somehow, he's always known this to be true, but it's only in this moment that he realizes it. So he can't say everything that needs to be said, or admit to all of his feelings. He needs to think. To breathe. To take this night apart and put it back together until his life makes sense again.

"Blaine, this is a lot."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry I sprung this on you, but I had to do it."

Blaine takes his other hand and runs his thumb along the inside of Kurt's wrist. As always, it works like a charm, calming him enough that he can think straight. His nausea subsides and he listens to Adele's voice, floating over them and into the desert night. It's another one of her new songs, and though he can't make out the words, somehow it sounds like the words that have haunted him, and altered him in just a few short days.

Do you need something?

I've always wanted you.

I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with you.

He knows Blaine wants an answer, and he also knows that Blaine will wait for it. Because Blaine is a gentleman, and kind, and because Blaine is his dear, dear friend. So he kisses Blaine on the neck and then tilts his head up to look at the stars shimmering in the sky, the sky that, uninterrupted by skylines and progress, seems to go on forever and ever.

"Can you believe the stars, Blaine? It's even more than we can see back home," Kurt says finally.

Blaine looks up. Kurt can feel him smiling. Maybe it's a rueful smile, or maybe Blaine is all lit up inside, relieved after his confession; Kurt can't tell from this angle. But at least he's smiling, whatever the reason for it.

"Mitch says they have meteor showers this time of year, the Perseids, he called them. If we're lucky, we'll spot some this trip. The best time to watch them is just before dawn."

"I've never seen a meteor shower. Have you?" Kurt asks.

"No. But I know I will someday."

"How do you know?"

"Because Mitch said the Perseids have been coming every August for two thousand years. They are a constant, and they'll be visible here and other places next year, too. I'll see them eventually."

Kurt stares at the sky for a few moments; then he stands, pulling Blaine up with him. He dusts off his pants and brushes a few pebbles from the backs of Blaine's thighs. Blaine looks resigned now, like he knows he's not getting what he wants tonight. Kurt could let him off the hook—he could. But he needs to think. He has so many questions—for himself, for Blaine—and he can't really handle hearing the answers right now.

"May I have tonight?" he asks.

"Yes. Anything."

Kurt cups Blaine's face in his hands and kisses him again. It's wet and beautiful and Kurt feels it down to his toes. Blaine wraps his arms around him and pulls him close. When their lips part he holds him protectively, like he's fragile, like he's something precious.

"Meet me for coffee tomorrow?" Kurt asks.

"Of course. Text me when you're ready and we'll walk together."

"Okay."

As Kurt makes his way back to his seat and Blaine back to the stage, Adele sings the standard "When I Fall In Love." He feels like he's walking in a strange, wonderful, terrifying dream, a dream in which he gets whatever he wants, but a minute too late.

When he finds his seat, Antonio and Sarah are in their own little Nat King Cole bubble, nuzzling and squeezing each other like two kittens, just schmaltzy enough to give Kurt fodder with which to tease Antonio for days. Deidre stares at the adoring couple, arms crossed, pouting. He ignores her, sits down and searches the stage for Blaine, but it's just Adele and the piano right now.

Will he come out again at all? Maybe he's losing it, too. Maybe he feels the weight of it, his whole world crashing down around him and every single fucking dream coming true all at the very same time. Maybe he's dying inside, because I couldn't tell him. Maybe he thinks I'm chickening out again, that this is just another repeat of the same story—a story that always ends in disappointment.

Kurt remembers Blaine singing this song at that piano bar, Marie's Crisis in the Village. Blaine and his Canadian boyfriend Trevor came to Manhattan for a getaway, and Kurt and his then-boyfriend Miles met them for dinner. Someone suggested the piano bar, and before long they were shutting down the place, Kurt and Blaine taking turns singing until the piano player had enough.

A few songs before they closed up for the night, Blaine handed the piano player a twenty and begged him to break the rules and play one song not from a musical. Kurt feared the worst—Katy Perry or some throwback boy band tune—and so was surprised when he heard the first notes of the song. Blaine sang it to the wall, to the room, to the rim of his glass, never once making eye contact with anyone—not Trevor, and certainly not Kurt.

When I give my heart it will be completely, or I'll never give my heart. As lovers do when someone croons a romantic song, Miles squeezed Kurt's hand, but all Kurt could offer him was a terse smile. Would he ever find someone for whom it would be worth laying down this persistent crush, this gorgeous unnameable thing?

Adele's voice blends with Kurt's memory, the past and present in perfect harmony. And the moment I can feel that you feel that way too, is when I fall in love with you.

After she finishes the song, Adele excuses herself for a moment, and the band continues to riff on the classic tune. The audience assumes it's part of the show, but Kurt suspects her absence has something to do with Blaine, because moments later he walks back onstage, slips his guitar strap over his head and stands front and center with the other guitar players.

The band is quiet now, waiting. Before the audience has a chance to get restless, the backup singers start in on "Rolling in the Deep." Everyone is out of their seats, clapping the beat, and as Adele walks back on the stage singing the first lines of the song, the audience goes mad. The band kicks in. Kurt's eyes are glued to Blaine, ever the professional. Looking at him, you'd never know he just confessed a secret he's kept half of his life.

Kurt gets caught up in the song along with everyone else, lets the music take him out of his head and back into his body, into the amazing that is Adele. The past few days have merged to become one, giant "pinch-me" moment. She is part of that moment, Adele, this icon that is now Blaine's friend, this artist whom Kurt has often referred to as "genius" and "stunning" and "epic" but is also this woman who knows all about Kurt and Blaine and cares about what happens to them. He could never have dreamed this night for himself.

When she finishes the song, the crowd screams and applauds. Kurt wonders how far the sound will travel across the high desert.

Then Adele says, "I've enjoyed singing for you guys, so thank you very, very much for coming and giving me your time. I really do appreciate it. It means the world to me, so thank you very much. This is 'Someone Like You.' Have a wonderful night and get home safely."

"Oh, shit," Kurt says, a bit too loudly.

"What?" Deidre asks.

"This song." Kurt sinks back into his seat. He looks for Blaine, but he's stepped into the shadows and he can't see his face. Did he choose this song, too, or is it just her standard encore song?

"I know, this song pisses me off so much," Deidre says.

She doesn't know. How could she? She wasn't there to witness them give in to age-old desire, to see them fall into each other, desperate with want. She didn't see them clinging to each other, sinking; she didn't see them lost in each other's eyes, twisting hands in each other's shirts, gripping. She didn't see them kiss for the very first time, then again, and again, and again, all full of heat and loss and anticipation.

Suddenly, Sarah reaches over Deidre's lap and takes Kurt's hand in her own. He looks over at her, expecting a placating pity of a smile, but all he sees is love. She's not sad for him; she's overcome with happiness. It's all over her face, like she knows this song wasn't the beginning of the end for him, but the beginning of everything that matters.

"You were there," he says, remembering, and she nods. He's so grateful for her blanket acceptance.

She pulls him closer to her, so close he's almost in Deidre's lap, and says, "It's supposed to turn your life upside down. That's the point."

"What the fuck is she talking about?" Deidre asks, thoroughly annoyed.

"Love. She's talking about love."

Deidre is not amused. She wiggles a bit and uses both hands to push both Sarah and Kurt back into their seats. Adele is singing her heart out. Kurt listens intently, joins in when she asks the room to sing along, and lets go of the sadness this song once held for him.

The song used to be about pain, the anthem of missed opportunities and what might have been. But now it's the song he danced to with the man he loves. The song used to be about longing for the love of your life, knowing you can't change the outcome. Now, it's the song that changed everything.

***

Blaine slumps down in the chair, his head low and resting on the edge. He needs a few minutes to compose himself before he faces the band, Gretchen, the Alex Marin House kids and board members, and anyone else with VIP privileges. Maybe Adele will let him off the hook, let him wallow backstage in her dressing room until he can safely slink off to his hotel, alone.

He can feel the headache work its way up the base of his skull when Adele walks into the room and shuts the door behind her.

"I'm sorry—"

She holds one hand up to stop him. "Don't. I'm not angry. I know you'll never run off the stage during a concert again. Right?"

"Right."

"Good."

Adele faces the mirror and begins taking it all down—her hair, her jewelry, her face. He likes her dress. Classy and girly, it's a throw back to her early style, so he tells her so.

"I forgot to tell you–you looked beautiful tonight. You were amazing."

"Thank you. Hubby's here though, love, so you can lay off the flattery," she says. "He's been telling me I'm beautiful since the moment he stepped off the plane."

"Where is Stephen, anyway?"

"Chatting up some cowboys, probably. The way he romanticizes American mythology—"

"Cowboys are real, Adele."

"Whatever," she says, winking at him in the mirror. When she's finished she stands up and says, "So are you staying in here to watch me strip down to my knickers, or are you going to face the lot outside that door?"

"May I stay here? I won't look. I'll just close my eyes."

"Turn 'round, and close your eyes. I'm a modest, married woman," Adele teases.

Blaine snorts. He shifts in his seat and closes his eyes, happy to be sheltered by her. He takes comfort in her quiet, steadfast support, lets it soothe his pride and allay his fears.

From across the room Adele asks, "Gretchen is telling everyone you broke up with Liam. Is that true?"

"It is."

"And how was that, then?"

"Awful."

"I bet."

"Necessary."

"For you and for him," Adele agrees.

"I tried to tell him yesterday, but I couldn't get through. He turned off his phone, went up to his mother's house for the weekend. He was avoiding me. He knew it was coming."

"And what did you say to make it better for him?"

"I told him I wanted to love him the way he needed me to love him, but I was wrong to try, because it was impossible," Blaine says.

"Did it work?"

"Of course not. There's no way to make this better, or right. I fucked up. I never should have let him love me."

"Well, it's not like you have much say in that sort of thing now, is it? But you did fuck up. Every minute you let this nonsense with Kurt go on, you were fucking up. Do you not think you're worthy? Is that it? Are you punishing yourself for something?"

Blaine rubs his temple, his headache worsening by the minute. "I don't know. I... there were so many different reasons for not telling Kurt how I felt, I couldn't even tell you all of them."

"You can open your eyes," she says.

He doesn't want to open them. He wants to stay here, in this chair, in this dressing room, until someone fixes everything and he can just run into Kurt's arms and stay there forever. He didn't expect his confession to cause Kurt to nearly pass out from anxiety. He had hoped that Kurt would return his feelings, that they would both promise to take a chance, but now he's not even sure if they'll fulfill their promise of twelve days together. And if that's all over now, he'll leave his eyes closed, thank you.

When he finally does open his eyes, Adele is fully dressed, slipping on her boots. "That was the second time Kurt ran off during one of my songs. I mean, what the fuck, Blaine? He's going to end up with a conditioned response—what's that experiment? You know, the one with the dog?"

"Pavlov's something or other?" Blaine asks.

"Did it work, then?" she says. "Did you get him back?"

"Back? We were never together—"

"Oh my lovely, I mean this in the nicest possible way: Please take your head out of your arse. You two are blind as bats, and willfully so," Adele says, hugging him from behind. "You may not have been very good at it—distance and boyfriends and bullshit and all that—but you were most definitely together. Ask around, your prep school friends, that screechy girl you brought back stage in L.A. I'm sure you'll soon discover you were in a relationship with Kurt all this time, and you were the only two that didn't realize it."

Blaine stares at her, dumbfounded. He was used to imagining what it would be like to be in a relationship with Kurt. He hoped and fantasized so much he could win an Olympic medal in pining. But he never considered the fact that he actually was in a relationship with Kurt.

"If Kurt and I have been together all this time, then someone should punch me in the face, because I've behaved terribly," Blaine says.

"Don't start the self-hate crap. You'll just waste even more time sorting this out," Adele warns.

"No, I suck. I really and truly suck."

"Come on. Let's get you back. You can order ice cream and vodka and fall asleep with your clothes on."

"That sounds disgusting. And perfect."

"I know, dear. It's never just one thing at a time, is it?"

Blaine does end up schmoozing with Alex Marin House benefactors, the elite of Santa Fe society in their layers of organic fabric and twenty thousand-dollar crystal pendants. He does manage to avoid Gretchen's glare and the band's inquisitive stares, however, as he makes his way through the crowd to Sarah.

"He left," she says, anticipating his question.

"I figured."

"Thank you again for joining us last night. The kids can't stop talking about the two of you."

"It was our pleasure," Blaine says. He likes speaking for both of them, as if their lives are already intertwined.

"That was a bold move... the song."

"I tend to indulge in grand gestures."

"Hmm. Kurt seems like the type of person who appreciates all things grand," she says, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Usually, yes." Blaine smiles warmly at her, and then remembers an earlier conversation with Adele. "We'll be back at The Pink on Monday night. Will you and Antonio join us?"

"Are you kidding? Hell yes, we will!"

"Great. I'll see you there, then. Do you have a way home?"

"Yes. Antonio is coming back for me. That is, if hasn't strangled Deidre and is busy disposing of her body in Diablo Canyon."

"Is there really a Diablo Canyon, or is that just a thing?" Blaine asks.

"It's real, and not far from here." She reads a text on her phone. "He'll be here soon, actually, so I'm covered."

"Okay. See you."

She kisses him on the cheek and gives his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she joins Mitchell at the little post-event bar set up backstage. He wonders how much she knows. She was sitting right next to Kurt the entire night. Did she let him freak out and tell her everything? Did she give him advice?

Blaine is on autopilot from the moment he pulls out of the parking lot. It's a fifteen-minute drive to the Eldorado, but when he pulls up to the valet it feels like it's only been a few minutes. His head is throbbing now, and his vision is starting to blur.

Blaine knows he has maybe half an hour before he's dealing with a full-on migraine, so once in his room he goes straight to the bathroom in search of his prescription. He splashes cold water on his face, slips off his shoes and stops cold when he steps into the main room.

"Hi."

Kurt is perched on his bed, eyes red from crying, legs crossed, both hands holding onto his knee. He looks exhausted: his skin is blotchy, his shoulders sag under the weight of revelation, and his hair is most definitely in need of a do-over.

He's the most beautiful sight Blaine has ever seen.

"I used my key card, your key card, the one you gave me," Kurt explains. "I hope that's okay."

"Of course. Yes. Absolutely." Blaine doesn't make a move; he's afraid he'll spook him and Kurt will run again, like a scared animal. "I thought you wanted to talk tomorrow, over coffee."

Kurt throws his hands in the air, gestures toward his disheveled state and laughs. "Blaine, Blaine... we're such fuck-ups. This is crazy."

Blaine is on his knees in front of him in an instant. Kurt uncrosses his legs and makes room for Blaine to scooch up as close to him as possible. Blaine places one hand on each of Kurt's knees and begins rubbing them with his thumbs in tiny circles.

"I wanted to tell you. I tried to tell you," Blaine says, his pleas careful and quiet.

Kurt takes a deep breath and says, "So tell me now."

"I didn't know at first. I couldn't recognize it. I thought we were just friends. The feeling I had whenever you were around, and that other feeling, when you weren't around, it was new, and confusing, and we were young," Blaine explains. "By the time I realized I was in love with you—so, so in love with you—I was worried you wouldn't feel the same. And then I was worried that if by some miracle you did still care for me, it could eventually end and our friendship would be ruined. And then at some point confessing how I really felt became this insurmountable thing—"

Kurt nods and says, "It was easier to leave it wide open—"

"Yes, and I kept thinking, 'If he wants me, he'll tell me.' So I poked, and teased, hoping one day you'd just take the hint," Blaine says.

"But I never did."

"Granted, some of my hints were vague, and some were completely juvenile," Blaine says, breaking out in a grin.

"Completely."

"I was a coward, Kurt. And I'm... I'm so very sorry."

Kurt touches Blaine's cheek. "You were an idiot."

"I was an idiot."

"I was an idiot, too. I still am, I think."

"Why do you say that?" Blaine asks, his heart in his throat.

"Because this idiot is hopelessly, madly, undeniably in love with you, and has been for a very, very long time... and, aside from admitting to a schoolboy's crush once upon a time, never did a damn thing about it."

Blaine lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. His head drops in relief, falling on to Kurt's thigh, and he's kissing Kurt's hand—fast kisses, a dozen or more, in gratitude.

"Oh Kurt, Kurt. Say it again. Say it a thousand times."

Kurt lifts Blaine's head just as he did not two hours before, holds his face in his hands. But this time is different. This time he looks down on Blaine with shining eyes and says, "You are so in love with me."

Blaine whispers, "Yes, yes, yes."

"And I am so in love with you."

"Oh, God. Yes."

Their kiss is long and deep. Blaine can feel it in every cell in his body: this opening up, this rightness. When it's too much he pulls away, plasters his face into Kurt's neck until he catches his breath and then dives back in again, taking hold, slipping every secret wish into Kurt's mouth as his tongue lays claim over its contours. He feels like Kurt is sucking the truth right out of him, pulling him down, down, down until they are both panting and dazed with the enormity of it all.

Let me live in this moment forever, and if this is all we have, let me die here; let me lie with this man until I take my final breath. But please, please, let there be more. Let me keep this. Please. Please.

"Please what, my love?"

"I... I didn't know I... I was praying, asking—I didn't know I said that out loud."

"You were praying?"

"I was pleading—"

"For me?"

"For more."

Kurt kisses him softly, gently, his hand at the nape of Blaine's neck. Blaine winces: suddenly, the migraine hits him full on. He burrows his head in Kurt's lap and cries out in pain.

"Migraine," he says, anticipating Kurt's question. "I already took something for it."

"What do you do for it? Should I turn off the lights?"

"Bed. I need to sleep. I'll feel better in the morning."

Kurt undresses Blaine, pulls back the covers and helps him into bed. He pulls the curtains closed, and after undressing himself, turns off the lights and slides in next to Blaine.

"May I touch your head? Would that help?"

"Just hold my hand. And stay close."

"Okay."

They lie there in the dark, listening to each other breathing, until Kurt stifles a giggle.

"What's funny?"

"You tell me you love me, and I almost have a panic attack. I tell you I love you, and you get a migraine," Kurt explains, giving himself over to the giggle.

"If I marry you, does that mean I'll contract a horrible disease?" Blaine asks.

"Maybe we're allergic," Kurt offers.

"To love?"

"To drama."

"You? Never."

"Hush. Your brain hurts, remember?"

They are quiet for a moment, and just before he nods off, Blaine says, "For the record, it was at Mercedes' Anti-Prom party, junior year. I was watching you—I was always watching you, God, could that have been a clue? You were standing with Rachel, adjusting something on her dress and she must have said something funny because you laughed. You laughed so hard you threw your head back, put your whole body into it, really, and it hit me all at once. I literally heard a voice in my head say, 'Blaine Anderson, you are in love with Kurt Hummel.' I heard it plain as day. And that was it. You just... laughed, and I was gone. I was yours."