They had agreed it was time to talk about what they had done, and who they would end up hurting, and how they should move forward; but now it looks like that talk will have to wait until morning.

By the time they'd made it back to the hotel, Kurt was asleep. He used all of his remaining energy to walk to Blaine's room and dump his clothes on the floor before falling on the bed. Blaine slid into bed next him, kissed his shoulder, his hair, his hip. The heady smell of herbal massage oil still lingering on Kurt's skin brought him back to the day, the day to end all days, the first day of their forever. They'd waited long enough to have the "hard talk," but he couldn't bring himself to disturb Kurt's sleep. So he lay there, eyes trained on the rise and fall of Kurt's chest, waiting.

Now, standing in the elevator, he wishes he could skip to the next part, just pass right over all of the mess and hurt that is sure to come. He can't believe that his life was made in just four days, but he knows for sure now that he and Kurt are meant to be. What you're seeing is an answered prayer. When he said that to Winters, when he told him that he and Kurt were inevitable, he could feel every last lingering doubt leave him. He hoped it was for good.

He's not sure why he feels so entitled; it's never been his way. But he does feel entitled... entitled to Kurt's love, his body, his future, his everything. He'll make amends to Liam somehow, and Paul, well, he'll find a way to apologize to him someday. He and Kurt have been so very stupid for so very long, and unfortunately included others in their cowardice; but damn if he is going to let him go now.

Stepping onto the roof—all clay colors and big sky—Blaine realizes he forgot his shirt in the room. The cool air hits his skin like a slap. He's always surprised to feel the chill of the desert at night, the way it comes on unexpectedly and obliterates the warmth of the day, as if the sun in all of its certainty never shone at all.

He wraps the blanket around his shoulders and tries to imagine a future with Kurt, a future with Kurt as his. He'd never let himself really think about it seriously, not since they were kids. Would he move to New York, or would Kurt follow him to London? Would they start fresh, someplace new? Would they get married and raise children together? Would they stay the course with their careers, follow new dreams, or dig up the old wishes and put them back together again?

New dreams and old wishes. Earlier that night at the party, when Shep asked for the millionth time if he'd sign on to Scout, Blaine shocked them both by agreeing to meet with him before Shep went back to L.A., after his trip out to Bandelier. Though he fought it for years, he's thrilled by the thought of finally doing what he always wanted to do, the thought of dusting off old songs and writing something new, something for Kurt.

The old songs are for Kurt, too. They are all for Kurt, which is why he kept his notebooks and sheet music locked away in a box marked "Taxes." This is also why, rather than share them with friends, instead of recording them and releasing them into the world, he played his songs at pubs frequented by people who would never ask him for more information than he was prepared to give.

He sang, "You've got the kind of beautiful, makes the boys want to give up running all around. You know the kind of magic spell, makes the wild, wild horses lay down on the ground," and was met with warm smiles and misty eyes on faces he didn't know and would not likely see again, faces of people who somehow knew his dormant heart like they knew their own.

He sang, "Sweet and high at the break of dawn, simple tune that you can hum along to. I remember, there was a time when I used to sing for you," and recognized his own regret in unfamiliar faces, shared knowing looks with strangers who doodled remembrances of unrequited love on cocktail napkins, their hands, an empty envelope.

He sang, "I sit two stories above the street. It's awful quiet here since love fell asleep," and felt the room fill with sweet nostalgia, bodies gently swaying, worn boots tapping, hands interlacing as those listening remembered their own sweet moments, their own top-down Friday nights, their own days of possibility.

And once in a great while he looked out among the sea of faces and saw him. Kurt. There would be a young man about the right age, with similar hair or some other shared trait: pale skin, broad shoulders, a quizzical eyebrow and pointed stare. He'd look at this stranger and see Kurt. He'd sing for him—not to him, because that would be creepy and weird—he'd sing for the stranger, the stranger who was Kurt, with a voice charged with purpose: to make sure this Kurt knew how much he loved his Kurt... how much he loved the man who was almost his.

On these nights, so rare and emotionally charged, the audience would be on their feet demanding more, always more, and he would stare at the floor and let their applause and praise wash over him until he felt seventeen again, until the memory of boys in blue blazers backing him up settled into his bones and he could look up out into the crowd and see him, clapping and smiling and looking at Blaine as though he were the best thing ever.

Later, after he sipped on drinks gifted by his one-night-only fans, he'd turn off his phone and hide it in his guitar case for the long walk home, because nothing good could come from giving in to desperation in the middle of the night.

Maybe I'll say yes. Is it really possible to get everything you always wanted? It seems like too much, to get Kurt and the music. Could I be this lucky?

He feels something vibrate in his pocket, and realizes he left his phone in his jeans when he chucked them earlier.

Kurt:
Where are you?

Blaine:
Rooftop.

Kurt:
Don't jump. ;)

Blaine:
Funny. Talk me down.

Kurt:
Sleeping.

Blaine:
Good thing I'm not really suicidal.

Kurt:
Very good thing.

Blaine:
Come on. Give me all the reasons.

Kurt:
You have a great ass.

Blaine:
That's supposed to keep me from hypothetically jumping to my death?

Kurt:
You have a great ass and I want to touch it.

Blaine:
Better. What else?

Kurt:
You have a great ass and I want to touch it forever?

Blaine:
Okay. You convinced me. I'll stick around.

Kurt:
Good. I love you.

Blaine:
Are you awake enough to find your way?

Kurt:
Coming. Wait for me.

Blaine looks out over the edge onto the ancient city below. As they usually are at this time of night, the streets are dead, just the occasional bar patron walking home. Even from here, in the center of the city with lights from adobe buildings fighting for dominance, the sky is full of stars.

He settles into a chaise longue, narrower than the one he had shared with Kurt earlier that day up at Ten Thousand Waves, and stares up at the moon. In Santa Fe it's so easy to forget about everyone else looking at the same moon, everyone who will surely find fault with his actions, everyone who will be shocked to discover he's not one hundred percent Dalton gentleman after all.

He goes through the list of people who will understand, who won't even ask him for an explanation. David, for sure, and Jeff. And Ryan, his friend from college who heard one too many of Blaine's drunken confessions not to understand. It's an awfully short list, and soon Blaine is wondering why he insists on making mental lists to feel better when they so rarely help.

The door to the rooftop squeaks and he turns to see Kurt padding toward him wearing a pair of Blaine's sweatpants and one of his Berklee t-shirts.

"Shove over," he says, climbing in next to him. He scoots in close, throws an arm and a leg over Blaine and ends up with his body half on the chaise and half on Blaine. "Should I ask why we're up here, or is it best if I don't?"

"I come up here when I can't sleep," Blaine says. "I was just thinking about who will support us when they hear about us. I only came up with three people, besides Adele."

He slips his hand under Kurt's t-shirt and traces circles on his back.

"Does it matter? I mean, I know you're worried about what other people will think—"

"I'm not worried."

Kurt lifts his head so that Blaine can see him roll his eyes, and plops back down onto Blaine's shoulder, tucking his head in under Blaine's chin.

"You're not used to people not liking you," Kurt says.

"Just because they're angry with me doesn't mean they'll stop liking me."

"They might. I'm fully expecting judgment and recrimination from all camps."

"You would," Blaine teases.

"I'm a realist. You're not."

"Come on," Blaine says. "It's not that black and white. You're here with me, really with me, and I think that it took at least a little bit of idealism to admit you love me."

Kurt lifts his head again, stares directly into Blaine's eyes and says, "No. I had no choice. It wasn't some perfect hope that made me finally admit it. There was no coming back from what we started. You see? Realist."

"Maybe I am idealistic, I don't know." Blaine takes a deep breath, unlocks his eyes from Kurt's and looks up at the moon. "I left Liam."

Kurt sits up immediately, pulling away from Blaine. "You what?"

"We broke up. I broke us up."

"Please don't tell me you broke up with your boyfriend over the phone."

"I couldn't very well get on a plane, and I had to tell him, so I could—"

"When? We've been together almost nonstop—"

"Saturday, before the concert."

Kurt pushes off of Blaine and swing legs over the side of the chaise. He looks down at his hands and whispers, "So you could tell me you love me."

"Yes."

"Shit, Blaine. Shit. Shit. Shit." Kurt stands up and starts to pace around the swimming pool, the floodlights casting shadows on his face. "What did you say to him? Is he okay? Did he argue with you?"

"Not really, he just—"

"What is he going to do now? Did he cry? Oh my God, I'm going to be sick. What were you thinking, Blaine? Shit!"

"Do you want me to tell you?" Blaine says, letting the blanket fall as he sits up and forward in the chaise.

"You should have told me before you told him!"

"Why?"

"So I could tell you not to tell him!"

"I would have done it anyway. It was the right thing to do," Blaine says.

"No, telling him in person would have been the right thing to do. This is just... Blaine. Blaine. He deserves better than that, more. I can't believe... Shit."

Kurt looks at Blaine and shakes his head, backing up toward the edge of the roof all the while. "Did you... did you tell him about me?"

Blaine hops off the chaise and crosses to Kurt in two seconds. He takes him in his arms, squeezes, makes little shushing noises and tries to calm him down, but when Kurt pulls back, his eyes are wild, like he can't stop the worry. "Did you? Did you tell him?"

"No. He guessed."

"He guessed you were having an affair with your old Dalton friend, who you just happened to run into while staying at the same hotel?"

"He guessed that I was in love with someone else. He doesn't know it's you," Blaine explains. "He wasn't happy about it, and it wasn't pretty. I let him scream at me, and copped to all of it. The first mistake I made was trying to be with someone other than you, and he knew. He knew."

Stepping back from Kurt, Blaine steadies himself. He rests his hands on the wall at the edge of the roof, the rough stucco pressing uneven patterns into his skin. He hasn't seen this side of Kurt since the night he threw Caleb out of the bar. Not wanting to disrupt the New Directions reunion any further, Kurt had put on an air of relative calm all night, until the door to the apartment he shared with Rachel shut behind them and Blaine was met with Hurricane Kurt. He couldn't tell Kurt what he saw in the bathroom that night—Caleb pounding into a barely-legal, watered-down version of his gorgeous, amazing, perfect boyfriend—so he put up with the hurricane that was Kurt pacing and yelling at him, begging to know why, until they were both too tired to stay awake.

Kurt runs his fingers through his hair, pulls on the hem of Blaine's t-shirt and does his best to fight back what looks like a flood of tears. He looks at Blaine with the same pleading expression he wore that night all those years ago, asking for answers, willing Blaine to make everything okay.

"Kurt, they have to know. We never should have involved them in the first place—"

"What's that supposed to mean? You're saying I shouldn't have dated Paul, or anyone, or said yes to Paul's proposal, because I can't shake my love for you? Is that it? I was supposed to just wait for you and never love anyone? Never have a family, or anything real, just because we were idiots and couldn't get our shit together?"

Kurt is pacing again now, his hair wild. He wipes away a few stray tears before they have a chance to stain his face. "I have a life, Blaine, a whole life... I can't just break that over the phone. I can't... Paul is in D.C., and he needs to know I'll be there when he comes home. He can't fight this fight alone. He can't deal with a breakup when he's so close to winning, Blaine. He can't. I can't. I'm sorry."

The truth hits him harder than the thought it would. Blaine knew Kurt may not want to tell Paul right away, that he might ask for time to sort things out, but this is so much more than that. This is Kurt in mourning for his other life, afraid to leave it, afraid to embark on a new life with a man he may not fully trust, a love he's only just received.

It's then that he realizes the difference between them: Blaine never pretended he could make a substitute life without Kurt, while Kurt tried like hell to make something worthy and beautiful of his life without Blaine.

"Baby, listen. Come here. Please," Blaine says, holding out his arms. Kurt comes willingly, drawn to him like a magnet, and lets Blaine wrap him up and hold him tight. "I understand it's not simple, and maybe I was wrong to tell Liam over the phone, but it's done now, and I don't regret it. Could we just... make a plan for you to tell Paul? I need to know what comes next. I need to know when I'll see you again, when we can be together."

Kurt is quiet for a few minutes, resting. He wraps his arms around Blaine's waist and pulls his arms up around his back, much like he did during their first dance at The Pink.

"I'll tell him when I get back to New York," Kurt says, in a voice so soft, Blaine can barely hear him.

"And when will I see you again?" Blaine asks, his heart in his throat again.

"Will you come to New York? Can you get away?"

"When?"

"After I tell him. Will you come as soon as I call you?" Kurt asks, lifting up his head. Blaine still sees worry behind Kurt's eyes, but he's calmer now, and there is no trace of anger.

"We have maybe two more weeks of work before her album is finished. I'll come as soon as we're done. Even if you haven't told him yet, I'll just fly to New York and wait. I'll wait until you call me and then I'll come for you. Okay?"

"Okay. Yes."

He gives Blaine a soft kiss and Blaine decides that all of their future arguments should be fought while intermittently hugging and kissing. He laughs at the image of Kurt squirming to escape Blaine's grasp, turning his head away from kisses with a huff. It's the first picture of a proposed future with Kurt that he's allowed himself to see, one not likely ever to happen, but he's grateful for the thought. They have so much to negotiate, so much to discover about each other—how they'll fight, how they'll solve problems, how they'll divide up responsibilities, how they'll stand for each other against the world.

I'm ready for all of it, even if it means living with Hurricane Kurt, or any other less-than-wonderful side of my love, my man, my heart. I'll take all of him, thank you.

When Blaine gazes up at the moon this time, he sees what he's been waiting for. "Look up," he says, hand under Kurt's chin.

There they are. The Perseids: meteors shooting across the sky every few seconds, like dozens of wishes coming true. He watches as Kurt's eyes turn from worry to wonder. His grip on Blaine loosens and he relaxes into it, leans against Blaine without fear of falling, a smile forming at the corner of his lips.

Kurt kisses him again and says, "What if I hadn't said it back?"

"Hmm?"

"You broke up with Liam before you knew for sure if I loved you."

"I had to take the risk. I wasn't going to miss my chance with you again, no way," Blaine says. "I needed to cut off all other possibilities, and it wouldn't have been fair to Liam if I told you I loved you before letting him go."

They both look up at the sky. Blaine counts under his breath. "One, two... three... four... there's five—"

"Six... and seven," Kurt says.

"Eight—"

"It looks like a Disney movie," Kurt quips. "You know, the logo right before the movie starts?"

"It does. Nine... there's ten—"

They settle back into the chaise longue and count meteors while huddled under the blanket. With each one that falls, Blaine tries to push down the uneasy feeling that they might not be together right away, that Kurt might want to wait until Paul wins his fight. For now, he'll take every second he can get with Kurt and hope that Kurt too will be willing to risk everything for Blaine. Until then, he'll wait.

"Beautiful," Kurt says, after they've lost count, the first pink of sunrise coming up on the horizon. He kisses Blaine's cheek in thanks, as if he had ordered the Perseids just for Kurt. "I can't believe we get to see this."

Blaine returns the kiss, this time on the lips and says, "I knew they'd come."

--

They've taken over three tables on the outdoor patio at The Pink: the band, Mitchell and Gretchen and Adele; and Kurt and Blaine with their guests, Deidre, Antonio and Sarah. Kurt is deep into a discussion with Adele, while Blaine listens to Sarah share Alex Marin House success stories, her face lit up with pride. He hasn't seen Kurt all day—both of them busy with their respective projects—which is why he's been holding Kurt's hand under the table since the moment they sat down.

He wants to lock it down, the next steps for everything, the where and the how. He wants a written plan detailing the logistics of merging two lives; he wants to make it official. But where he was living on the periphery of his life in London, enjoying Liam's friendship and loving presence but never counting on forever, Kurt is fully enmeshed in his life with Paul. He knows that the thought of untangling two lives held up as an example for all of New York to see is overwhelming for Kurt, and complicated, so he doesn't push. Instead, he just holds his hand and tries to stay rooted in the moment.

The sun is setting, the band's cue to move inside to the backroom and set up, but Blaine still won't let go of Kurt's hand. He nods politely at Sarah's enthusiastic tales and asks questions, but all he wants to do is lean into Kurt and nuzzle his neck, ask him to dance, find a corner and kiss him slow and sweetly until the ice melts in their glasses and their friends have all gone home.

"Thank you for telling me! It changed my life, too, you know," Adele says, loud enough for Blaine to hear.

"I remember. You said that in your Grammy speech," Kurt says.

"Oh God, you were one of those kids watching at home, weren't you?"

"Guilty," Kurt says, and Blaine doesn't have to see Kurt's face to know he's blushing.

"Was it your song, then? Did you sing 'Someone Like You' for days, thinking of our poor Blaine?" she asks. Blaine tunes Sarah out in favor of hearing Kurt's answer.

"You would think, right? But it wasn't. I love the song, of course—"

"Of course. Jesus fuck, Kurt, everyone loves that song. I don't need you to love it, too," Adele teases.

"But I do, now for different reasons," Kurt says, touching her arm like they're old friends. "I had a different song, actually. For, you know... Blaine."

"One of mine?"

"Yes."

"If you don't tell me I'll go mad. Tell me. Which is it?"

"It was "Hiding My Heart," and I wore it out," Kurt replies.

Blaine tightens his grip on Kurt's hand. He's only played the song a few times, both he and Adele on stools, just her voice and his guitar. The words were not lost on him, but then every song seemed to have a connection to Kurt; it never occurred to him that Kurt would associate songs with Blaine and what they hadn't let themselves have, and how they let each other down, and how badly he still wanted him.

Without preamble, Adele begins to sing. "So this is how the story went, I met someone by accident who blew me away, who blew me away."

She nudges Kurt with her shoulder, egging him on, and he joins her, softly at first, and then with more confidence. "It was the darkest of my days, when you took my sorrow and you took my pain and buried them away, you buried them away."

Kurt squeezes Blaine's hand and all of the tables are silent as Kurt and Adele blend their voices, singing everyone out of the day and into the night before them. "And I wish I could lay down beside you when the day is done, and wake up to your face against the morning sun. But like everything I've ever known, you'll disappear one day. So I'll spend my whole life hiding my heart away."

Blaine notices one or two heads popping in the archway from the street, listening, caught up in the beautiful, impromptu song. He can see Antonio speaking softly to Sarah, his eyes wide and happy. He could swear he hears Deidre say, "The boy's got pipes," but without her ever-present cursing, he's not so sure. Mitchell has a small smile on his face, but as is his way, is otherwise stoic.

When they finish, Kurt lets go of Blaine's hand and embraces Adele with both arms, laughing. "I can't believe I just sang a song with Adele."

"I'm sitting right here, you know. Just a person," Adele says. She's smiling, and Blaine can tell that she's impressed with Kurt's unpracticed voice.

"Sorry. Yes. It takes some getting used to," Kurt says, blushing again.

"It's fine. Blaine looked a wreck the first few months I knew him, always standing at attention like some military school brat."

"It wasn't a military school. It was a prep school," Blaine says over Kurt's shoulder.

Adele rolls her eyes. "Whatever."

She flashes him a big smile and then gives him a look. He knows that look. It's the same look she gets when she's about to surprise him, or prank him, or embarrass him in front of thousands of people.

"So lovely, I Googled you and I found some fucking amazing stuff," Adele says, pulling her phone from her bag. For a moment Blaine worries that she's about to show him photos or articles that feature Paul, but instead she's loading a YouTube video.

"Adele, what—"

"Stop worrying, Blaine. It's all in good fun."

"Should I be scared? I feel scared," Kurt says, trying to catch a glimpse of the images on her phone.

"Not at all. Here, I found this ancient YouTube channel, 'We Make Culture.' It's you and a gorgeous girl with an astounding voice. Truly astounding. Who is this girl?"

"Mercedes Jones," Kurt says, his voice tinged with both pride and abject fear. "I haven't... we were just kids. I thought she deleted our account years ago."

"Apparently not. I was mighty entertained this weekend, and I even got the band to learn this one," Adele says, handing him her phone. "Sing it with me?"

"Now? You're not serious?" Kurt exclaims.

"Why not? Don't be like that. It's just us." She stands up and takes his hand. Kurt follows her, glancing back at Blaine who grabs their drinks. He looks excited, and nervous; Blaine wants all of this for him.

The back room is full of invited guests, just a dozen or so beyond those who came in from the patio. He waves to June at the bar and points to the stage where Kurt is standing next to Adele, working out the song. Just then he turns to find Blaine in the audience and bounces up and down. Blaine gives him the thumbs up and settles in next to Mitchell and Deidre.

"Ladies and gents, Mr. Kurt Hummel," Adele says, and the room erupts into applause and shouts of encouragement.

Kurt bites his lip, but when the music starts, he's all stage and no fear.

Blaine laughs as he hears the first few notes of "Shame, Shame, Shame." Blaine can tell Adele is trying to out-sing a 16-year-old Mercedes; she must really have been impressed by her voice. He makes a mental note to ask Kurt about her, maybe show one of the old videos to Shep when they meet.

It's a big, fun song, and Kurt owns his part like he never stopped singing. Sarah tries to pull Antonio onto the dance floor, but settles for Deidre instead. A few of the guests join them, bumping hips and trying to remember dance steps they only ever saw in retro movies. It's the best way to start off the night, a bit of silly and a lot of awesome, everyone shaking the day away and smiling at strangers who are about to become friends.

Kurt hits the high notes like an old pro, and when Antonio turns to Blaine, eyebrows raised and says, "Holy shit, man!" he just nods and smiles.

When the song is over, Kurt hugs Adele and they giggle like teenagers, so happy and bright. Blaine whistles, and Kurt shakes his hips in response. He runs off stage, leaving her to her next song, and walks straight to Blaine.

He kisses Blaine first and then says, "That was so much fun, oh my God!"

"You were amazing. I love to see you like that," Blaine says, eyes shining.

"Thank you!"

Sarah is on Kurt in a second and soon his friends surround him. Blaine steps back to let him them flail, to let him be adored. It doesn't last long, Adele's next song drawing Sarah and Antonio onto the dance floor. Mitchell motions Kurt over, and Blaine decides to leave them be. He tilts his head at Deidre and motions for her to join him at the bar.

June is in full bouffant, her eyes lined in black like Cleopatra. She winks at him and says, "Champagne?"

"No. Margaritas. Two, no salt."

"I thought you were celebrating," she says, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Celebrating what?" Deidre asks.

"That he got what he wanted, that he's his, and vice versa, all that good stuff," June says.

"What's she talking about?" Deidre asks, clearly annoyed with June's big hair and cryptic, all-knowing self.

"Deidre, this is June. And she's about to tell me she told me so," Blaine says, laughing.

"Well, I did. So how about a little champagne on me, then?"

"Pour one for Kurt, too," Blaine says.

"But of course."

He's about to walk the champagne over to Mitchell's table when he notices Kurt excuse himself and answer his phone. Deidre turns to see what he's looking at and says, "It's Paul. I can tell by the way he's holding the phone."

Blaine watches, his irritation growing with every passing minute. He gulps down half of his champagne and sets the glass down on the bar. He's suddenly quite desperate to know what Kurt is saying. Paul is amazing—great-looking, accomplished, devoted, not afraid to love Kurt, to tell him how he feels, to promise him forever. Blaine's only just getting around to all of that; he's acutely aware of his disadvantage.

"Comparison is the thief of joy," June says suddenly, topping him off. "Roosevelt said that, so don't go thinking I'm a genius or anything."

"Franklin D.?" Blaine asks, his eyes still fixed on Kurt. He looks for clues in his posture, his stance, the way he grips the phone.

"Teddy."

"So you're saying I'm stealing my own joy?" Blaine asks, turning to look at her at last.

"Well, you're a human being. That's what we do."

"Who the fuck are you?" Deidre asks.

"I'm June, as this lovely man already told you. And you, my dear, sad woman, are too wrapped up in the consequences of your own fucked up choices to listen to anything about anyone but yourself."

The guests applaud as Adele finishes the last note of "Forever Man"—it's good, but still not quite right. Blaine makes a break for it, avoiding the storm brewing at the bar. He takes Kurt's champagne, walks over to him and places it in his hand. Kurt, still on the phone, looks surprised to see him and a little guilty. Blaine ignores it and smiles. He knows what he has to do. He finds his guitar in with the gear, and looks over to Adele. Like June, she winks at him, and that's all the encouragement he needs.

Adele waves him over to the stage and says, "Hush up, now. No more chatter. We've got something unbelievably special happening right now," she says to the crowd. "Our Blaine has been holding out on us for years, but it seems he found his balls and now we get the rare gift of hearing a Blaine Anderson original."

From the stage he can see Kurt's mouth agape. He's off the phone in seconds. Blaine pulls a stool over and adjusts the microphone. "The curse of being short," he jokes, and the audience laughs off their secondhand nerves.

"I don't usually sing in front of people I know, unless I'm backing up this lady," he begins, nodding toward Adele. As he speaks, he tunes his guitar. "But I wrote this song for a dear friend when I first moved to London. He's the love of my life, and he's never heard me sing it. And since he's here tonight, I thought I'd give it a try. Are you all good with that?" he asks the audience.

Really, he's asking Kurt. He can hear Antonio's "Damn right!" and June's high-pitched hoot in the chorus of yeses. Kurt stays rooted in his spot.

(PRESS PLAY AND IMAGINE BLAINE SINGING)

The moment Blaine starts playing the familiar tune, the simple melody, the easy strumming takes him over and he's not afraid. Everything is open and on the table now, and he can share this song with people who know his story, his laugh; he can sing this song for Kurt without concern that he'll mess it up.

"Sweet and high at the break of dawn, simple tune that you can hum along to. I remember there was a time when I used to sing for you."

Kurt walks toward him slowly, tentatively, his hands in his pockets. He's looking at Blaine like he's seeing him for the first time, like he's a mystery, and Blaine realizes he hasn't heard Blaine sing in years, not since David's bachelor party.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Antonio wrap his arms around Sarah from behind as they sway together. June, who has hopped up onto the bar, swings her legs next to Deidre who, for the moment, seems to be less annoyed than usual.

"Knew all the words to the popular songs, with the radio on full volume. I remember there was a time when I used to sing for you."

Kurt continues toward the stage. Blaine sings right to him. Adele, who has been standing back with the band, joins him on the chorus, careful not to overpower his voice. A few people find their way to the dance floor, but most stay in their seats, listening, watching Kurt and Blaine as they both move toward each other, one in body, one in voice.

He needs this; he needs Kurt to know that they weren't just words. I can't remember a time when I wasn't in love with you. He needs him to understand that no matter how difficult the transition is, no matter how long he has to wait for Kurt to let go of everything he's built, his plans and his compromises and everything wrong and right about Paul and their love, he'll wait. He'll wait forever.

"Forget the chorus, you're the bridge. The words and music to everyday I've lived. There's nothing I wouldn't give for one more time, when I can sing for you."

Just a few feet from the stage, Kurt smiles in wonder, places one hand over his heart and sings along.