After three years of skating together, there were a lot of things Kurt knew about Blaine.

He knew that Blaine disliked wearing socks to an almost pathological level. He knew that when Blaine was feeling particularly emotional — at either the happy or sad ends of the spectrum —his eyes suddenly looked too big for his face, like a character out of Japanese Anime. He knew that Blaine was popular with the gentlemen and wasn't always the most discriminating about who he hooked up with. He knew that the hesitant, off-center way that Blaine clapped wasn't a result of any lingering head trauma (he'd asked). He knew that Blaine smelled of raspberries on the days he decided to gel his hair. And he knew that, even when presented with overwhelming evidence to the contrary, Blaine always tried to believe the best in people.

He knew all these things and more, so he didn't expect the change in their living situation to have a big impact. After all, he already spent ten hours a day with the man.

Then, one day, about three months after Blaine had moved in, Kurt walked into the kitchen to get some breakfast and found himself absentmindedly pouring a bowl of cereal that was one quarter Golden Grahams, one quarter Apple-Cinnamon Cheerios, one quarter Captain Crunch, and one quarter Corn Flakes. Since Kurt himself ate an omelet for breakfast every day he was baffled for a second as to what he was doing. He stood there, his hand frozen mid-air in the act of pouring the last bit of cereal into the bowl, staring at the box as if it might hold the answers to the universe, or at least to his strange behavior.

"Ah, that's so sweet of you, Kurt. I'm starving. And it looks like you got the proportions right, too!" Blaine grabbed the bowl from the counter and happily slipped into a chair at the kitchen table, already taking his first bite.

Kurt spun around and began blindly pulling the ingredients for his omelet out of the fridge. As he stood over the stove, waiting to perform his patented, never-fail "Hummel Flip", he listened to Blaine crunch and considered what he'd done. Ten minutes ago he would have truthfully sworn that he had no idea that Blaine even ate cereal for breakfast, let alone the precise make-up of his favorite mix. How on earth had such a thing burrowed its way into his mind without him knowing?

He slid his breakfast onto a plate and primly took his own seat at the table. Despite the fact that he and Blaine now cohabitated, things hadn't changed that much. Okay, so now they carpooled to the rink (it just made sense. No reason to waste gas) and usually ate dinner together (Kurt liked to cook and it was more fun to cook for two than for one, after all) and sure, they usually ended up watching movies or TV together to relax in the evening (why should either of them retreat to their room to watch something on a tiny computer screen when their tastes matched up so well?), but that was it. Other than that nothing had changed. They lived their separate lives and tried to stay out of each other's way.

If Kurt happened to wait up until Blaine came home on the nights he went out with friends, well, that was just being a good roommate who was concerned about his safety. They hadn't grown any closer and Kurt didn't feel that he knew Blaine any better. Except…

Now he knew that Blaine preferred to eat pizza with a knife and fork. Now he knew that Blaine carried a monogrammed handkerchief and his grandfather's old pocket watch to remind himself that permanent things existed in their disposable world. Now he knew that while Blaine loved to read and had a stack of novels next his bed, he could, more often than not, be found to be re-reading something from his obscenely large comic book collection. And now, after watching Blaine organize his clothes after unpacking, Kurt was starting to suspect that he might have a bow tie hoarding problem.

Of course, he'd learned bigger, more important things also. His image of a proper and always controlled Blaine had been shattered one day about a month before when he'd come home from the store to find Blaine in the living room, singing and dancing to an Adam Lambert song, dressed only in boxer shorts and a t-shirt, with one of Kurt's feather boas wrapped around his neck and eyeliner accenting his eyes. Kurt was ashamed to admit that he had been shocked, never considering before that Blaine had much of a flamboyant side to him. That incorrect preconception had died a quick death when Blaine had seen him in the doorway and continued to dance, even exaggerating his gyrations. He'd sung even louder and pulled Kurt in to dance beside him. Kurt still felt the urge to open a window at the thought of how their bodies had moved together. It wasn't as if such close contact wasn't a daily occurrence for them, but it had felt different in the dim light of his living room, with no coach watching and no planned steps to concentrate on.

Blaine finished his cereal and pushed his chair back from the table, startling Kurt out of his reverie. He rinsed his bowl out, and put it into the dishwasher before giving Kurt a smile and saying he'd be ready to leave for the rink in ten minutes. Kurt watched him go before rising and mechanically washing his own dishes. Except for his dad and maybe Santana, he'd never had the opportunity to know someone so well. Even with Adam, who he'd been dating for over four years, there was still a distance, a formality that prevented them from really knowing each other.

With Blaine things were starting to become second nature, just as Isabelle had predicted. He could tell Blaine's mood by the music he played and whether or not he'd gotten lucky the night before by the faint rash burn on his neck and spring in his step. It made him uncomfortable, knowing that this familiarity was a two-way road and that, if Blaine wanted to, he could know Kurt just as well.

=^..^=

Blaine wasn't sure of many things, but one thing he was confident of was that Kurt Hummel was mostly a mystery to him.

Oh, he knew the surface stuff, like that Kurt was addicted to reading Vogue magazine, that he dressed like he'd stepped out of the pages of said magazine, and that he had a tongue that could strip the skin off an enemy in ten seconds flat, but the deeper stuff? The stuff that would tell him who Kurt really was deep down inside? For the most part he had no clue.

Living together proved to be a revelation. It was like taking the line drawing that was his impression of Kurt and filling it in until it was a beautiful, vibrant watercolor.

Before he'd moved in with Kurt he could have told someone that Kurt smelled like the expensive French skin cream he ordered directly from Provence and kept in his locker, but it was only later that he learned that Kurt also layered in a tiny spritz of the perfume his mother used to wear in order to remind himself why he skated. Before, Blaine had known that Kurt dressed in clothes of the finest fabrics, but it was only later that he discovered it was because most cheaper fabrics irritated and marked his sensitive skin. He'd always known that Kurt was funny — his snarky observations and comments really livened up a marathon training session — but he came to learn that beneath the sarcasm was a disarming dry wit that he yearned to hear more of. Before, he'd thought it was funny that Kurt preached about healthy eating, but kept snack cakes in his locker at the rink, but later he learned that Kurt didn't keep the sweets at home because he didn't want to tempt his dad — who was on a restricted diet for health reasons — when he came to visit.

Blaine had always been a gregarious, outgoing guy and loved finding out what made people tick, how their experiences and life's journey had led them to become the person they were, so he savored each little glimpse into Kurt's life and filed the tidbits away in the scrapbook in his mind. It was the little, mundane things that Blaine found so fascinating. That Kurt was abnormally afraid of vampires and could recite the dialog to almost every old black and white film noir. That he made a mean soufflé, but for some reason couldn't cook a steak correctly to save his life. That he had a pair of gold pants in his closet that he refused to tell the story behind. That he spoke French almost fluently, but had never been to France. That he sometimes had dark smudges on his fingers, but got defensive whenever someone asked about them. That while watching skating routines on TV he weaved and bobbed as he did the routine with the skater from his seat. That despite years of waking up at the crack of dawn for practice, he would still oversleep if he forgot to set his alarm.

At times he found himself a bit more fascinated and enthralled by the mystery that was Kurt than he probably should be, but that was just because Kurt was making him work harder than usual. At least that was what he kept telling himself.

And if Blaine found himself hurrying past horror movies when it was his time to control the remote, or making sure to record Double Indemnity when he saw it on the TV schedule, or pausing at Kurt's door in the morning to listen for sounds that confirmed that he'd gotten up on time, well, that was just being a good friend.

Yet, despite all the time that they'd spent together, Blaine still felt like maybe he hadn't seen the real Kurt. There was an emotional distance that Kurt kept between himself and everyone around him and sometimes it seemed almost unsurpassable. At first, Blaine had thought it might just be that Kurt wanted to keep his professional relationships just that, professional, but as time passed he realized that Kurt kept everyone, except his father, at arm's length. Whenever Burt came to stay, Blaine saw a transformation in Kurt. There was an easiness that just didn't happen around anyone else. Usually, Kurt had an air of wariness about him and leaned his body back just slightly from those around him, a slight tension in his muscles signaling a readiness to leap away at any moment, but Kurt leaned towards Burt, like a flower soaking up the sun. Their relationship was amazing and Blaine admitted to being just the tiniest bit jealous.

What he wasn't jealous of, though, was Kurt's relationship with Adam. Adam seemed like a perfectly nice guy and was always kind to Blaine, but amazingly, he hadn't been the slightest bit concerned that Blaine was moving in with Kurt and that just seemed a little strange. He understood that Adam trusted Kurt and all, but he hadn't blinked an eye at the news that his boyfriend was going to be living with another guy. When Adam came to visit, the three of them usually hung out together and Blaine never got the feeling from either one of them that he was an unwanted third wheel and should make himself scarce. In fact, even when he'd offered to leave them alone they had asked him to stay. If it were him and he only saw his boyfriend once every couple of months, he'd pull him into the bedroom as soon as they entered the house and not let him out except to eat.

Blaine had expected to see Kurt drop his guard around Adam, but his barriers remained in place, for the most part. He definitely didn't show the ease that he exhibited around his dad, which was surprising, but Blaine tried not to judge. Kurt and Adam had been together a long time, so whatever they had must be working for them.

All-in-all, though, Blaine was amazed at how well things were going. That wasn't to say, of course, that they didn't have their tiffs. The close quarters sometimes brought out Kurt's colorful side and Blaine pushed things too hard with his need to always please, but they were making it work and having some fun doing it.

It was a few days after the potentially embarrassing incident with the boxer shorts and the feather boa — which had happily turned into a fun fifteen minute dance party — that Blaine felt like he and Kurt had a break-through. He was in his room, re-reading the first three X-Men: Dark Phoenix issues, when he heard what sounded like a sob from the down the hall. He followed the sound and found Kurt sitting on the floor in front of the TV, his eyes glued to the screen and a crumpled up tissue clutched in his hand. It was the first time he'd seen Kurt cry.

Blaine watched the TV for a few minutes until he recognized the movie. "Steel Magnolias? Really?" he asked skeptically.

Kurt wiped the tissue under one eye and glared up at him. "If you don't cry when Shelby dies you have no soul, Blaine. No soul at all."

"No, hey I agree." Blaine raised his hands in surrender and took a seat on the floor next to Kurt. "Totally heartwrenching. I just didn't really expect you to be into this sort of movie. So far it's been more about the romances and the musicals."

"Sometimes you just need a good cry, you know? And not the kind of crying you get from a romantic movie. It's therapeutic." Kurt reached over and moved a bowl of popcorn to his left side, closer to Blaine.

"Where the Red Fern Grows is my go to movie for that," Blaine revealed as he grabbed a handful of the treat. "Or Dumbo. God, saddest cartoon ever."

Kurt turned towards him a little, dipping his hand in to the bowl that now sat between them. "I see you and raise you the beginning of Up! Or the end of Toy Story 3."

"Mmm. Beaches."

"Mommie Dearest. What?" Kurt shrugged defensively at Blaine's look of amusement. "I don't know which makes me cry harder —the horrible life the daughter had or Faye Dunaway's acting. Though I do have to agree with Joan about the wire hangers. They are an abomination."

They ended up staying awake until two in the morning, just talking and commiserating on favorite books, movies, and what-not. It was as if having Blaine see him cry had wedged a door open a crack within Kurt. Blaine saw more emotion from him during those five hours than he'd seen in three and a half years. He felt that maybe, just maybe, he was finally seeing the real Kurt Hummel.

=^..^=

Blaine stumbled on the bottom step and turned to wave at Cooper sheepishly. Cooper tried for the disapproving older brother look, but his laughter ruined his attempt, so he just gave a little wave as he backed his car out of Kurt's driveway and headed towards the highway.

Blaine slid his key into the lock, happily noting that he was successful on his first attempt. The club he and Cooper had gone to that night had been packed and guys had been buying him drinks all night, much to Cooper's amusement. He wondered when being hit on in front of his brother would stop being embarrassing. Probably never. Cooper, as the designated driver, had limited himself to just one drink, so he had kept himself entertained by finding new ways to drive away each guy who approached their table. He'd loudly asked Blaine when his wife was expecting him to pick up the baby and whether or not the pills the doctor had given him had cleared up his rash. He'd implied to one guy that Blaine was impotent (God, Blaine could have killed him for that one. That man had been gorgeous) and told another that they were on a weekend pass from their cult compound. Blaine had to remember to never invite Cooper along again when he was horny and looking to get laid.

He shut the door quietly behind him and shrugged his coat off. He tried to hang it up in the closet, but the workings of the hanger defeated him and he finally just dropped it to the floor instead. He'd worry about that in the morning and just hope that Kurt didn't see it first. Crap. Kurt. He and Cooper had invited Kurt to go out with them, but he'd refused, as he normally did. It made Blaine feel guilty to think about him sitting at home while he went out and had fun, but Kurt always claimed that he liked his alone time, especially now that it was in such short supply. Maybe he called Adam up for some Skype sex while he had the house to himself. Blaine made a face. Okay, that picture needed to leave his head right that minute, because just…no.

He shook his head to chase away the disturbing image and then had to put a hand to the wall to stop from falling over. He grinned a little from the head rush, though. Head rushes were awesome. They kind of reminded him of the feeling he got when he looked down at a guy who was kneeling at his feet, worshiping him… He let his head fall forward to the wall with a thump. God, it had been way too long since he'd gotten any. Stupid training. And stupid head-rush-blocking Cooper.

Blaine straightened up from the wall, his equilibrium momentarily restored. He toed his shoes off in the hallway, knowing he'd get a lecture the next morning about having respect for his clothing and turned towards the living room. He could see the light of the TV flickering and knew that Kurt was probably sitting on the couch, his legs curled up beneath him. Kurt was usually still up when he came home from a night out. He always said he wasn't waiting up, that he was just a night owl, but Blaine liked to pretend that he wanted to make sure that Blaine got home okay.

It turned out Kurt was on the couch, but he was fast asleep with one arm dangling out awkwardly in the air. Blaine tip-toed silently forward and picked up the remote to turn the TV off. As he passed the couch, he realized that the notebook he'd sometimes seen Kurt with was lying open on the floor next to him, obviously dropped when he fell asleep. He'd asked Kurt a few times what he was drawing, but Kurt had always just shrugged and said he was only doodling. Blaine stooped to pick the pad up and was just about to set it on the coffee table when the top page caught his eye. It was a drawing of a girl in an elaborate skating costume. He glanced quickly at Kurt to confirm he was still sleeping then stepped closer to the lamp on the end table, bringing the sketch pad with him. The drawing was beautiful and incredibly detailed and obviously not just a doodle. A slash of black at the bottom of the sketch caught his eye and he tilted his head to bring the word into focus. Blackbird.

Feeling guiltier by the second, Blaine flipped through the book, finding page-after-page of designs, including a version of the costume Brittany had worn at Nationals a few years earlier. Blaine's brain was a bit sluggish from all the alcohol, but the picture began to come together in his mind. Kurt had a notebook of costume designs all signed with "Blackbird". Kurt, who got defensive whenever Blaine asked him about the smudges on his fingers. Kurt, who never let anyone see the "doodles" he was drawing. Kurt, who was evidently a costume designer.

A quiet rustling from the couch told him that Kurt was waking up, so Blaine turned, the book still held high in his hands.

Kurt blinked sleepily a few times and arched his back to stretch as he yawned. "Hey, you're home. What time is it? I didn't mean to fall asleep…What is that?" His eyes were zeroed in on the sketch pad in Blaine's hands.

"You must have dropped…and I…it was open and…" Blaine fumbled for the right thing to say. "Why didn't you tell me you were Blackbird?"

Kurt snatched the sketch pad away and glared at Blaine as he clutched it close to his chest. "That's private. You had no right to look at that."

"I'm so sorry, Kurt. I didn't mean to, I swear. It was just there and I…They're amazing. You're amazing."

"Yeah, well, I'd prefer it if you didn't tell anyone that I'm, you know—"

"The best skating costume designer in the business right now? Why would you want to keep that a secret?"

Kurt sighed and opened the book up to the first page, trailing his finger over the drawing of an intricate red skating dress. "The first time was an accident. Santana and I were struggling to get designs we liked, so I just started sketching what we were looking for. Once Santana saw what I was doing she demanded that we find a way to get someone to make exactly what I'd drawn. It was just going to be a one-time thing, but then someone asked who our designer was and I just blurted out the name Blackbird. I guess I didn't want to give people yet another thing they could criticize me about. Then people started asking for contact info and it just snowballed from there. The system works pretty well; I have an assistant who handles the business side and I only have to think about the designs and watching the money role in. People get their costumes and don't have to be distracted by concerns about conflict of interest or any personal opinions they might have about me. It's best for everyone this way."

Blaine dropped down on the couch and flipped the corner of the blanket over his lap. He leaned his shoulder into Kurt's and looked down at the drawing. "I remember that costume from one of your old performance videos. You guys looked great."

"I called it 'Devil in a Red Dress.'" Kurt flipped forward a few pages to a sketch of a men's costume that appeared to have wings. "Now, I made this one for Johnny Weir. It was after he went professional, so he asked for something even more outrageous than what he wore during competitions. I had to talk him down from his original request of 'something Priscilla, Queen of the Desert.'"

"Wow, that's the toned down version?"

"Very."

Blaine curled his legs up beside him and leaned a bit heavier on Kurt, fatigue suddenly hitting him hard. "I can't believe you can draw like this and I never knew. I'm lucky if I draw a stick figure with its head in the right place."

They thumbed through the designs and Kurt talked about his inspirations and told funny stories about difficult clients. Blaine was really interested, but he felt consciousness slipping away from him bit-by-bit. Finally, he laid his head against the cushion and snuggled into the blanket a little deeper. Just as he was about to drift off, a thought occurred to him. "You realize that now you have to design our costumes for this year, right? I won't let you get out of it. I want a 'Devil in a Red Dress' moment. Except not red. Maybe white…"

Sleep finally claimed him and he didn't hear a response, if there was one, and he didn't feel Kurt's body tense and then slowly relax when Blaine's head fell to the side, coming to rest on his shoulder.