Blaine picked up the phone with shaking hands and dialled the number his eyes always nervously skipped past as he scrolled through his contacts. He folded the newspaper carefully, smoothing out the pages with his fingertips as his eyes scanned the article again and again.

"Hi this is Kurt Hummel, if your name is Mathew Hawkes then kindly fuck off and stop calling me, if you're anyone else leave a message and I'll try and get back to you."

Blaine waited for the tone and drew in a shaky breath, cursing his voice for trembling. "H-hi Kurt it's uh Blaine. You're probably busy right now that's okay. I just called to say congratulations! New York Times Best Seller eh? That's great! You're editor is an idiot, ‘too emotional and lacking poise and delicacy'? Who does that douche bag think he is?" Blaine broke off, hysterical laughter stuttering and hitching in his throat. "A-anyway I um, I haven't read it yet, Maggie is er she wants to put your stuff back on the shelves, make a big thing of it so I'll probably read it when she gets it in. I'm sorry I haven't called or anything I've been-" avoiding you? Hiding? Running scared? "Busy." You're a liar Blaine Anderson. "I should probably go this was way longer than I thought it was gonna be," than I wanted it to be "call me back sometime? Or don't, it's fine either way anyway okay take care bye."

He ended the call and leant against the tiny kitchen island, heart beating rapidly like a hummingbird's wings. He'd done it. He'd finally plucked up the courage to get into contact with Kurt after months of forcing himself to stay silent, to let him move on without him. He had done well, succeeding in staying away. Despite everything however, it was both so impossibly easy and excruciatingly hard. It was so easy to convince himself that it was for the best. It was easy because it hurt too much to even think about him let alone hear his voice over the phone or see him on Skype. On the other hand, it was hard because he loved him, and no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that it wasn't going to happen, that they weren't going to be together, he just couldn't let go. He couldn't go to a club without thinking he'd caught a glimpse of him somewhere in the crowd, couldn't go to their coffee shop on the corner without thinking about the old lady who had mistaken them for being a couple and how Blaine had desperately wished that they actually were. He couldn't go on dates with other guys no matter how sweet and attractive they were because he just couldn't stop thinking out how they didn't smile like him, or talk like him, act like him, fuck like him. They didn't make him blush or grin or giggle. They didn't make him moan or writhe or whimper. They didn't make him love them. They weren't Kurt.

With every day that past he felt more and more drawn to Kurt's novel. He'd seen it regularly in the windows of countless bookstores, the unsettlingly large poster of Kurt's author portrait staring back at him in black and white. Needless to say he often hurried past those stores, reluctant to catch the eye of the emotionless photograph. Within a few days of Blaine's call, Kurt's books were back on the shelves of Maggie's quaint little book shop. He'd held ‘A Picture for a Poet' in his hands on countless occasions but never turned it over to read the blurb or dared open to the first page and actually read the words it bore.

Tired of his hesitance, Maggie had taken it upon herself to slip the book into his satchel one afternoon just before closing. As Blaine reached into his bag upon that evening to retrieve his glasses, his fingertips brushed the silver embossed spine and he couldn't help but marvel at how someone as disarmingly charming and sweet as Maggie Atkinson could be so sly and conniving. He pulled the book out with sure hands and placed it on his writing desk, convincing himself to leave it for the weekend.

Blaine filled his days with half-lies and almost-truths. He was relatively busy, he had an upcoming exhibit at NYU to prepare for, school work to complete and a job to go to but it wasn't as if he had so little time that he couldn't spend five minutes composing an email or simply giving Kurt a quick call. He had shrouded himself in so many paradoxical statements that he often had difficulty determining what was fact and what was fabricated, what was excusable and what were mere petty excuses. He grew tired. His head was barely ever clear and was plagued with so much confusion that he was seldom without a headache.

He carried on. Smiled when he was happy, cried when the sadness took its toll. He embraced it all with wide eyes and a heavy heart.

~*~

The exhibit was held on a Friday evening in NYU's Silver Center. All the students showcasing their work were dressed to impress including Blaine. Standing proudly by his pieces he'd never felt so accomplished. His pride shone brightly as he spoke passionately about his concepts and technique to all those who stopped by to ask him questions. He was one step closer, his first big show and he had the coveted middle panel spot, his peers eying him with envy. Still he only smiled back, praising pieces where praise was due. He was in his element.

"Blaine" someone called from behind him and he turned to find none other than Jonah, grinning and looking exceedingly dashing in his silver suit. "Jonah hi!" Blaine breathed out, smiling just as wide despite his history with the man. "How are things?" Jonah asked tentatively and Blaine paused for a while, thinking. "They're good," he replied, accepting Jonah's awkward hug "they're um really good, how are things with you?"

"I um better," Jonah mumbled, voice low as he sipped at his champagne "I'm in a programme for err you know so. It's hard but better." Tears glistened in Blaine's eyes as he heard the news, squeezing the man's hand with a watery smile. "I'm glad," he said just as quietly "and I'm proud of you, truly I am."

Jonah looked at him in disbelief, taking in the man before him. He was so confident now, and seemed so strong and unstoppable. It had taken him a long time to realise that his path was taking him somewhere he didn't want to go, shaping him into someone he didn't want to be. He woke up, thankfully, and with Blaine standing before him shining beautifully with pride and passion he realised what a mistake he'd made in letting him go.

"I'm sorry Blaine," he said sincerely for the first time in his life "I'm sorry I hurt you a-and that I was a fucking asshole to you. You deserved a whole lot better and I'm sorry I was never the one to give you that." He could feel his own eyes start to fill with unshed tears and Blaine just squeezed his hand a little tighter, gaze unwavering. "I forgive you," he said simply "I can't excuse what you did, it hurt more than you know but I forgive you. You gave me a chance to grow, and learn and realise sometimes things aren't always as they seem."

"You-" Jonah cleared his throat, "You're too good for this world B. You're too good for any of us." Blaine hit him playfully on the shoulder.

"You make me sound like such a snob!" He laughed, bright and unrestrained and Jonah smiled so wide he thought his jaw might unhinge as a result. He had loved this ridiculous, clever, breathtaking boy once. "Honestly though Blaine, I meant it."

"Meant what?"

"That you're beautiful. And in another life I think I would still be in love with you."

"Thank you," Blaine whispered, snuggling close and leaning into Jonah's arm around his waist, happy to be close to a person who used to mean so much to him and in many ways still did "in another life I think so too."

~*~

Kurt Hummel was late. He'd had everything planned out to the last minute detail as soon as he'd gotten ‘the call' but it seemed that, with getting a new agent he couldn't guarantee he was going to get a competent one. Interviews were rescheduled hastily and some then cancelled if they really couldn't handle him needing to reschedule so short notice. His flight was delayed by three hours, the subway was a nightmare, his hair was falling out of place and his tuxedo's bowtie was crooked. He sprinted up the steep stone steps toward the building and its entrance, he flashed his (difficult to acquire) invitation at the doormen and tried to compose himself before making his way up the spiral stair case, his sweaty palms clinging to the wrought iron balustrade.

He hovered just outside the gallery for a moment, steeling his nerves and smoothing down his hair before striding in with faux confidence and scanning the room. The room was filled with a multitude of pieces but none caught his eye quite like the work imaginatively framed on the central wall. Instantly, he recognised them as Blaine's. If not from what he'd already seen of his work but for the title he'd given his collection. There, backed in emerald green and written in beautiful, silver cursive hung the word ‘Neverland'. Slowly, he walked toward it with awe, skilfully dodging waiters and other viewers alike. Blaine's work was astonishing, every bit just as detailed as the next. He'd captured the very essence of Neverland: to live freely and happily, to never grow up.

Ripping his eyes away he searched for Blaine himself, spotting him talking animatedly and laughing with a man and a woman by a large sculpture. It took a little while for him to be able to take in anything but Blaine, momentarily and blissfully stunned by his beaming smile, his graceful posture and broad shoulders. A few dismal moments later however, he began to notice. He noticed the arm around his waist and the lips pressed against his ear, whispering something that made Blaine blush that divine shade of pink. He watched as Blaine pulled back slightly, swatting the man on the arm playfully and that's when the man's face finally came into view.

His irrational jealousy quickly transformed to unprecedented bitter resentment and rage. At first he had felt bad for feeling so envious of the other man. Of course Blaine would've moved on, he'd never had any right to Blaine, he couldn't have expected Blaine to just run into his arms upon his return. He looked happy, glowing with something that hadn't been there before and Kurt just simply ached to touch, to feel soft, warm skin against his own again. He ached but he'd been foolish to assume that he would have waited for him, that his world would've simply stopped turning because he wasn't there, like Kurt's had.

Anger, he was burning with it all because the man whom Blaine had been held so close by was none other than Jonah. The very same man who had treated Blaine as if he were nothing, whom Kurt had quickly come to hate as he'd learnt bit by bit just how much he'd hurt the one person he cared so much for. For the sake of the show Kurt stood fast, keeping his distance and watching as Blaine broke away from the group, leaving with a swift but sweet kiss to Jonah's cheek. Trying valiantly to take calming breaths he stared at the pieces in front of him, waiting for the anger and heartache to dissipate.

It hadn't by the time Blaine stepped up beside him, too far for him to reach out and touch but close enough so he could see the quirk to his full lips and the honey-hazel of his irises. "Hello Kurt." He said softly; quiet but loud enough to be heard above the babble of chatter echoing through the great hall. "Hello Blaine." Kurt replied just as quietly, reaching out into the space between them and hoping. Without any hesitation Blaine met him halfway, tangling their fingers together like he used to and squeezing tight. He held on, moving closer as Kurt looked straight ahead, a smile tugging at his lips. "Welcome to the NYU Fine Art Spring Exhibition here at the Silver Center," Blaine recited professionally with a goofy grin "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"I came to see you." Kurt said simply, smiling back at the wonderfully silly boy before him. "I-um you shouldn't have, what with your new book and all you must be really busy with everything an-"

"-and I wanted to see you." Kurt cut him off, tugging on his hand to bring him closer. "You look good." He added awkwardly.

"Thank you. So do you." Eyes flitting from Kurt's lips to his eyes and back again Blaine mumbled out a reply. He pulled back quickly, skin flushing a deep red as he smiled wide and genuine.

"This means a lot to me Kurt, thank you for coming to see my work."

"It's a pleasure." Kurt said sincerely, staring up at a picture of a man, supposedly Peter all grown up sitting at a very familiar desk at a very familiar typewriter. Silence descended as both men stared up at the picture, hands linked between them keeping them tethered, together once more. "We have a lot to talk about." Blaine looked at Kurt directly for the first time since he'd arrived. "Can't the words wait?" Kurt asked almost desperately "For now?"

"The words can wait." Blaine whispered, tugging him away by the hand and toward the exit, giving Jonah a wave at his knowing smile as they passed "They can wait, just for now."

‘"Take care, lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe."'