For the first time in a long time, Kurt sleeps past sunrise. He stirs and rouses briefly when Blaine shifts out from under his arm. He squints in the sunlight long enough to watch Blaine clamber groggily from the bed and pull on his pajamas, but Kurt falls back into unconsciousness before Blaine's even tied his robe.

He wakes again when he hears his Dad's laughter. That's enough to banish the cobwebs of slumber. Kurt sits up and then leans over the side of the bed for where his pajama top lies crumpled and cold on the floor. He pulls it over his head, not bothering to unbutton it. He finishes dressing, shivering within the layers of chilly fabric.

There's a stuffiness to his head he associates with having gotten too much sleep, even though all he did get (he checks his phone) was an uninterrupted six hours. It's an uncommon luxury for his brain. He hesitantly examines his morning-after conscience, expecting to find some extra helping of regret for last night, but he can't find any. That's a remarkably deep relief.

When he ventures out of his room, he finds Blaine and his father sitting in the kitchen. They've got coffee mugs and empty, crumb filled plates before them. The scents of savory cooked eggs and smoky toast hang in the air. Friendly conversation between them dwindles when Kurt says, "Good morning."

Blaine looks up at him and smiles tightly. There's more than a little reservation behind it. His Dad asks, "Did you sleep well?"

Kurt walks behind Blaine to the sink, trails his fingers across the back of Blaine's shoulders casually as he passes. He's not sure what the protocol is right now, but it's all he can think of to reassure. He doesn't have a sense from his father of whether he knows Blaine spent the night in Kurt's bed or not. Has no inkling of what his father would think of that. He washes his hands before turning to the espresso machine. He unscrews the reservoir lid with a faint pop. It's still warm. Looks like he only just missed it.

"Better than I have for a while," Kurt replies. He takes the handle and levers the filter loose, then he taps the coffee grounds into the bottom of the sink. He glances at Blaine and says, "Thanks."

Blaine presses his lips together and looks down at his plate.

"You've already eaten?" Kurt asks. The answer is obvious enough, but he's—not jealous, not exactly—but ineffably aggrieved that he missed breakfast with his Dad, with them both. He can sleep later; he should have set an alarm. He sighs heavily.

"I'll cook you something," Blaine says with a mild note of defensiveness. "I just scrambled some eggs for your Dad and me. I didn't want to wake you, you were—"

"I wish you had," Kurt says. "So I could have joined you, but—" Kurt closes his eyes, takes breath. "Yes, please, that'd be nice." He leaves the espresso machine to do its thing and goes to the fridge to pour himself a glass of juice. Then he sits down with his Dad while Blaine washes the frying pan.

"Sorry, kiddo," his Dad says. "But knowing you, you probably needed the sleep."

Kurt shrugs and nods. "I'd just liked to have had breakfast with you, Dad, before you leave."

"Hey, I'm not gone yet."

"Yeah. I know, it's just—"

"It's okay," says his Dad, and he reaches across the table and covers Kurt's hand with his own.

"How many eggs?" Blaine asks.

Kurt turns his hand beneath his Dad's and squeezes his Dad's fingers. Then he retrieves his hand and picks up his orange juice. "Two's fine," he says to Blaine.

"You two have a good night?" his Dad asks, softly enough that it's clear the question is for Kurt, but not so softly that Blaine won't hear it. The words are simple enough, not loaded with anything in particular. His Dad isn't teasing or judging or assuming.

"Mmm," Kurt says over the rim of his glass. He flicks his gaze to Blaine, whose shoulders tense. "Eventually," Kurt says, "yes."

Kurt sees the corner of Blaine's lips twitch.

Which is encouraging, but Kurt doesn't want to think about last night too much right now or what reservations Blaine may be harboring. He has his Dad for few enough hours now. "So how are you feeling this morning?" he asks, and they discuss the details of the day to come. His Dad is catching a train down to D.C. just before noon. He's got that appointment with the oncologist at John Hopkins to coordinate treatment options for when he gets back to work after the holiday break.

The eggs Blaine serves are perfect: fluffy, moist but not runny, and seasoned well. He's been practicing, and Kurt is sure to compliment him.

#

Kurt makes sure to fill all the empty space in his Dad's suitcase with holiday leftovers. Even tucks in one of Blaine's cookies. All three of them go to the train station to see his Dad off. His Dad hugs him long and tight. "I love you, Kurt," he says. "Take the train down sometime, if you can."

"I love you too," Kurt says, and he holds on a little longer, but he doesn't cry.

Then his Dad gives Blaine a looser hug and thanks him. Blaine's eyes are bright when his Dad lets go. "And I'll be seeing you when I get back to Ohio," his Dad says.

Once the train has departed, Kurt suggests he and Blaine walk the three and half blocks to Times Square. He needs to blow off some energy. Before they get underway, Kurt asks Blaine if he'd like to grab a coffee and pastry at the Starbucks in Grand Central Terminal first, to fuel their walk, but Blaine says he'd prefer to go somewhere unique—more New York. So they start walking and wait for something to catch Blaine's interest.

They end up stopping in at D'espresso because it looks cool. (Blaine says he recognizes the bookshelf print tiles running along the floors and up the walls from the internet.) "Well, if it's internet famous, then by all means, let's check it out," Kurt says. He's walked past it enough times, he may as well try it.

It's small and loud, with just five white tables making a narrow rank along a wall-spanning dark upholstered bench. Opposite the bench, facing each table, are clear acrylic chairs with bowl shaped seats. What Kurt can only describe as Russian hip hop shreds the cafe atmosphere. They stand at the counter, scanning the menu board and the contents of the glass topped pastry cabinet. Neither of the staff ask to take their order. Kurt sighs and raises his hand. He determinedly does not snap, just calls out, "Excuse me?" The girl at the register ignores him in favor of her phone, and the barista leans back against the counter and glares at them like they're interrupting something important—even though they're the only customers at the counter. Kurt has to repeat himself three times, followed by a, "We'd like to order now, please."

The barista—who, with the ornate snake tattoos looping his forearms looks more like he should be in some manner of organized crime—finally comes over to them with a flat expression, wipes his hands on his apron, and says, "What do you want?"

Kurt bites his tongue against several sarcastic replies, all the while marveling at how the Lima Bean would have fired his ass in half a second if he'd been half this surly with a customer. He's not entirely unsympathetic, but the coffee had better be good. Kurt orders a mocha for himself and turns to Blaine to invite him to place his order. It's been long enough, it might've changed again; Kurt doesn't wish to assume. Turns out it hasn't. Then Kurt orders a croissant for himself and Blaine asks for a pain au chocolat.

"Oh my god," Blaine says, sotto voce, as they move to the free table near the milk and sugar station. Blaine takes the booth side, and Kurt sits down across from him. "It's like they don't even want our money."

"Well, you wanted a real New York experience," Kurt says. "This is what I call reverse psychology salesmanship."

Blaine laughs. "D'espresso, more like D'epresso."

With a roll of his eyes, Kurt groans obligingly. "Too obvious, but still clever. You get points."

Blaine smiles more brightly than he has all morning.

"And I have to admit," Kurt says. "The grumpy New York gangster barista in the internet famous cafe with weird Eastern European rap music? That makes for a better story to take home than yet another Starbucks visit, so I commend you on your adventurous spirit. I doubt I would have stepped in here on my own."

As they drink their coffee—which is truly excellent, so Kurt forgives the barista his sour demeanor—Kurt has to cover a yawn. Unfortunately, the coffee's not helping him perk up, and the thumping music is making his head swim. Six hours was not enough to erase months of lost sleep. But at least he hasn't cried yet today. That's got to count for something.

"So speaking of home. How are things with you?" Kurt asks. He gets bits and pieces over the phone, but nothing that offers much insight or a whole picture of where Blaine is. "I'm guessing your NYADA application is pretty solid. Shame they didn't cast you as Danny Zuko though, huh?"

"Oh, yeah... well," Blaine says, as if that's the explanation.

"What happened?" Kurt asks. "I don't think you ever told me that story."

"Um," Blaine says, completely serious now. No trace of a smile graces his lips, just nerves and determination. "They wanted to, but—"

"Oh, no, don't tell me it was because you're shorter than Marley."

"What? No," Blaine says, "And I don't think—" He shakes his head. "That wasn't a factor. I just, uh. I didn't want the role."

"Blaine Warbler," Kurt says affectionately, "are you telling me you turned down the lead in the school play? God, to have the luxury of turning it down. I can't imagine how—"

"No," Blaine cuts him off. "I don't imagine you can."

Kurt frowns and leans back in the low-backed plastic stool. "What am I missing here?"

"It's nothing we can talk about, Kurt. Don't worry about it."

"A secret? Now you have to tell me," Kurt teases with a smile, trying to draw one from Blaine.

But Blaine doesn't smile. "You said you didn't want to talk about us."

"Wait, that was about us?" Kurt asks. "Are you saying you didn't take the role because of me?"

"Partly, yes," Blaine says, and there's a hardness in his eyes and an edge to his voice.

"Are you... mad at me?" Kurt asks. He's more incredulous than accusatory, for he keeps seeing hints of it, and it still doesn't make a lot of sense. This morning he can't summon any outrage of his own.

Something like relief softens Blaine's gaze. "Sometimes," he says, "but not right now."

"I— Okay. Um." Kurt presses his lips closed and turns his cup in its saucer, three rotations before ending with the handle at three o'clock. He lets go and places his fingertips on the edge of the the table. "I don't know what to say."

Blaine regards Kurt with curiosity. "Do you actually want to know?"

It takes a moment for Kurt to determine the answer to that, but Kurt finds that he does. "Yes."

"Okay." Blaine sighs, glances away for a moment. Then back to Kurt nervously. "It was... during that time when you weren't returning my calls or my texts. I didn't know anything about where we were. If we were even broken up or what. If you'd ever talk to me again." Blaine looks down and runs a fingertip along the edge of his napkin, speaks slowly, "I was in a... really bad place, Kurt. Taking on a romantic lead, it felt dishonest."

An undefined pathos rises in Kurt, an uncomfortable knot in his heart, as Kurt studies Blaine and begins to understand. "You're serious."

Blaine blinks at him. "Yes."

"I had no idea." Kurt reaches across the table, offers his hand, palm up.

"I wouldn't expect you to. You wouldn't talk to me." Blaine looks at Kurt's hand, starts to reach back, but stops, leaves his hand idle beside his plate.

"I couldn't talk to you. There's a difference."

Blaine shrugs and sips his coffee.

Kurt retrieves his hand and unwraps a curl of pastry from his croissant. "The problem was, most of the things I wanted to say to you then were things I never imagined I'd ever want to say to you, never to you. They were things I could never say to someone I loved the way I'd loved you.

"I was so angry, Blaine, I didn't trust myself not to say something I'd never be able to take back. Even as angry as I was, there was still part of me that..." Kurt trails off, scowling at the words that still won't arrange themselves, about how he still loved Blaine even when it felt like he was supposed to hate him. How he wanted him even when he couldn't bear the thought of him. The emotions were like magnets with poles repelling each other. He couldn't resolve any of it into something clear and sensible. "I didn't want to hurt you. I was terrified of hurting you, so I thought a clean break would be easiest for us both. I thought it was the right thing—the adult thing—to do."

Blinking rapidly, Blaine nods in acknowledgment of Kurt's words. "There was nothing clean about it for me. You left me not knowing for so long. I didn't know if there was any hope to hang on to, or if I should just give up. Kurt, it... It did hurt. It felt like I'd become less than nothing to you."

The shine of excess moisture gathers in Blaine's eyes, a bright crescent underline. In the face of Blaine's honest pain, with the knowledge that Kurt had some part in it, Kurt's heart aches in sympathy. "Oh, god," Kurt says. "You'll never mean nothing to me, no matter what, okay? I should have told you something, Blaine. I just... I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

Blaine bows his head. He wipes below his eyes with a knuckle and sniffs. "Okay," he says. "All right."

"All right?" Kurt gives a tentative smile.

"Yeah," Blaine says, and tiny smile wobbles at the corners of his lips.

A relieved pause comes between them, then, filled by the clatter of the cafe and the relentless punch of the music. When they begin to talk again, it's about student council and what Blaine's been doing there with Sam's support as his vice president (and Sugar and Tina and some other names Kurt doesn't recognize). Kurt listens as he pulls apart his croissant, bite by bite. He tells Blaine he's proud of him, and by the way Blaine smiles, Kurt believes Blaine believes it.

Once they're finished, they head back to the street. The fresh air and relatively quiet traffic noise is an immediate respite. Kurt has to stop himself from reflexively reaching to loop his arm through Blaine's elbow. He gestures down 42nd street "Do you want to see where I work? It's on the way."

"I'd love to," Blaine says. "I wandered around a bit the other night, waiting for your Dad's text to say you were on your way, but I was so nervous, it's all a bit of a blur now."

"Mmm," Kurt says. "It took me a while to stop feeling overwhelmed by it all. Everywhere you turn, there's something."

Beside him, Blaine's smile is easy. Almost peaceful.

"I really am," Kurt says, "glad you came."

"Me too," Blaine says.

"And I honestly do think it's great you've applied to NYADA. I've been watching Rachel this semester. It's been tough, but she's learned a lot. And, hey, if I go back to Lima, I'm sure she'd be happy to have you as her roommate."

"It'll be weird being here if you're not," Blaine says.

"Yeah, well," Kurt says. "I'm not the reason you've applied, am I?" Kurt looks at Blaine, whose eyes are widening. "At least I hope not, because I can't promise—"

"No, Kurt. You're not the reason. Maybe part of a reason, because..." Blaine shrugs helplessly. "I like you."

"But it can't be like we used to talk about. Even if I stay."

"I know," Blaine says.

They walk the rest of the way in a not entirely comfortable silence. It's gusty and cold in the shadows of the buildings, and the winter wind cuts through Kurt's jeans to chill his shins until they're numb. When they get to the Condé Nast building, Kurt asks, "Do you want to go in? I can give you a tour. Probably not the couture vault or anything like that, but the Vogue office and public spaces."

"Yeah, that'd be cool," Blaine says. He cranes his neck, peering up at the forty-eight stories of granite, glass, and steel. "It's amazing that you work here."

The lobby is warm and airy. Kurt watches Blaine as he looks about at the modern art collection and the funky architectural details. When Blaine turns his attention back to Kurt, Kurt jerks his head, "The elevators are this way."

Up in the Vogue dot com suite, it's quiet since most of the employees are still on their holiday break. A woman Kurt doesn't recognize sits in for Amanda. He shows her his ID.

"You want to take a picture?" Kurt asks Blaine, who's looking a touch starstruck by his surroundings. Kurt still feels the same way, but he's gotten better at hiding it.

Blaine does want a photo, so they take one together, and then, "I'll show you my office," Kurt says. "Such as it is." He leads Blaine down the wide corridor. "It's small, but I have it to myself, and it has a window with a fantastic view, so I re—."

"Is that you, Kurt?" Isabelle's voice comes behind him.

Kurt spins on his toe. "Oh! Hi," he says, and he's smiling widely before he can check himself. "Happy Boxing Day."

"Please, tell me you're not here to work," she says, and Kurt notices her noticing Blaine. She's wearing a vintage (1960's Kurt thinks) Kelly green plaid dress and a pretty cloisonne brooch of a wren.

"No, not at all," Kurt says. "I was just showing— Um. I should introduce you." Kurt turns to Blaine and gestures toward Isabelle. "Blaine, this is Isabelle Wright, my boss and fairy godmother. Isabelle," Kurt puts his hand on Blaine's arm. "This is my— this is Blaine Anderson."

It's a vaguely surreal moment. Kurt didn't expect to see Isabelle, didn't imagine what this meeting would be like. But Blaine's charm comes so naturally and Isabelle's warmth is undeniable. Blaine shakes Isabelle's hand, and says something about how he's heard such good things about her, and they make some affectionate teasing remarks about Kurt. Then they chat a little bit about Columbus, and it's all very—surprisingly—natural. But then Isabelle turns her attention back to Kurt.

"Now, since you're here, Kurt, if I may borrow you for a moment?" she asks.

"Oh, yes, of course," he says, glances at Blaine.

"I'll wait in the lobby?" Blaine says.

"Or you can wait in my office," Kurt suggests. He digs in his pocket for his keycard, and Blaine takes it. "Last door on the right."

"I won't keep him long," Isabelle promises.

In Isabelle's office, they both sit in front of the desk. Isabelle turns her chair to face Kurt. "You two looked friendly," she says.

"My Dad," Kurt says, "surprised me on Christmas Eve, just turned up at the door with a Christmas tree. He brought Blaine, too—another surprise—so the three of us had the day together yesterday."

"Oh, that's good to hear. I'd worried about you being on your own for Christmas."

With a shrug, Kurt dismisses her concern. "What about you? Did you catch up with your friends?"

"Yes, I did, and it was lovely." She cocks her head then, and looks at him in that way she does, that makes Kurt feel like she sees everything about his heart and all of it is safe here. "But I'm curious—and I hope you don't mind my asking—how are things with you and your Blaine?"

That makes Kurt smile, not without some sadness, but there's good feelings too. He doesn't know the right word to distill their situation. There's no name that Kurt knows, for all they've been to each other and all they've lost and what still remains. He decides to go with understatement and trusts Isabelle to understand. "The rapprochement is going well, I'd say. We're friends. I mean, it's complicated and it's still hard, but we're friends, and it's good because I've really missed him."

"I'm glad you have your friend again, Kurt," she says.

Kurt nods. "So, really I should thank you for your advice at Thanksgiving. It helped, and..." Kurt feels his lips twist with the twinge of tears behind his eyes, He blinks and nods and feels gravity swoop beneath him. "It's good to have him back in my life. Thank you."

She waves it off. "But you look," she narrows her eyes and studies him. "Tired and sad."

"My Dad," tumbles out of Kurt's mouth again. "He came to tell me... uh. The reason he came. He's sick. He has cancer."

"Oh... Oh, Kurt." And her hand is on his wrist, she's leans forward, and the jasmine and rose scent of her perfume buffets him. There's concern in her eyes.

Kurt explains. "They caught it early," he says. "The prognosis is good. It's not... he's not dying." He tells her more about the details and the statistics, an overview of the most effective treatment options, and somehow in the course of the explanation to reassure Isabelle's concern, he actually reassures himself. Dry-eyed and light-hearted, he stops speaking and turns to glance out the window.

When he was brand new to New York and only thought of it in superlative terms of amazing opportunities to pursue and dreams to be fulfilled, he didn't really understand just how many people are out there in this city. How many thousands of people are, right now, encompassed within the arc of his view, behind walls and windows, on the streets and in the cars—or in the trains rushing down below, the airplanes arcing overhead, or the ferries chugging across the river. All the people, hoping and fearing and trying to make the best of it through each of their days: trying to find joy and escape their pain, just like him. He has a lot to be grateful for.

"That sounds hopeful then," Isabelle says, and Kurt turns back to her.

"I— Yeah, I hope it is."

"Hoping for hope," Isabelle says with humor in the tilt of her smile and a wisp of dreaminess in her voice. "It's the best we can do sometimes."

Kurt takes a long blink, inhales deeply, and smiles. His heart relaxes, and—just for a moment—he feels weightless.

"So your Dad's on his way back to D.C., and Blaine's here until...?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"And I'm guessing, because of the surprise, you didn't get to plan anything."

"No, no, I really haven't."

"Well, let me know if I can help you with dinner reservations or tickets. You know I know people," she says.

Kurt's smile broadens as he thinks about it: how much he'd daydreamed of an evening like that with Blaine in New York: dinner, a show, a romantic walk under the city lights. The fantasy still holds undeniable appeal, but only as a pleasant memory. There's more nostalgia than desire. Plus, he's still so tired and his heart remains bruised-feeling. Even if the pain is not so sharp or urgent, it's not gone. "Thanks, but, you know what? I think we'll spend the evening in, catching up." He pauses as he realizes" "I'm sure we'll have other opportunities."

Isabelle looks pleased with him. Then she gets up and goes to her desk, pulls out a drawer. "I know you're not back at work until Wednesday, but if you want a head start on the Street Style piece for January, I can give you the galleys to peruse."

"Thank you," Kurt says, takes the folder.

"Enjoy your time with Blaine," she says and stands.

"I will," Kurt says and it feels like a promise.

#

Kurt finds Blaine waiting in his office, by the window, staring out at the view toward Times Square. The vision of Blaine here, like this, makes Kurt's heart trip a sudden, clumsy beat. "Hey," Kurt says. He ignores the tug of regret, focuses on the affection. Smiles fondly.

"Hi," Blaine says and his gaze flicks down to the folder in Kurt's hand. "Do you have work?"

"It's nothing pressing." He's pretty sure Isabelle just wanted to make sure he had a distraction for after Blaine leaves. He'll need one. And then Kurt doesn't know what to say next. "So, this is my office," he tries, gesturing grandly about the narrow room. The desk chair separates him from Blaine.

"You were right about the view," Blaine says. His attention moves to the scatter of papers upon Kurt's desk. "Is this your work?" Blaine asks.

"Oh, yeah," Kurt says. It's a collection of original sketches and clippings and collages. "It's weird, I guess, but I still prefer working with paper and scissors and glue sometimes. It helps me organize my ideas better."

"It's really good," Blaine says. He picks up the top sheet. It's the start of a piece Kurt was brainstorming about twentieth century pastel trends in menswear, using the Brooks Brothers' upcoming work on The Great Gatsby as inspiration. There's sketches surrounding pasted clippings, and suddenly Kurt is very aware that the default male model he draws shares some features with Blaine.

"It's some ideas for spring features. It's early, but I like looking ahead," Kurt says.

"You're really good at this, Kurt," Blaine says, more insistently. "And I can tell how much Isabelle respects you. I doubt many interns would have this kind of creative input."

Kurt shrugs, feels his face heat at the praise. He's not usually inclined to deny it—he knows he's got good instincts. It's just... He looks at the other pages on the desk. The creative space he was in when he was working on them seems like it belongs to a different person. It's only been a few days, but it feels like everything is different now.

"You're making your dreams come true," Blaine says. "Here and at NYADA." Blaine sets the page down, moves closer to Kurt (has to sidle behind the chair to reach him). "I'm really proud of you, I hope you know that. And so is your Dad."

Kurt nods and presses his lips together. "What else did you want to see while you're here?" he asks Blaine.

#

They walk around the theater district and take some photographs. Kurt tells Blaine the tale of how he and Rachel broke in to the Gershwin Theater for the dozenth time; Blaine listens as raptly as ever. Laughs at all the right moments. And somehow it feels like a brand new story to tell Blaine while they're standing here, outside the theater, looking up at the marquee.

"But I don't think we should try breaking in again," Kurt says.

"I miss singing with you," Blaine says.

Kurt's breath catches on a failed attempt at a reply. He takes Blaine's elbow and steers him back up the sidewalk. A soft, "Me too," is all he manages, and they walk together quietly for a block. Kurt lets his hand fall from Blaine's elbow.

"NYADA's not far from here is it?" Blaine asks.

"Nothing will be open today," Kurt says.

"Could we walk by anyway?" Blaine asks. "I'd just like to see it, you know?"

"Yeah, sure."

It's just three more blocks and two turns and they're there. Kurt points out the features he knows: the antique windows of the main dance studio, the protruding modern dome of the round room, the entrance to the administration building and the registrar's office.

Smiling, Blaine tucks his hands into his coat pockets. "Standing here makes everything seem so much more real," he says.

"I still pinch myself most days," Kurt says. He looks at the buildings into which he's long sought entrance as a student. His enrollment packet is at home, on his desk, under last April's Vogue. Some days, though, he wishes there were a little bit less real in his life. He sighs. "I can't tell if I'm being foolish," Kurt says.

"About what?" Blaine turns toward him.

With a shrug, Kurt gestures toward an empty bench nearby. They sit. "It's like..." Kurt pauses, takes a deep breath. "I'm afraid to let myself feel hopeful. About my Dad. I keep slipping. I know the math, I know his chances are objectively good. There are moments when I truly believe he'll be okay, but then..." Kurt looks down at his lap, fidgets with the seams of his gloves.

"But then?"

"Then I'm certain he won't be, that it's not possible to roll the dice again and get the result I want. That's it's stupid for me to hope. That I'm just setting myself up for another fall. So I should just take the time we have left and go home."

"Hope isn't stupid," Blaine says.

"Well, it doesn't feel very smart right now."

"Maybe not, but how about well-informed but cautious optimism?"

Kurt summons up a wry smile. "A compromise?"

"It's better than fear, isn't it?"

"I guess."

"I've never known you to give in to fear, Kurt."

"First time for everything, huh?" Kurt laughs without much energy or humor. "I just keep thinking if I stay and things go badly for him, I'll regret it forever."

"You're only a short plane flight away," Blaine says.

"That's far enough."

"If you leave Vogue, don't start at NYADA, and end up moving back to Lima, will you regret that less? Do you think your Dad would be happy if you gave up on your own life?"

Kurt closes his eyes, tries to find the feeling he discovered in Isabelle's office. The moment of faith and warmth and genuine hope. "Do you really believe he'll be okay?" Kurt asks, and hurries to add, "Don't just tell me what I want to hear or what you think I need to hear. Do you honestly believe it, Blaine?"

"Without having a crystal ball or making you a promise no one can actually make? I can tell you, yes, I believe he'll make it through this. He's your Dad just as much as you're his son."

"That matters?"

"It does." Blaine bumps his shoulder against Kurt's until Kurt looks up. "And I told you I'd keep an eye on him. I promise I will. I'll even get him set up on Skype so you can keep an eye on him, too, all right?"

"Really?"

"Of course, dummy." Blaine's smile is unexpectedly brilliant.

Kurt laughs and stands up. "Leftovers for a late lunch back at the loft? Or do you want to do more sightseeing?" He turns and offers Blaine his hand.

"I came to see you, Kurt," Blaine says, and he puts his hand in Kurt's. "Let's go back."

#

While Kurt throws together some pastry in the food processor to make individual turkey pot pies for lunch, Blaine checks his voice mail and text messages. He sits on the futon and calls Sam back. It starts off amused, lots of laughter—and something about the Mayan Apocalypse and a fake marriage to Brittany that has Kurt sending Blaine several quizzical looks. It's nice to hear Blaine laughing, to see him at ease. But the call turns quieter, and Blaine stands and turns away, looking out the window as he speaks to Sam. Kurt can't make out words, but Blaine sounds like he's reassuring Sam of something—or being reassured himself.

Once the pot pies are in the oven, and Blaine is still on the phone, Kurt goes to Rachel's room to change the bed for her. He leaves the basket of dirty sheets next to her dresser. He'll take care of the laundry tomorrow, after Blaine leaves. He won't take the Christmas tree down until she gets back and has a chance to enjoy it.

Blaine's off the phone when Kurt comes back out. "Everything okay back home?" Kurt asks.

"Oh, yeah. Sam and Brittany—" Blaine breaks of with a chuckle. "They were convinced the Mayan Apocalypse was real, and, well, you know how Sam gets so tenacious when he's got a theory to prove."

"I can imagine," Kurt says. Grins to himself as he checks the oven. He remembers well how, when Sam was living with his family, he was always wanting to watch the documentaries about aliens building the pyramids or Nazi ghost hunters or Bigfoot. How he said it made the world feel bigger and more awesome to think about those things. (And then sometimes they'd end up debating the existence of God until Finn made them both shut up.) "I'm glad you've become close with Sam," Kurt says. "He's a great guy."

"Yeah, he's been... a really good friend." Blaine says.

Over lunch—which has become more of an early dinner—Blaine is subdued, and Kurt wonders what else it was he talked to Sam about—the quiet, concerned stuff—but he doesn't ask. He's not really sure if it's his place any longer, to ask Blaine if he's okay or whether something's bothering him or... The boundaries between them are different, still shifting. Kurt's not sure where they all are right now. So they talk about Glee Club and the challenges it's facing now: how Sue took over the choir room, about Blaine's stint on the cheerios with Tina when it all fell apart, and the way Finn rallied them back together. But they're still left wondering what's next.

#

Kurt is drying the last plate from their meal and Blaine is snapping the lids closed on the plastic leftover containers and putting them back in the refrigerator. "So what do you want to do this evening?" Kurt asks. "I've got a ton of stuff on the DVR we could marathon. What Not to Wear or Say Yes to the Dress or So You Think You Can Dance or... um... If you're not keen on reality TV, I've got some Poirot and Murder She Wrote and Downton Abbey. Rachel's recorded a bunch of Little House on the Prairie—"

"Actually," Blaine interrupts. "Could we talk? Like, could I talk and you maybe listen?"

"Oh," Kurt says. He turns away and folds the damp dishtowel into even thirds and hangs it over the oven door to dry. He's abruptly cold and uncomfortable with all his emotions wheeling the wrong way. His skull feels too small and his lips too clumsy. "I don't know, I don't know if I can..."

"I know," Blaine says quickly. "I know. I don't need to have that conversation, there are just... There are some things I want you to know, Kurt, just so you know them. But I understand if the timing is bad, but I don't know when I'll see you again, and over the phone? I don't want to tell you these things over the phone."

There's a catch in Blaine's voice. Nerves and something else. With a sigh, Kurt tries to figure out how to reply, how he actually feels, what the result of this will be. Whether it will be better or worse.

"It doesn't matter," Blaine says when Kurt doesn't speak or move from where he's standing in front of the stove. "I'm being selfish. There's no reason for you to listen, I don't deserve—"

Kurt responds instinctively to that, turns back to face Blaine, the kitchen table between them: "No, oh, hush, honey, you—" Kurt swallows around the endearment that came out unbidden. He doesn't want to see Blaine retreating just as he's reached out. Even if this is a bad time, there will never be a good time for this. He pulls out a chair and sits at the kitchen table.

Blaine looks at him with such exposed sadness in his eyes, and it's all Kurt can feel suddenly, the reciprocal of that sadness welling up inside himself too, filling him up cold and implacable, surging up his throat like it's going to choke him if he tries to keep it down, but he won't let it out—can't—because if he does, he'll never get it back in again, and in seems safer than out for now.

It takes a moment to gather his breath. "You can tell me," Kurt says. "We're still friends, Blaine, and if you need to tell me something. I'll listen.

Blaine's hands flutter to the back of the chair opposite Kurt, but he hesitates to pull it out and sit. "I wanted to know if I could tell you about Eli?" he asks quietly.

Kurt blinks at looks down at the table top. "Um. I... I don't want to know details."

"No," Blaine says. "But I want you to know some things. About it. About me."

Kurt is quiet.

"If you can listen? I understand if this isn't the right time."

"It'll never be the right time for this, Blaine."

"Right, yeah. I guess not."

Kurt hears the scrape of the chair legs. Glances up to see Blaine sitting. "Okay. Talk to me."

Blaine sits straight in the chair, sighs, and runs his hands over his hair. "First, I guess I wanted to tell you that it wasn't... good. Not really. I thought it was something maybe I needed, but it wasn't. As soon as I did it, I knew it wasn't, but it was too late. I'd already..." Blaine trails off with a heavy rush of air.

Kurt stays quiet as Blaine looks at him anxiously. Kurt can't smile, but he manages a nod.

"I didn't know myself that day. I just... I didn't know my own life. And I tried... to figure it out, but nothing was working, and you were so far away, and busy, and you didn't have time for me. It felt like our future was disappearing and those two weeks felt like a wall, and I just—" Blaine cuts himself off with a ragged breath. His eyes are watery, his lips twisting around whatever words he's trying to get out.

"You were that unhappy?" Kurt offers into the silence.

"Kurt, I missed you so much, you weren't there... " Blaine shrugs and closes his mouth. And Kurt realizes "there" wasn't Lima, "there" was them.

"And Eli was?" Kurt says. He wants to ask how Blaine could doubt him that quickly or easily and why two weeks was too long. He thought Blaine understood his crazy schedule. But he doesn't ask, because he knows how it will sound coming out.

Blaine shrugs again, apathetically. "I barely knew him. It didn't mean anything."

"So you've said," Kurt says before he can stop himself. He at least stops the words from sounding angry. They come out too cool instead of too hot.

Blaine looks up. "What does that mean?"

"If it didn't mean anything, Blaine," Kurt asks tiredly. The spike of anger he feared rousing fades quickly into exhaustion. "Then why did you do it? If you were going to do something to hurt me, shouldn't it at least be something that mattered? You'd think I'd deserve at least that much."

"I didn't do it to hurt you."

"That's hard to believe. How could you possibly think it wouldn't?"

"I was angry at you," Blaine admits evenly. "But I wasn't really thinking like that, that's the point. I wasn't thinking, I was just so frustrated, Kurt. I was looking for relief, I guess."

"But you didn't find it?"

"No." Blaine looks down at his hands. When he raises his gaze back to Kurt, it's open and steady. "What I found was clarity," he says.

"Clarity?" Kurt asks.

"About you," Blaine says. "About how much I love you and how much I want to keep loving you. I remembered that you're it for me, Kurt, and I remembered what you'd promised me. So I booked the plane ticket and came as soon as I could, to try to tell you that, hoping that you meant what you'd promised—hoping I hadn't broken things."

Regret sinks, hard and immutable, within Kurt, and it feels like it takes his heart down with it. "But you have."

"Yes, I have," Blaine says.

"Yeah," Kurt says, and loneliness yaws in his chest as he looks at Blaine, who was meant to be forever, and he just can't see it any longer, not the way he once did. And he wants so badly to forgive Blaine, wants this all to be simple again, but he can't figure out how. He can see how badly Blaine is hurting, too—how much he's hurt himself, but that doesn't make it easier. Kurt can't change it. He blinks a rush of heat from his eyes. "I wish..." he starts, and then he shudders. "I wish so much you hadn't."

"Me too. Oh, Kurt, if I could take it back, I would." Blaine reaches across the table, stretches his fingers toward Kurt.. "God, some days I think I should... study physics, so I can devote my life to inventing a time machine just so I can go back and fix this. I never wanted to end up like this with you. I never wanted to hurt you so badly. I love you."

Hearing those words, even so sincerely spoken, just doesn't mean what it used to. The chasm of pain lies between them—the gap that was never meant to be there but irrevocably is, and Blaine cannot apologize enough to fill it—and, Kurt knows Blaine's not going to go become a theoretical physicist, invent a time machine, and fix this. Because if he had, they wouldn't be here like this now. Blaine would have fixed it, so that they're still like this... means it's unfixable. There's a horrible, selfish part of him that wishes Blaine had lied, had never told him. Blaine's a good actor, he could have pretended.

But then, the thought of it, of Blaine caging a poisonous secret like that in his own heart nauseates Kurt. But maybe there's something of value in the thought. "I'm glad you told me," Kurt says at last. "That you didn't keep it a secret."

Resignation clouds Blaine's gaze, and Kurt reaches for his fingers, grasps them and squeezes. He searches his heart again, to see if he's overlooked some other insight or feeling. He cares for Blaine, as much as always. Wishes he could ease this pain for both of them. Wishes they could go back to how it was before. But every time he tries to follow that desire, he stumbles. The way back is closed forever.

There's nothing to do now but grieve, and it seems right that they grieve for it together. Kurt lets go of Blaine's hand and stands. Blaine watches as Kurt comes around the table to him. He offers his hand to Blaine again. "Would you?" Kurt asks. "Come to bed with me. One last time?"

#

They make love again, and it does feel like this is the last time they ever will, like this will never be possible again. This as much of his heart as Kurt can bear to expose, and it can't last.

So for all the things they were, and for all the things they'll never now be for each other, Kurt tries to honor them as best he can, with his body and with Blaine's. He kisses every part of Blaine goodbye, wipes his quiet tears upon Blaine's skin and lets Blaine brush them away with tender fingertips. It feels formal, like a ritual, when Blaine turns them over, and takes similar care with Kurt. Then he sits up, shifting his weight back onto Kurt's thighs, poised to reach for the lubricant. "Would you, please?" Blaine asks. "If this is our last time? Let me feel you inside?"

"Yeah... yes," Kurt answers and half-sits, to take up the lube himself, and then he asks something he's rarely asked Blaine: "How do you want to do this?"

Blaine hesitates, looks down at where his hands hands are resting upon Kurt's ribs, and then he looks back up. Moves to get off Kurt. "Like the first time?" he asks, and lowers himself to his belly, looking over at Kurt with entreaty and love and loss and more than a little bit of apprehension. It may be the most vulnerable Kurt's ever seen Blaine. He's more vulnerable in this moment at the end than he ever was their first time.

"Of course," Kurt says, it's mostly air.

"And... slow?" Blaine asks.

"I..." Kurt blinks back the burn from his eyes. "Yes."

Blaine's smile is desperately sweet, and Kurt reaches for the unopened box of condoms in his nightstand drawer. He looks at the box as he undoes the cellophane but speaks to Blaine. "I need to... ask you something."

"Yes?"

Kurt glances up as he reaches into the box. "Were you safe?"

Blaine's mouth comes open for a moment before he replies. He pushes himself up to his elbows. "We... um." He blinks rapidly, takes a deeper breath, raises his gaze and speaks with strange, sad resolution. "Yes, Kurt. I was safe."

Kurt nods, swallows hard. "Good," he says. "I'm still going to use this, I just..."

"Right," Blaine says, and he watches Kurt roll the condom on. Then he says more softly, with static in his voice. "I'm sorry you had to ask me that."

"Please. Stop apologizing to me," Kurt says. He touches Blaine's back, strokes over the warm satin skin, the graceful integral curve of his spine. "I know you're sorry, and I don't want this to be about you feeling guilty."

"Then... what is it about? For you?"

Kurt watches his hand upon Blaine's body. "Love," Kurt says, and as he says the word, he feels it in his heart, swelling and unfurling, irrepressible. There remain things that are impossible, things that hurt too much, but he knows this one thing is still true. "I still love you," he says, because, at least in this moment, he wants to let it overpower the loss and the pain and the impossible things. As a gift, it comes a day late, but at least it's there, spoken aloud between them, and Blaine can take it home with him.

"Kurt," Blaine says, reaches for him, and Kurt lets him pull him into a kiss.

#

Kurt wakes up first the next morning. Blaine's heartbeat beneath his cheek is like a clock counting down. Kurt rouses Blaine with a kiss to his breastbone. "Coffee?" he asks.

Blaine doesn't open his eyes. "Please, yeah. What time is it?"

"There's a few hours before the shuttle gets here," Kurt says. "I'll make something to eat while you shower."

#

After breakfast and after Blaine is packed, they wait. Blaine's bags are by the door, and the dishes are done. They sit on the futon together.

"So what happens now?" Kurt asks. He doesn't know what Blaine will expect, or even what Blaine will want.

"I go home, and you get ready to start classes in three weeks."

That Blaine is being so practical, and the assumption he makes—it makes Kurt smile. "No, I mean, with us."

"We're friends, Kurt. We'll talk on the phone, send each other texts. You can tell me about your days, the classes you have, the professors you love, the ones you don't, the clubs you join... the cute boys who flirt with you. And whether you flirt back."

It settles strangely, heavy and light at the same time, the realization that this is Blaine setting him free, if he wishes to be. "So if I met someone...?"

Blaine bows his head for a moment before he looks back up at Kurt. There's nothing but generosity in his gaze. "You deserve to be loved, Kurt, by someone who hasn't hurt you."

"Blaine..." Kurt's vision goes blurry.

Blaine blinks a glimmer of tears from his own eyes. "I can't take back what I did, and I can't expect you to forgive me."

"I still want to."

"But you haven't."

"No."

"So, we're friends."

"Best friends." Kurt takes Blaine's hand.

Blaine's smile is only a little weak; he holds Kurt's hand tightly. "Yes. Which means I'm here for you, always, no matter what."

"I am, too, for you. Please, don't ever forget that. And if you start seeing someone, you can talk to me, okay? Just, please, Blaine, don't go out with Sebastian."

Blaine laughs. "No, no, god no."

"I'm serious. Whatever you did with Eli, and I don't want to... judge you for it, but, whoever you're with, it should mean something. It shouldn't hurt you." Kurt thinks back to his Dad giving him The Talk way back when Kurt was sure he'd end up a thirty year old virgin. "Don't throw yourself around like you don't matter, Blaine. You deserve love, too."

Blaine's phone dings with an automated text from the shuttle service. Kurt lets go and watches him stand. Blaine takes a deep breath. "I guess this is it," he says.

Kurt stands, offers a shallow smile. "For now."

"Um. Thank you. For everything," Blaine says. He heads for the door as he slips his phone into the breast pocket of his jacket.

"Thank you for coming." Kurt follows him.

"So is this? Is this goodbye?"

Kurt shakes his head. "No, honey. This is a see you later."

"All right then," Blaine says, and opens his arms to invite a hug.

Kurt hugs him tightly and kisses him on the cheek. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Blaine lets Kurt carry his backpack down to the street. They hug again before Blaine climbs in the van, and then Kurt waits on the curb until the shuttle is out of sight.

#

Kurt slides the heavy metal door closed with a clank, and he locks it. Then he stands for a time with his hand pressed to the cool surface of the door and the loft quiet and empty behind him. He's alone. In the absence of Blaine or his Dad—and even Rachel, the loft seems larger, like it contains more air. The silence is palpable—and welcome to be sure—but it's a strange, sudden contrast. It also beckons him, with a giddy twist of longing uncurling in his chest. It's a blank auditory canvas.

So first he goes to the stereo and dials through his iPod until he gets to the Wicked score. He presses play and hums to warm up his voice as he heads for his room. The bed is unmade, and the sheets desperately need a change. He strips them off, all but for the pillow Blaine used. That he leaves. Bruce can stay in the trunk for a few nights longer and allow Kurt to be sentimental.

Then Kurt changes his clothes to dance pants, a t-shirt, and his royal blue cashmere hoodie. He begins to sing while he remakes his bed.

In a way, and even though he's never stopped singing, it feels like he's been quiet for a long time. As he fills the space with his voice, he finds his practice has a renewed focus. Kurt goes to his desk and picks up the old April issue of Vogue. His enrollment pack is there waiting for him. From where he left his phone in the living room, it interrupts the music with a text notification.

Kurt grabs a pen along with the enrollment forms and heads out. Collects his phone on his way to the kitchen table, and he sits. The text is from his Dad. He's at the apartment in D.C. and making himself a turkey sandwich from the leftovers Kurt made him take. With a smile, Kurt types a text back: thanks his father for a wonderful, memorable Christmas. Then he sends his Dad the photo of him and Blaine in the Vogue office. He takes a moment to send a text to Blaine too, wishing him a good flight and inviting him to call when he gets home.

Then Kurt sets the phone aside and turns his attention to the forms. He picks up the pen, and starts with writing his name.

the end