With Frank’s time taken up by his impromptu high-school Glee club reunion, they’d barely had the chance to speak since Monday morning. By the time Blaine slinked off stage that Friday night, the missing piece of their puzzle felt more like a gaping hole in his chest.

A part of him tried to remember what life was like before this began. Before Kismet, and A-P, and Frank.

Another part of him kept wondering in a panic, how did this happen so fast?

He tried to laugh off the absurdity of it, berating himself for being pathetic. Who hurts like this over someone they’ve known for three months? Who the hell sleeps with their phone on their pillow like they expect it to turn into a living, breathing (caring, beautiful, his brain supplied) man at the stroke of midnight?

No matter how many times he told himself it was ridiculous, it didn’t make him feel any less hollow while he waited for eleven days to go by.

He kept himself busy with work, adjusting to the part-time job Janet (or rather Stacy, he’d discovered) had found him as an office assistant. It was boring, just like the internship, but it was paid, and the people were friendly. And, most importantly, there was music.

The rest of the time he spent applying to performing arts programs, to anything he could find in the city. His father had said it so long ago; everybody starts on the bottom rung. Even if he’d never truly shared his father’s discipline, he understood it.

After Madge told him about their upcoming plans (“It’s the big one,” she’d said. “Kim has run this company for exactly one hundred shows, and that’s next week, so in true Rocky Horror tradition we’re bombing her with glitter and getting hammered,”) his heart sank in his chest. It was only his tenth official show with them, but even Kim’s landmark seemed dwarfed by the other events in store for that night.

Frank.

He’d be home, finally. And Blaine knew they’d be obliged to stay post-show, just for a little while, and celebrate – but all it felt like was more unnecessary time between now and what came after the curtain fall. That moment when he could push Frank down in his bed, unlace the corset with his mouth and his hands, wipe away the make-up, and worship every inch of what lay underneath.

He caught himself daydreaming about it again, breath shallow and sweat gathering on his skin, body aching with arousal. The thought of that moment heated the blood in his veins and made him dizzy with need, and sore with longing.

Every time he thought about it he was lost for hours, swirling around in the eddies of his own subconscious and playing out scenarios on loops. It wasn’t until the following Sunday night, as he’d been pouring over the what-ifs and the maybes yet again, that he spotted the pocket watch on his dresser.

His dopey cloud-nine smile faded away, caught up in the sudden gust of reality.

Sometimes we forget who we really are.

He’d been reminded at long last of the Blaine he used to be. The one who sang, and danced on stage, the one who smiled because he could. He was on his way back to being himself, again.

But if it weren’t for those words, if it weren’t for Kurt, he never would have been in that caf�. He wouldn’t have taken the flier off the board, and called Kim. And met Frank.

He smiled gently as he thumbed over the silver engraving of the metal cover. It was so strange, how things turned out.

Just the thought of Kurt still caught him like a thunderclap, seizing his chest.

For the first time in a long time, it was his mother’s voice that spoke in the back of his mind instead of his father’s. A fool’s dreams may be dreams, but they still belong to a fool.

He flicked the watch open and unfolded the piece of paper that lay inside.

Wetting his lips hesitantly, he stared down at it, tracing the curve of his own handwriting with his eyes.

It wasn’t over; he could feel it pulling inside of him, lingering like a chill. It wouldn’t be over, he realised, until he said his own goodbye.

He decided to go to back, that Monday morning.

Yes, he told himself, he would go back down that street past the law firm, and slip into Caf� Destin at 8:20am like he always used to. He’d get his medium drip, and take the same old seat, and at 8:27 that morning he’d see Kurt Hummel for the last time. And even if it wasn’t out loud, he would say goodbye.

That’s almost exactly not quite how it happened.

The caf� was busy that morning, but Kurt’s seat remained empty while Blaine waited and sipped his drink. By 8:30am, he was feeling uneasy, gaze still trailing between the door and the empty chair.

When the clock read a quarter to nine, he swirled the last of his cold coffee in his cup, pinned to the spot and staring.

Kurt never came.

“Did you want anything else, sugar?” the waitress asked, leaning over to try and catch his eye.

“No,” he said softly without looking at her. “Thank you, no.”

She studied him for a moment, brow dipping in sympathy. “I’m sorry he didn’t show,” she said sweetly, wiping down a table.

“Hmm?” Blaine asked, glancing up.

“That man of yours, the one you come in here and stare at and sigh over your coffee,” she teased with a tilt of her shoulder. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you, Monday mornings, medium drip. He’s beautiful, you know.”

Blaine’s mouth fell open, and he caught himself gaping before he glanced down quickly, blush rising over his cheeks.

“Sorry, I-” He laughed, embarrassed. “Yes, I imagine he is.”

“The two of you are adorable.” She rearranged the sugar pots, grinning. “The way you keep sneaking glances at each other.”

“Thank you, but- wait, what?” Blaine’s head snapped up, his face drawn in shock.

“Sorry, sugar?”

“What did you say? The way we … both of us?”

She laughed lightly. “Oh, yeah. Just a couple of weeks ago, he was staring right back,” she informed him seriously. “You were out that window, lingering in the doorway like you couldn’t make your mind up,” she pointed over to the entrance, “and he was by the counter with that giant friend of his, and he saw you walking away. I swear, I have never seen a man’s face light up like that.”

Blaine swallowed air, jaw hanging slack as he blinked stupidly at her. In that moment he was sure he’d forgotten the entirety of the English language, and remembered, and forgotten again.

“I’ll just… leave you to it, then, love,” she said, spinning on her heel.

He sat still, frozen to the spot, for longer than he’d ever admit. His brain felt too big for his skull, and his eyes kept stinging dry, reminding him to blink again.

Kurt saw him.

His heartbeat was so loud in his ears it began to sound like war drums.

He saw him, and he lit up – he saw him and his face registered recognition. Kurt saw him. Kurt.

Blaine couldn’t feel his body as he walked away from the caf�. He didn’t remember paying, but he was sure all the same that he did.

He was numb for the rest of the week.

How is this happening? How is this even possible?

By the time Friday crept up, he was running late for everything. His week had slithered away from him, trapped and lingering too long in daydreams. He missed his bus, barely made it to work on time, and when he finally managed to get out he raced to the theatre, already late to help Madge set up for the after party.

He’d put away the ice and was fidgeting with the set dressing when Madge found him on stage, and she rested both hands comfortingly on his shoulders. “You okay, boo? You’re all twitchy.”

“N-no, it’s nothing, it’s nothing.” The words rushed from him too quickly.

She lifted an eyebrow, peering at him in suspicion.

“It’s just,” he said on a shaky breath. “It’s been a weird week.”

“Ah, but all that’s done with now,” she offered reassuringly, sliding both arms around his waist to hug him to her chest. “Frankie’s back tonight. And we’re gonna get wasted, good and proper.”

Blaine tried not to think about how awkward his laugh sounded in reply.

She pulled back instantly, sensing his sudden shift. “What is it?”

He went to dismiss her again, but she cut him off before he could speak. “Don’t give me that ‘nothing’ bullshit, tell me what the fuck is wrong and why you’re not excited.”

His eyes widened at the anger in her voice, and he shrank back on instinct.

Madge folded her arms expectantly, waiting.

“The guy,” he said timidly, like a small child confessing a sin to their mother. “The one from … where I used to work. It’s him. I just… I think he might actually know who I am.”

“I know about you and Frankie,” she said suddenly.

Blaine’s mouth snapped shut in surprise.

“I figured it out,” she went on, her voice even and smooth. “The night you first went on, afterwards, the way he looked at you. Rocky saw it too, but Frank denied it. But he couldn’t fool me. Look,” she leaned against the table, “you know Frankie never fools around with anybody. He has rules. Rules that keep guys like Rocky off his back.”

“I know,” Blaine said, and she silenced him with a wave of her hand.

“It keeps everybody off his back,” she clarified. “But he broke those rules for you. I didn’t know why, at first. But I figured it out, the more I got to know you, the more I saw what he saw.”

Blaine kept still, barely breathing, unsure of what to say.

She sighed. “You don’t remember the night you collapsed, do you?”

He shook his head, eyes narrowing.

“He took you home, but you were babbling. Crazy feverish,” she explained, sliding onto the table to take a seat. She patted the space next to her, and he closed the gap between them at the invitation, dropping onto the table by her side. “We wanted to take you to hospital, you said no hospitals. Jan wanted to take you anyway, but Frank said no. He took you home. You were throwing up, and you weren’t making sense, and then suddenly, you were.”

“I was?”

“He cleaned you up, and you were talking to him,” she said. Her voice was soft, and her eyes avoided his face. “About this other guy.”

Blaine’s heart stopped. Oh god.

“You thought it was that guy, taking care of you,” she shrugged, “you told him you loved him. But Frank knew you weren’t talking to him.”

Blaine felt the blood drain from his face. “Oh god,” he repeated aloud.

“He didn’t tell me much else,” she went on, finally looking at him. “Just that he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t hold on to you while you were holding on to someone else. So he went back home, to figure it out.”

Blaine’s eyes drifted closed, and he let out a trembling gust of air. He was the reason Frank left.

“But then something changed. He called me this week,” she laughed, as if remembering some private joke. “Sounded happy like I’ve never heard him. The two of you keep talking, keep missing each other so much it hurts you both. Do you know what that is, when you miss somebody so much it physically hurts?”

He shook his head, eyes stinging.

She nodded. “You’ll figure that part out soon enough. But you have to understand right now, you honestly have him believing that he’s what you want.”

“He is,” Blaine said instantly, eyes bright and glittering in the stage lights. “I’ve just… I’ve wanted this; this one person, this perfect person that I fell in love with in … in a heartbeat. I’ve wanted him for nine months, and then there’s Frank. And he …”

Blaine swallowed around the words, lip trembling as he tried to get them out.

“He moves me. He makes me … He’s real, and he’s here, and he knows who I am, so much of who I am and he still…” he choked for a moment on his words. “But I can’t get this fantasy out of my head. I … I don’t know what to do.”

She tilted her head, considering for a moment, before she shifted on the table and fixed him with a steady gaze. “You need me to Grimsby your ass,” she suggested.

He blinked at her. “What?”

“You ever see The Little Mermaid?” she asked.

Blaine scoffed. “Of course.”

“Well, right now? You’re that scene where Prince Eric is sitting on the castle wall, playing his manly pan flute, and he’s staring out over the beach and the ocean. He’s moping, of course, over some back-lit warbling bimbo that he saw for two seconds,” she said, and held up two fingers to emphasise her point. “Two seconds, and he fell in love. And he’s been pining ever since over this fantasy girl, even though he has this other girl, this real and beautiful girl who cares about him, waiting for him inside.”

Blaine nodded along as she spoke. He knew the scene.

“And then Grimsby, that’s his man servant guy, comes up to him, and he lays it down,” she said matter-of-factly, and Blaine couldn’t help but smile at her inflection.

“So I’m going to say to you, what Grimsby said to him, but I'll paraphrase,” she went on, sliding off the table and turning to meet his gaze with a deadly serious look. “Better than any dream boy is one of flesh and blood. One that’s warm, and caring,” she lifted her fingers to his chin, guiding his head to turn. “And right before your eyes.”

His breath caught in his throat as he saw Frank’s smile for the first time in three weeks.

“He said you left him voicemails, whenever he couldn’t get to his phone,” she whispered, watching him sadly. “He didn’t tell me what they said, but you should know he kept them. He plays them. He told me,” she brushed her fingers through his hair gently, “… he told me he falls asleep to the sound of your voice.”

Blaine couldn’t tear his eyes away from Frank, even as he listened. From the smile that danced on his features as he chatted with Riff, laughing and tugging at his corset laces as he did them up slowly, to the sharp flash of muscle, flexing in his shoulders as he moved.

“Please don’t hurt him,” she begged quietly.

He finally glanced back at her, eyes shining. “I keep my cell on the pillow next to mine.”

Her gaze trailed up and down his face, mapping the emotion there.

“I keep hoping one morning I’m going to wake up, and it’ll be him.”

She smiled at him gratefully. After a beat her glance lifted again, and he followed her eye-line to watch Frank disappear backstage.

“Excuse me,” he said in a rush, sliding off the table with a grin. She gave him a solid slap on the ass as he turned, racing down the steps and out of sight.