As Blaine gathered their bags together and dropped them by the door, Frank smiled softly at the familiarity of the room, and the utter Blaine of it all. His eyes lingered over perfectly ordered bookshelves and cabinets, and boxes stacked nearly behind the couch.

Blaine pressed a gentle hand to the small of Frank’s back, fingers grazing across the lines of the corset and slipping lower to brush tenderly over skin.

“I know I’ve only been here once, but I think I’m going to miss this place, when you move,” Frank said.

With a nod, Blaine surveyed the room as Frank turned tightly against him. “Me too.”

Frank sucked in a harsh breath, gaze lowering to the line of Blaine’s mouth. “I should…” His voice trailed off, like he’d forgotten what to say. He shook his head just slightly, letting out a shaky laugh. “I should get out of this costume.”

“Mmm,” Blaine agreed with a playful smile. “When you’re ready.”

Meeting his eyes, Frank held them for a moment and pressed his lips together in a thin line. He nodded gently. “I’m ready.”

Blaine leaned in without a word; pressing a sweet, quick kiss to his lips before he sank down to his knees so slowly Frank could hear every thunderous tick of the clock on the wall. He tried to control his breathing, staring down at the man in front of him, lost for words as he watched Blaine’s eyes trail down his body.

His breath caught in his throat as Blaine’s hands dragged up both calves over the leather of his boots, and then focused on one leg, gripping the zipper and dragging it down to his ankle. He did the same on the other, taking his time, and guiding both of Frank’s legs out carefully with firm hands before he pushed the shoes away.

Slow, steady fingers undid the clasps of both garters, slipping into stockings and peeling them down one leg, then the next. With his eyes closed, Frank swayed in the aching silence that coiled around them both.

His hands slid into Blaine’s hair while he planted a soft, chaste kiss to the side of Frank’s knee, palms gliding up the backs of both thighs. It felt raw, and heady, and Blaine's heart clenched tightly in his chest at how badly he needed him to know, to feel, to understand. Every press of lips to skin was soft and simple, unadorned by sex or lust, only saying you are loved.

Blaine whimpered when Frank slipped out of his grasp, and just barely stopped himself from reaching after him. He watched as Frank moved on long feet and pale, muscular legs, gliding to the door to gather his bag.

When Frank spoke, his voice was breathy and uncontrolled, almost scared. “I have to – I have to go and wash this out, wash this off,” he waved a nervous hand at his hair and face. “I’m going to have a shower. And get dressed.”

Blaine gave a quick nod, pulling himself up from the ground without looking away.

“I’ll be right back, and then… we can be…” Frank flinched tightly at the tremor in his voice, and tried to steady his breathing.

“Hey.” Blaine’s tone was gentle, and he met Frank’s eyes when they fluttered open. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” Frank said, and while his voice betrayed him, his gaze was clear and sure. “Please, let me.”

Blaine nodded. “I’ll be here.”

Giving him a final, grateful smile, Frank slipped through Blaine’s bedroom to the ensuite, and Blaine watched him until the door slid closed.

Blaine scooped to pick up his bag, swinging it into his bedroom and pulling his phone from his pocket, trying to ignore the frantic pounding of his nervous heart. He moved through muscle memory as went about his usual post-show routine, changing quickly into comfortable pants and a t-shirt, and tossing his cell down onto his second pillow as always.

One step away, he froze, and turned back to the bed. A tentative smile played at his lips as he reached out, and took back the phone, discarding it on a side table. He ran his fingers gently over the swell of the pillow itself, soothing out the worn indent of his cell phone.

He drew a smooth and deliberate breath, eyes bright and wandering over his bedroom.

This was real.

Frank, his Frank, was here, and he was real, and warm, and Blaine knew in that moment that everything would be alright.

He padded quietly out to the kitchen, tugging on the refrigerator door and glancing down at the scattered contents. With a sweep of his hand over the shelves, he pulled out a bottle of water and let the door thump closed.

The shower shut off with a groan in the pipes, and Blaine glanced up, trying to ignore the sharp thrill that shot up his spine.

Just breathe, he told himself, closing his eyes and leaning back against the bench as he sipped his bottle of water. He flexed his toes carefully against the tiles, sore as always from the part of every Friday night that he'd spent in high heels.

Focusing on his breathing and trying to calm the swell in his chest, he didn’t hear the bathroom door. It wasn’t till he caught a quiet cuss that his eyes flew open, and he leaned on one leg to try and peer into his room. “Everything okay?”

“You don’t own a hairdryer,” Frank called back accusingly.

Blaine couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He shifted on the balls of his feet, teetering to catch any hint of him flickering past the doorway. There was a streak of navy blue, a shirt and shoulders, and Blaine felt his pulse thundering in his ears with excitement. When Frank swept past again, too far away, he caught a mess of light-brown hair, damp and sticking up haphazardly.

His grin only widened at the awareness of light brown. He knew the gel was tinted dark, but he’d had no idea what was underneath.

Frank moved past the door a third time, and Blaine stepped out of the kitchen, wandering slowly towards his room. Something in the back of his mind flared darkly in warning. Wait, it said. Stop. Shirt and shoulders. Wait.

“Are you coming out here?” Blaine called, chuckling and trying to ignore the strange and unsettling feeling building in his gut.

“Urgh, I look like someone drowned a muppet, hang on,” Frank called back.

Blaine let his head roll forward, body shaking with silent laughter as he heard the familiar zip of Frank’s bag. He put his bottle down on the counter, and turned to go help when the warning came again, flashing sparks of startling memory.

Shirt and shoulders. Light brown hair. Wait. Stop.

He slowed to a halt half way across the living room, blinking.

Even the back of him was beautiful.

And Blaine would know. He’d seen it often enough.

“Okay, you’ll have to put up with the mess.” Frank sighed in resignation. “Just, don’t say anything about the hair, it’s usually a lot better. No, that’s underplaying it,” he called in cocky, playful tones. “It’s usually perfect.”

“Perfect,” Blaine whispered in a hollow voice.

Oh god.

His heart was on the floor before Kurt stepped through the doorway.

Blaine didn’t move as all the air drained violently out of the room in a silent second.

The clock on the wall ticked like a thundering metronome, and Blaine knew he’d stopped breathing. He could feel the scream of his lungs, begging for oxygen.

Kurt.

Kurt slid forward gracefully, hands pushed into his pockets and shoulders drawn up high. “So,” he said lightly, a nervous smile playing at his mouth.

Blaine felt the world sputter in a kaleidoscope of cold awareness, hollowing out his veins.

Something inside him flared and exploded in waves of shock and absolute, unparalleled disbelief.

“Blaine?” Kurt cocked his head.

Blaine swallowed air, blinking numbly, paralysed to the spot. He tried in stunted sparks of will to untangle the twisted ropes of Kurt and Frank and how in his head.

Kurt. Frank.

He was talking again, but Blaine couldn’t hear him.

How.

“Blaine, you’re scaring me,” Kurt whispered.

Blaine felt his mouth finally snap shut.

The words bubbled up too fast. “I think I’m having a stroke.”

“Smile,” Kurt instructed instantly.

“What?”

“Smile, so I can see if it’s uneven, it’s a sign of-”

“No, I –” His voice didn’t sound like his own. “I’m – I’m not actually having a stroke, I just… oh god.”

Kurt’s gaze narrowed. He paused for a second, and flinched with irritation.

“I know this is news to you,” he said lightly, barely disguising the hurt in his voice. “But it’s fairly universal that a stroke and 'oh god' are not flattering reactions to seeing somebody for the first time.”

Blaine tried to pull in a hard lungful of air, heart pounding painfully in his chest. “Kurt, no, I – please–”

Kurt’s eyes flashed wide in shock. “You- you know my name?”

“I-” Yes. Kurt. Oh god.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Kurt, please,” Blaine begged helplessly.

“You knew?” Kurt growled accusingly. “Wh- what is this?”

“It’s not, I mean, you’re-” You’re him. Kurt. Please.

“Not what you expected,” Kurt finished for him icily, shoulders falling.

Blaine felt the sound tunnel back down his throat, sticking in his ribcage and screaming for release.

“I get it,” Kurt uttered brokenly. “It’s… fine. I guess I’m not what you wanted after all.”

Blaine shook his head feverishly, blinking and choking as he tried to form the right words, tried to move, tried to stop time and start over.

“He – you’re,” he barely managed to get out. “From my work, the guy, he’s-” You, his brain supplied. He’s you. The words didn’t make it to his lips.

“It’s about him?” Kurt asked, his mouth hanging open. A flash of anguish danced across his features under the shock, raw and clear, tearing Blaine’s heart from his body.

Kurt scooped up his bag, his frame hunched in rejection as he swept towards the door. “This was a bad idea.”

“No, Kurt – please-” Blaine’s voice was cracking violently, struggling to break out of him and growing desperately louder. “I didn’t know!”

Kurt reached for the handle as Blaine’s cry shattered the room.

“I didn’t know you were the same person!”

Time stopped.

Kurt’s fingers lingered in the air, frozen.

The silence felt like a living, breathing animal between them, sweeping through the open space and keeping them pinned painfully still.

Blaine’s barely-there dry sob was all it took for Kurt pull his hand back slowly, and the fear, the sheer undiluted terror of turning around and facing him felt like fighting a war.

But he turned anyway.

“It was me,” Kurt said softly, eyes trained on the floor for a moment. “He… was me?” He glanced up, searching Blaine with wide and confused eyes.

Blaine gave a frantic nod, mouth trembling, shoulders hunched and hands groping uselessly at the air on the other side of the room.

“H-how?” he asked. “Why – why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t recognise me?”

Blaine shook his head just as violently.

Kurt stared at him, body clenched tight and bracing as he tried to understand what was happening to them both.

“I don’t believe you,” he whispered. “You worked in that office for months, you never so much as looked at me. This – this doesn’t happen.”

“I d- I did. Please,” Blaine begged again. “Please don’t leave. I can explain.”

Wetting his lips, Kurt glanced around nervously, lost and unsure of what to do with his hands.

“Alright,” he lowered his bag to the floor, “explain.”

Blaine blinked at him, stunned. “Oh. I… I can…” He searched the room without really seeing, trying to think of something, anything, to prove himself.

“Oh!” he said suddenly, spinning and scrambling to his bedroom.

Stunned, Kurt leaned to peer through the doorway after him. With a shaky exhale and one last glance to the front door, he followed.

When he reached the bedroom, Blaine was standing at the dresser, holding his pocket watch in his hands.

He turned, seeking and finding Kurt’s silhouette instantly, eyes huge and sad, and stunning in the soft light.

“Come here?” Blaine pleaded gently, sliding onto the bed to sit down.

Tentatively, Kurt did as he asked, and with two steps was at the bedside.

“It was months ago,” Blaine whispered, looking at the disc and chain in his hands. “You were… We were in the elevator.”

Kurt gasped quietly, settling on his knees on the bed. “I remember,” he breathed, gaze falling to the watch. “You were wearing the grey suit,” he laughed a little in surprise, “and that … horrible green tie. I wanted to cut that thing off and burn it.”

Blaine looked up, surprised but smiling. “You saw me.”

“Of course I saw you.” Kurt answered sadly. “But you didn’t even look at me. I mean; I was staring, I couldn’t help it. But you-”

“I was scared,” Blaine confessed, breathless. “You were… I was staring, too. At your hands. You had this,” he flipped open the watch, pulling out the folded note inside, “on a piece of paper. I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days, I had to write it down.”

Kurt unfolded the scrap of paper carefully. His jaw fell as he read it. “Oh.”

“It was the reason. You were the reason I took that flier from the caf�. I used to go there,” he ducked his head timidly, “every Monday, when you got your coffee. I used to go just so I could remember, just… so I could see you. Even if it had to be from a distance.”

Kurt’s eyes were closed as he listened, still clutching the piece of paper in his hand.

“I put the flier on the board, at the caf�,” he admitted, opening his eyes to meet Blaine’s. “For the show. We needed a new Brad, of course, but I never imagined…”

Blaine laughed to keep himself from crying. It was ridiculous. It was insane, it was impossible, but all of it was happening. Kurt was here.

Kurt was right in front of him, looking at him with eyes he’d seen so many times before, talking to him with a voice he knew so well he heard it in his sleep. His Frank. His Kurt. He was here.

Blaine stared at him openly, unable to look away, trying to find the seam where Frank ended and Kurt began. But there was none. It made absolutely perfect sense, but no sense at all.

His eyes trailed over the familiar lines of Kurt’s face, and his mind reeled again at that simple fact. Familiar. But they were. The same angles he’d pressed kisses to so many times, had brushed with his fingers, had loved. The sweep of his nose, the curve of his mouth, all laid bare and more beautiful than Blaine had ever imagined.

“The first time I saw you,” Blaine began carefully. “It was across the lobby. I felt like…”

“I know,” Kurt whispered back.

Blaine looked up.

“I saw you too.”

Blaine’s gaped at him, eyes huge and dark, brow drawn in breathless surprise.

“My dad said this to me,” Kurt went on, tapping the piece of paper. He shifted as he spoke to settle down properly and cross his legs on the bedspread. “The day I realised I didn’t want to go into musical theatre. It was all I ever wanted, and then one day, it just… wasn’t anymore. I was so lost,” he said with a soft sigh, dragging his thumb over the words. “So I called my dad, like I always do when I don’t have any answers.”

Blaine listened as he studied Kurt’s face adoringly, mapping every new line and uncovered expression to memory.

“He asked me what I really wanted to do. The first thing that came to mind was what I loved most. Fashion. Then he said this to me." He raised the piece of paper. “Sometimes we forget who we really are, and we need to be reminded.”

They shared a knowing glance, and Blaine felt his body relax, soothed under the familiar wave of Kurt’s voice as he continued his story.

“Then, he said that the first thing on my mind was probably the right thing. So I went for an interview.” Kurt shrugged. “I mean, it was a fashion magazine, and it felt so right, but it was still new. Like nothing I’d ever done before. I was scared, and I was so close to not walking past those front doors, but then I saw you.”

His eyes lifted, meeting Blaine’s gaze again.

“You knew who I was, all this time,” Blaine said finally, wetting his lips. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you,” Kurt countered.

Blaine laughed brokenly. “That’s fair,” he said. “But I couldn’t – when you were around, when you were there and I had a chance to say something, I could never get it out. You left me speechless.”

Kurt swayed gently, expression drawn in shock and wonder. He shook his head in exasperation. “We’re both idiots.”

“Mmm,” Blaine agreed, nodding.

A long pause stretched between them as it all sank in, and the silence lingered on comfortably, wrapping them both in the stillness of the early morning.

Suddenly, Kurt laughed, closing his eyes.

“What?”

“The night you had the fever,” he said, fighting a disbelieving grin. “And you were talking about him.”

Blaine’s face flushed red and he buried it in both hands. “Oh god.”

Kurt watched him with an amused glint in his eye, biting his lip as he leaned back. “You couldn’t have said ‘Kurt’? It’s one syllable, how hard is that?”

“Hey, I had a fever,” Blaine insisted with a bashful grin.

“I was so… heartbroken,” Kurt continued, his voice higher. “You were talking about him, and I was holding you, but I couldn’t let you go.”

“I was talking about you,” Blaine corrected him.

“I didn’t know that.”

“You do now,” Blaine offered gently.

The corners of Kurt’s mouth crept into a smile.

After a moment, he sank slowly down onto the bed in exhaustion. Somehow just that simple act let Blaine's entire body finally uncoil, relief pooling in his chest and slowing the race of his heart.

Kurt looked up at him, blue eyes unclouded and fixed with something new.

They shared a mutual smile for a long moment in the quiet, both settling in the aftershocks of their revelation.

“God,” Kurt said, shaking his head against the pillow, eyes low like he was talking to himself. “It just seems so ridiculous.”

“It is,” Blaine agreed, scooting up the mattress and laying out alongside him, twisting so they faced each other on their sides. “But it doesn’t change anything. At least, not for me.”

Kurt shifted, settling his cheek on the cool fabric and staring into Blaine’s eyes.

Blaine stared back, content right down to the bones of him to simply be still and breathe together, just like they’d always done.

The moments slipped into minutes and more, and Blaine had no idea how long they’d simply lay there together, watching.

“This feels like…” Kurt stopped, searching the wall for a moment before he looked back.

Blaine let his head roll on the pillow, quirking the corner of his mouth in a smile. He knew, and Kurt did too, that they’d done this so many times already. Listening to each other’s voices, long into the night, heartbeats in time to the rise and fall of someone else’s breath.

“Blaine,” Kurt said, eyes drifting open and closed very slowly.

“Mm?”

“Don’t fall asleep,” he said.

“I won’t.”

Barely breathing, Kurt was completely still on the other side of the bed. His gaze trailed over Blaine’s face slowly, mouth slack and trying to form words.

“I need to tell you,” he whispered. “I have to.”

“What?”

Kurt’s lips ghosted over the words before he said them aloud.

“I think,” he breathed. “I think I’ve always loved you.”

For the first time since he’d seen his face, Blaine reached out and touched him.

They pulled together slowly, hands sliding over fabric and skin in long, languid strokes. Kurt was solid, and soft, and warm against his chest, fitting all around him like they’d always been that way.

Blaine’s palms grazed over the sides of Kurt’s face, capturing him and tipping his head back gently against the pillow as he kissed him deeply and slow. He drew Kurt’s lower lip into his mouth gently, sucking and sweeping his tongue over it as Kurt whimpered against him, and long fingers brushed lovingly over his shoulder blades.

Without warning, Blaine’s kiss turned frantic, needy and desperate in sweeps of tongue and the press of his fingers over Kurt’s jaw.

Kurt pulled away with a slip of sound, his voice breathy and worried. “Hey, hey, what is it?”

Blaine thumbed over Kurt's cheek, but didn’t open his eyes. “Tell me,” he pleaded quietly, his voice thick. “Tell me this is real, and I’ll believe you.”

“Oh,” Kurt cried softly, pressing quick, soft kisses to Blaine's lips over and over in succession. “I promise. I promise it is.”

Blaine let a trembling breath fall away from him. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Kurt squeezed him tightly, settling down against Blaine’s body and planting another gentle kiss at the base of his throat.

Blaine’s hands dropped, skimming over Kurt’s arms to trail up and down his back along his spine.

He felt the heavy drag of sleep creeping into his mind like a fog, and blinked himself awake.

“Kurt?”

There was no answer, only the faint flush of heat and soft breathing.

“You’re falling asleep,” Blaine teased.

“Mrrph,” Kurt mumbled against his shoulder in denial.

“Even when you don’t say anything,” Blaine said, kissing his temple and settling against the pillow -

“I love the sound of your voice.”