The caf� was four blocks in the wrong direction now, too far from work and the theatre, just an absent and unconscious thought that slipped away and settled somewhere in the back of his mind. The before.

Kurt had vanished briefly on Sunday afternoon to pack a bag and come back to Blaine’s place, to Blaine’s bed, back to revelling in each other for as long as they could. When he woke up that Monday, Blaine got dressed, and then lay back and watched.

Kurt’s routine was efficient and flawless, ending with him sliding into tight designer jeans and a soft gunmetal cardigan that swooped down low in deliberately uneven lines on one shoulder, revealing the pale stormy grey of his shirt underneath and just enough skin to make Blaine’s fingers tingle pleasantly with memory. His hair swept up perfectly, shades of caramel and honeyed brown, styled and soft and never out of place.

He was wearing his glasses, the first time Blaine had seen them up close, the same charcoal as his Marc Jacobs boots.

Blaine’s eyes were huge, and openly staring, lost in this new Kurt after two days spent spreading him out and learning every curve of him by hand and tongue and heart.

“What is it?” Kurt asked, amused and glancing up over his frames.

“You,” was Blaine’s stunned reply as he closed the gap between them. “I keep thinking I’ve gotten used to this, and then...”

Kurt smiled as he turned, sliding both arms slowly over Blaine’s shoulders. “By this you mean me?”

“Mmm.” Blaine’s fingers grazed over the soft cotton at Kurt’s waist, warm and pliant under his hands. He squeezed. “You were the best daydream I ever had,” he said. “The best thing about every Monday morning. But if somebody told me then that I would … ever get to touch you-”

He was cut off by the slide of Kurt’s lips over his, glasses bumping his cheek. Kurt rolled against his body, pressing their chests together.

Sighing blissfully as he pulled away, Kurt took Blaine’s hand and lead him to the door. “Come on.”

Blaine grabbed his bag on the way, startled. “Wh- Where are we going?”

“We,” Kurt said, glancing back at him, “are going to get my Monday coffee.”

Blaine grinned.

The trip to the caf� was so much faster than Blaine remembered, and all too surreal with Kurt’s leg thrown over his lap as they pressed into each other on the cramped bus trip.

Walking into the caf� itself was strange enough, but the squeal of delight that met them when they got inside left them both still with surprise.

“I knew it!” The girl who was squealing waved a cloth at them, and Blaine recognised her after a moment as the waitress from the week before.

“Oh, hi,” Blaine sputtered. He leaned quickly over to Kurt to explain.

“I don’t know if this is because of me,” she pointed at their joined hands, fingers interlaced between them and bumping against thighs, “but if it is, all I ask is that when you tell your beautiful, romantic how-we-first-met French caf� story to your grandkids one day; make me sound pretty,” she waved a hand through the air, “mysterious and wise.”

“Deal,” Blaine laughed softly as Kurt buried his blushing face in his shoulder.

She winked at them when she sauntered away, almost skipping.

They sat at Blaine’s usual table at Kurt’s insistence, and Blaine did his best not to feel uneasy at the thought of showing him.

“Wow, I see what you mean,” Kurt cocked his head as he spoke, eyes trailing across the room. “I would look hot from this angle.”

Blaine snorted, embarrassed and trying to hide his face. “This is … mortifying.”

“I think it’s adorable,” Kurt countered.

Blaine fixed him with a poor attempt at a glare. “I think you’re adorable.”

“Mmm,” Kurt hummed his agreement, earning more breathy laughter from Blaine.

“You made my week, every week,” Blaine told him. “It was something worth waking up for.”

One side of Kurt’s mouth curled into a smile. “Even from a distance?”

“Even from a distance,” Blaine insisted, sipping his medium drip. “Even with you always facing the other way.”

“The second chair is uneven, it rocks, it’s annoying as hell,” Kurt explained.

Blaine grinned. “Even with your … very loud friend who comes with you sometimes.”

“Rachel,” Kurt rolled his eyes. “She’s an acquired taste.”

“I thought she was your girlfriend, for awhile,” Blaine confessed. “Before I saw you with that-” his voice cut off, eyes growing wide.

Kurt swallowed a mouthful of coffee, blinking. “What?”

Blaine’s eyes flicked back and forth. Kurt has a boyfriend. He remembered the panic that had seized him at the sight, weeks ago.

“There was this guy,” he began hesitantly. “I saw you hugging him at the office, and then he was here with you. I ... thought you had a boyfriend.”

Kurt’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head.

“He was really tall. Kind of broad shouldered, and he looked really… happy…” Blaine’s voice began to taper off when he looked over at Kurt, “to see you…”

Kurt was trembling – minutely, but building up to a full tremor – lips pressed tightly together and eyes pinched. Blaine couldn’t help the confusion that spread across his face, and the twinge of relief and surprise that replaced it when he realised that Kurt was laughing.

No, Kurt wasn’t laughing, he was almost crying from trying to hold the laughter in.

Something in Blaine’s head clicked.

“Oh god, it was Finn, wasn’t it?”

The sound burst out of Kurt on a high, musical round of notes, spiralling down as he wiped away tears behind his glasses. “Ohhhhh my god,” he wailed quietly. “Ohh, oh, my stomach hurts.”

He watched as Kurt came down from his fit of giggles, unable to stop his own broad grin or the blush on his face.

“I’m an idiot,” he said with a resigned sigh, pressing fingers into the bridge of his nose.

“I thought we’d already established that,” Kurt teased. He sipped his drink again, watching Blaine over the top of his cup.

When Blaine glanced up, he felt his heart skip at the look Kurt was giving him. He shivered, shifting suddenly in his seat as the breath made it back to his lungs.

“So,” he said, trying to ignore the heat crawling up his spine at Kurt’s lingering stare. “No boyfriend. That’s… That’s a relief.”

“I didn’t say that,” Kurt countered as he put down his cup.

“Oh,” Blaine blinked at him, hand flexing involuntarily on the tabletop. “Right, I mean – I didn’t mean to insinuate-”

“Blaine,” Kurt cut him off.

Blaine met his eyes again, his expression naked and vulnerable, just as Kurt’s hand slid across the table and into his own. A thumb swept over Blaine’s wrist softly, and he gasped.

Kurt’s smile was warm, his eyes still bright and teasing.

“Oh.” Blaine’s mouth fell open.

With another sip of his coffee, Kurt swayed slightly in his seat.

Blaine felt the tight squeeze in his chest release, replaced with a warm and soothing rush. It had only been three months, but it felt like so much longer, and the simplicity of sitting in a coffee shop with Kurt, his Kurt (boyfriend, his brain reminded him), was almost too much like coming home.

He felt it turn over in his mind like a coin. Boyfriend.

The word settled in his chest, tucked neatly between his hope and his heart.

Monday morning coffee became a part of life again, like it had always been, but so different and so much better in every possible way. Weeks trickled by like pieces of a daydream spun together, and by the time he had a week left in his apartment, Blaine was frantic, panicking at every rejected application for schools and rentals alike.

The Friday he opened the last reply letter, he’d tripped over boxes scurrying for the door and through it and – shit, fuck, shit – running back up the stairs again thirty seconds later when he realised he’d forgotten his costume bag.

He raced through the lobby of the theatre when he arrived, pounding down the corridors and rushing back stage, searching anywhere for Kurt amidst the early cast arrivals.

Kurt was already half in costume, fishnets and boots below satin and lace, his bare chest exposed as he leaned back against the table and fiddled with the strings of the corset in his hands.

Blaine raced up to him, stumbling and nearly falling over, letter still clutched tightly and flapping against his fist.

“What happened?” Kurt straightened the moment he saw him, dumping his corset on the table before he braced both of Blaine’s shoulders to catch him. “Are you okay? Breathe!”

Blaine waved the letter weakly, trying to find air. “I d- I did it!”

Kurt’s eyes were huge, his head shaking side to side, asking for clarification.

“I got in!” Blaine cried, grinning from ear to ear. “The arts program at Hinwood, musical theatre – I got in!”

Kurt’s face opened into a giant grin and he laughed excitedly, wrapping himself around his boyfriend as they both rocked on their feet. “Oh my god, Blaine!”

Blaine buried his face in Kurt’s bare shoulder, clinging tight to his waist and grinning against skin to keep himself grounded. His pulse was racing; beat tearing through his blood with adrenaline and excitement and pure, undiluted joy.

“Oh, my god,” Kurt breathed as they settled down, still holding on. He let his eyes drift closed, resting their heads together. “I’m so proud of you.”

At that, Blaine pulled back gently, fixing him with an adoring look. Kurt’s heart clenched at the tears building in Blaine’s eyes. “You’re amazing, Blaine,” he said genuinely. “And you deserve to hear that. As often as possible.”

Blaine dragged in a long breath, pushing it out again as tried to reign in the near-painful thumping in his chest. “Thank you,” he said wetly.

“Don’t thank me,” Kurt insisted, leaning back and scooping up the corset again. “This was all you.”

With a shake of his head, Blaine settled against the table beside him. “No, you were the reason I even – it was you, you gave me the strength to talk to my dad.”

Kurt’s brow knitted together in sympathy. “Have you told him?”

Blaine sighed, eyes dropping. “We haven’t spoken,” he admitted. “I talked to my mom, she’s … good. But it’s going to take a long time.”

He felt Kurt’s hand slip into his own and squeeze gently.

Smiling, Blaine rested his head against the swell of Kurt’s shoulder, gaze lingering over the leather in Kurt's hands.

“You want some help with that?” he offered, voice sultry and playful.

Kurt’s mouth twitched into a soft curve, and he pulled away without a reply, handing the corset to Blaine. As he slid up onto the table, Blaine shifted and spread his legs, letting Kurt step in between them so he could wrap the leather and silk around his body.

After he pulled each cross-lace tight, Blaine ghosted a kiss between them, leaving tiny wet patterns over the triangle patterns and the map of the strings. Kurt rocked on his feet with every tug, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation and trying not to moan as Blaine’s fingers and mouth brushed over sensitive skin.

“Get a room,” Madge teased as she wandered past, and they pretended not to hear her, betrayed by their smiles.

“Speaking of which,” Kurt murmured, shivering under Blaine’s careful hands. “We have to detour on the way home tonight, we need more… supplies.”

“Again?”

Kurt smirked.

At the sound of Blaine’s melancholy sigh, Kurt’s eyes opened. “What is it?”

Blaine shrugged, fingers still tangling between corset laces. “It’s just,” he shook his head. “It’s not going to be home for much longer.”

“Oh.” Kurt’s hands lowered to sweep his fingers through Blaine’s hair comfortingly.

“I’m going to miss it,” Blaine admitted. “I mean, it reminds me of my old life, sure. But so much happened there. All those phone calls into the morning,” he let a wistful smile creep across his features, “the fever night, that first time you were there. And the first time we…”

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at him, “To be fair, all of that happened in your bed,” he tipped his shoulder to illustrate his point, “not your apartment.”

Blaine heaved another sigh, finishing up and tying off the laces with a flourish before he settled his hands on Kurt’s hips. “True,” he looked up, “I think I’ll miss it more than anything else.”

“Why would you get rid of it?” Kurt asked, surprised.

“It’s too big,” Blaine explained. “Wouldn’t fit in the dive apartment my part-time office job can afford.”

Kurt paused, eyes wandering high as he thought. Stepping in closer, he coiled both arms around Blaine’s neck, and wet his lips. “Then it’s a good thing,” he said lightly, “that I have a very large bedroom.”

Blaine started at him, blinking and stunned.

Dropping his gaze to the line of Blaine’s lips, Kurt brushed his own over them sweetly, grazing skin over skin, kissless and sensual. Blaine’s breath, dancing across his wet mouth, sent shivers up his spine.

“You… you’re asking if–”

“Yes,” Kurt said, amusement and excitement shining in his eyes. “It's not exactly a palace, but there's room. If you want to.”

Blaine answered with a kiss, a loud breath pulling fiercely into his lungs as he seized Kurt and crushed their bodies together desperately, hands sliding over leather and lace.

When Kurt pulled away he swayed in Blaine’s arms, eyes half-lidded and smiling. “I’m taking that as a yes.”

“Yes,” Blaine breathed, gripping at his waist as he kept pressing kisses to Kurt's lips.

Kurt hummed into his mouth after a moment, brushing their noses together briefly before he pulled away. “I have to go put Frank on,” he said reluctantly, slipping back and grabbing the make-up case from the end of the table.

Blaine tried not to let a whimper escape him as he watched Kurt saunter away, eyes trained on the flex of muscles against garters and the curve of his ass in satin.

Groaning quietly, he dragged himself from the table, picking up his bag and finding an empty corner to get changed into his first Brad costume for the night.

“Can anybody tell me,” Trix’s voice came thundering across the room, “why we haven’t replaced this fucking thing yet?”

Snickering, Blaine pulled on his jacket, moving to help her with the ridiculously skimpy Rocky costume she was trying to adjust. It was just a gold dress, but it certainly left little to the imagination.

She hugged him tight once he’d lined up the hooks and zipped her up. “Thanks, kiddo.”

“No luck with a new Rocky?”

“Oh,” she sighed bodily, slumping, “not even close. It’s always a bitch to recruit, though. You need to find the kind of person who’s looking for something, someone who really gets it.” She bumped him with her hip. “We lucked out, with you.”

He smiled at that. Suddenly he realised that his chest hurt at even the fleeting concept of what his life would have been if he hadn’t taken that flier.

“Why do you do it?” Blaine asked, suddenly curious.

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“I mean,” he waved his hand, “I love it, here. It’s – I can’t imagine not doing it. But the appeal for me is the performance and the singing.”

“And Frankie,” she added knowingly.

Blaine laughed. “That too.”

She slipped an arm around his waist and pulled him to her side. “Can I tell you a secret, sugar?”

He nodded.

“This place,” she twirled a finger in the air, “is the greatest place on earth. This place is the future, in the middle of now. Because here, we can be anything we want; dancers and singers, and sluts and whores, cross-dressers, transvestites, prudes and princesses, freaks and fucking proud of it. We can be leather, and glitter, and sex. And not one single bastard out there in that audience will stop and judge us-”

Blaine listened carefully, eyes shining in the backstage light.

“-Because every single one of them is the same,” she told him. “So why do I do it? Because here,” she tapped the ground with her foot, “we can be anything we want, without fear. We can even be ourselves.”

He nodded sharply at her, not quite able to find the words he wanted. She rubbed his back gently before she wandered off to keep setting up.

He wished he could have told her, but he was too overwhelmed to say aloud just how much he understood.

Sometimes we forget who we really are.

Kurt - Frank - slinked over to him silently, slipping both arms around his waist and pressing a soft kiss to his neck. The smell of the hair gel and powdered makeup washed over him, old and familiar, cut with the heady undercurrent of the Kurt underneath.

Blaine sighed, rocking back against him. He breathed deep, turning to press a long, sensual kiss to Kurt’s mouth. He licked against teeth and tongue, sucking back gently on his lower lip, remembering the first time, the rush of blood to his head and the taste of sugar cherry.

Kurt let out a shuddering breath, eyes still closed, as he pulled away. “What was that for?”

“Luck,” Blaine whispered with a soft smirk. “And lipstick stains.”

His laugh was sweet, and almost silent in reply as he draped himself over Blaine’s shoulders.

They waited together for the music, lingering in the shadows under the sweep of red side-stage curtains, where they’d found each other.

Here, we can be anything we want.

We can even be ourselves.

We can be us.