Most of the time he didn't get involved actively in the community, but he'd been harangued into arrangements and costumes for the charity event this year, and it was as much of a burden on his already too-heavy workload as it was a small thrill of excitement lingering in the back of his mind.

He'd always loved the pomp and the grandeur of it, the spectacle of so many big names side by side with bright-eyed every day New Yorkers, all decked out in decadent costume regalia. He preferred the new annuals to the old, the LGBTQ Prom and traditions of the past. There was something special about the sheer audacity of the Purple Ball itself; women courting each other, parading in flawless couture gowns and suits, men with canes and hats dancing arm in arm with other men under brilliant lights and banners of endless, rich, blooming colour, beating in the heart of New York city.

The years he'd spent dreaming up his perfect costume for the ball suddenly bled into reality, and it was as thrilling as it was overwhelming. There was too much to do, although he had the one blessing of a pre-set date; Rachel had decided she would grace his arm for the night, despite her separate invitation.

When he lost himself to work, the day flew by too quickly. He pushed through the lobby too late into the evening, mind flooding with the old familiar feeling of not having enough work done. He shuffled through seemingly endless crowds, heading home again with another folder of sketches tucked haphazardly under one arm. The lingering weight of his work worries soon gave way to the warm, pleasant feeling creeping into his chest, the reminder of what was waiting for him.

"I'm home," he called, sliding through the door of his apartment and letting it clip shut behind him.

The strangeness of those words resonated for a moment. Rachel was always out at another party or event, or out of town, never home before him. All those endless nights he'd tumbled through his front door to a dark apartment, still and too quiet in the middle of the ocean of noise of that was the city, suddenly washed away. He fought down a smile at the fact that he was not just home, but had somebody to tell.

He hung his coat awkwardly, juggling his bag and folder before he leaned back to peer into his empty living room. "Blaine?"

There was no answer, and he ignored the irritating flash of panic in his throat.

"Blaine?" he called again, dropping his work and bag on the table as he passed and wandered down the hall.

He paused in the open doorway to Blaine's room, eyes bright with amusement as he folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the frame.

Like a child in a tiny rowboat in the middle of a sea, Blaine sat cross-legged on his bed, already showered and in the sweats and singlet that doubled as his makeshift pyjamas. The bed was strewn with books, some of them on edge or overturned, some stacked to the side, half of them bookmarked by being splayed face down. The book in his lap covered most of his legs, its huge and glossy pages spread open and shimmering in the light as he pawed over it with trembling hands.

"You had a busy day," Kurt said, unable to keep the smile from his face.

Blaine jumped slightly at the sound of his voice, the book flipping in his lap. He stared up blankly for a moment before his face split into a giant grin, and he bolted up to his knees. "Kurt! Oh, Kurt - there are so many things! - I've found - with - there's-" He was scrambling as he spoke, trying to pick a book to show him, trying to figure out what to tell him first.

Kurt laughed silently. "You've been reading?"

"Oh, Kurt," Blaine breathed, suddenly overwhelmed. "Your world is so magical. There's so much! There's so much to learn and so much to see - I had no idea it was so vast. So many different places, countries," he enunciated carefully, and gave a little proud smile at the word. "So many oceans and seas, and there's so much out there."

Kurt noticed with a tilt of his head that the broad book was his Atlas.

"It's a big world," he agreed.

"I want to see all of it," Blaine insisted, his voice intense and deep.

Kurt chuckled. "That usually takes a very long time."

Blaine's face fell in an instant, and he settled back onto his thighs.

Cocking his head, Kurt watched him for a moment. "What is it?"

"I only have eight days left," Blaine said softly. "It's not enough time."

Kurt fixed him with a sympathetic look. But what if you don't only have eight days? he thought. What if it's all in your head?

"You could stay," Kurt offered, and froze, suddenly aware of what he was saying.

Blaine smiled sadly. "Daltasia needs their King. I could come back," he said, brightening, but only for a moment before the realisation crept back in. "Except… when I am King… I can't leave. I couldn't leave. They'd need me."

Trying to ignore the dull ache in his chest, Kurt studied Blaine's dejected face carefully, unsure of what to say.

"Well," he began, not sure where he was going with it. "I mean, eight days isn't nothing, either. What else is there?"

Blaine glanced up at him briefly before his gaze fell to the other books on the bed. "Oh!" he said, fumbling over dictionaries and language books, cookbooks and paperbacks.

Kurt suddenly realised that Blaine had actually taught himself how to use the dictionary to read the other books he'd gone through, so he didn't miss anything. His brow lifted in surprise, and he smiled to himself, impressed.

"You really do love reading," he said, watching as Blaine tried to determine what to show him next.

"I do," he said. "There is so much to learn here. So many things I never - even dreamed of. Your languages, your art, your food."

Kurt stiffened, glancing around the room as an idea grew in his mind. "Have you had dinner?"

He shook his head without looking up. "Lady Rachel is out for the evening with her love," he said.

"Alright," Kurt began, wandering to the bedside and taking the books out of Blaine's hands.

Blaine's fingers groped at the air for a moment in their wake, and he let out a tiny noise of protest, like a child whose toy had been confiscated. Kurt tried not to laugh.

"Dinner," Kurt said. "I can't show you the world, but you can at least experience some of the finer cuisine."

"Oh!" Blaine exclaimed, sliding off the bed. "Wonderful!"

With a soft chuckle, Kurt straightened and turned for the door.

Suddenly, a cold rush prickled his skin, and he froze with a gasp as icy panic shot through his veins.

There was a man looking out of the mirror.

A stranger, lingering for a moment in peripheral vision, just a flash of a shadow and a smile that sent a shudder twisting up his spine.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked worriedly, bracing his shoulders from behind. "What is it?"

The face was gone.

He was sure he'd seen it. It was there. He knew it was there, but at the same time, the mirror was empty, reflecting only the now-empty bed strewn with books.

"What?" Kurt asked, realising Blaine had spoken. "Oh… n-nothing. It's fine. Just…" He shook himself free of the cold sensation, rubbing his own arm. "Seeing things."

It was probably just you, he scolded himself. Just a trick of the light. It was nothing.

They made their way out to the living room and Blaine watched, captivated, as Kurt ordered Chinese food for dinner. The entire delivery process left him bewildered, and Kurt barely stopped him from gushing openly at the magic of it all to the startled delivery boy.

Blaine had adjusted to the lack of ritual surrounding meals fairly quickly, and as much as Kurt had always appreciated the presentation that went into a sit-down dinner, he found himself preferring Blaine this way. Any remnants of the perfectly prim prince had fled, leaving him warm and loose, draped over a chair with his knee up to his chest, trying to master chopsticks and passing cartons back and forth with excited, eager hands.

Kurt barely ate, too busy caught up in fascination with Blaine, the way every little thing and ever new flavour made him giddy with delight. So little about him made sense, so much of him seemed utterly impossible - and yet, there he was.

Work the next day was over too fast, another whirlwind of colours and fabrics and ideas, and not enough done. His late call from Macy left him reeling, suddenly free for the entire week and unburdened by the new line, with time off from the office to focus and finish up work on the ball.

Kurt knew he'd be caught up in errands most days, inspecting the ballroom and the decorations, coordinating designs for the costumes to match - but something inside him thrilled, all the same. The week off meant more time with Blaine.

He was late getting out again, and grateful he'd left his evening plans with Rachel, though somewhat envious of the Portuguese banquet he'd missed out on as he grabbed a quick salad en route. Still, he could imagine it all so clearly; the look on Blaine's face as he ate, the way his hands moved when he talked about the incredible new experiences he was having, the way he lit up completely, unabashedly, each time.

It was familiar, and exciting, and comforting - a feeling that curled in Kurt's heart like a warm coal of memory. It became the thing he looked forward to most the next day, being the one to share it with him again.

The daydream was enough to get by for now, it kept him steady and sure as he found a cab and ducked out of the rain, glad to be heading home.

He arrived to find Blaine on the couch, sleepy and hovering over a huge history volume that had almost tipped off his lap.

Kurt paused just to watch him for a long, peaceful moment, leaning against the wall and letting his gaze drift over his face. He smiled at the soft, damp curls that fell on Blaine's forehead, the way his eyelashes fluttered as he tried to stay awake. His long fingers and broad palms curled loosely over the sides of the book, protective and reverent, like it was some kind of treasure he couldn't let go of.

Putting down his armfuls of folders and sketchbooks, Kurt removed his coat as quietly as possible before toeing off both shoes. He wandered to the couch, dipping his head to try and get his attention.

"Blaine?"

"Hmm?"

Kurt's eyes narrowed fondly as Blaine swayed and tried to look up through heavy eyelids.

"Alright, let's get you to bed," he said, lifting the book and flicking the ribbon to keep Blaine's place before he set it down on the coffee table.

"S'reading," Blaine told him in a mumble, and Kurt laughed softly.

"I know," he said. "You're always reading."

"Love…" Blaine's voice trailed off, and Kurt blinked in surprise.

He loves reading, a voice in his head supplied.

Right.

He lifted Blaine's arm over his own shoulders, scooping a hand around his back gently and guiding him up to his feet. "Cooome on."

"Mmmph," Blaine mumbled again, head dropping to the side as he buried his face in the crook of Kurt's neck.

They stumbled down the hall, and Kurt tried to keep them both upright, his breath coming just a little too quick and his heart pounding just a little too fast. It was one thing to watch Blaine, to see him and hear him, but to touch him was something else entirely. The body under his hands was somehow too real to be part of some fairytale, soft and firm all at once, flawless, and innocent, and unbroken.

He could feel the curl of Blaine's arm behind his neck, the gusts of hot air over his collarbone, the warmth of his chest pressed against his side (hands, breath, heartbeat, I can feel your heartbeat), could feel the tickle of hair under his chin and the angles of Blaine's face pushed against his neck, nuzzling softly.

"Warm," Blaine said, eyes still closed against him.

Kurt drew a shaky breath, trying to keep his voice even. "Good to know, it means I'm not dead yet."

"Nooo," Blaine whined quietly, lips brushing Kurt's skin. "Kurt. No."

His heart clenched tightly at the reaction, and as they reached the bedside he leaned to drop Blaine onto his back, peeling the covers away. "Come on. Bed."

"Humans're warm blooded muh-mammals," Blaine parroted softly, and Kurt huffed out a laugh.

"Someone found the Discovery Channel," he teased, guiding Blaine's feet (warm, solid, real, too-big feet) under the duvet before he pulled it up to his chest.

He leaned back, and Blaine shifted at the sudden loss of contact.

"Kurrrt," he said, arms groping in the air as he rolled against the pillow.

"Shh," Kurt slapped his hands away playfully, eyes bright and amused. "Sleep. We're going somewhere tomorrow, some place big. You'll see."

Blaine huffed a little breath as he settled, head lolling the other way. "Kurt," he repeated quietly, more at peace this time, like the word itself was a comfort.

"Good night, Blaine," Kurt whispered fondly, backing up to the door and leaning for the light switch.

He stopped for a moment, glancing over at the bed to watch the soft rise and fall of his body as his breathing evened out, and sleep took him. Kurt smiled.

With one last lingering glance at the mirror, he sighed and flicked off the light.

The next morning's routine was rushed and almost incomplete, his head caught up in excitement, hands flitting nervously back and forth over different products, very nearly forgetting the order. When he finally pulled on the clothes he'd laid out the night before and stepped into the hall, he caught a blushing Blaine wandering to the bathroom, smiling softly and walking in zig zag of lazy steps.

He tried his best to not think about exactly what it meant, even though he already knew.

You're the one who taught him how, for crying out loud.

By the time Blaine was dressed and fresh-faced, leaning on the kitchen counter, Kurt had downed an early coffee and was hopping around the kitchen making breakfast, cursed with an overabundance of excited energy. Blaine watched him intently, trying to figure out on his own the purpose of each little thing he did.

After a moment, Blaine blinked, leaning over the counter. "You have a magic lamp?"

"Hmm?" Kurt turned, and chuckled as he watched Blaine poke the appliance with interest. "That's a toaster."

"Toaster," Blaine repeated. "Does it hold a genie-YIKE!" he shouted in surprise when the toast popped and clipped him in the face, falling to the floor on the other side of the counter.

Kurt doubled over, shaking violently and trying to sound as worried as he could manage when he finally got the words past the laughter; "Bl- Blaine, are you okay?"

The top of Blaine's head popped up suddenly on the other side of the bench, and he eyed the toaster carefully. "It's some kind of trap?"

"No, no-" Kurt reached a hand out, pawing helplessly at the countertop and desperately trying to fight the noises that threatened to break free again. His voice was high and breathy, and barely controlled. "Ohhh, no, it - it just cooks bread. I should have warned you, it does that."

Another round of gentle, musical giggles escaped him as he turned back to start scrambling the eggs.

Blaine pouted slightly, lifting himself to his feet. "You're laughing at me?"

Kurt turned immediately to apologise, but the look in Blaine's eyes betrayed his amusement.

"I am," he admitted with a soft smirk, and warmed at the smile he got in return.

"Where are we going today?" Blaine asked eagerly, drawing a stool out to sit.

Kurt turned back to his eggs, working quickly and pulling out plates as he went. "You'll see."

Breakfast was a blur of hot food and quick explanations on kitchen appliances, all met with nods of understanding and a flicker of fascination caught in big hazel eyes. It struck Kurt all at once that Blaine had probably never cooked before in his life. At least, not without a campfire.

He's not an actual prince, stop pretending, the voice in his head demanded and, just like every other time over the span of the last two days, was ignored.

They wandered into the city by bus this time, an entirely new experience that left Blaine a little unsteady on his feet. He stumbled awkwardly as they alighted, leaning on Kurt for support.

"It's like travelling in the belly of a dragon," he mumbled, awestruck and a little green.

Kurt huffed a laugh. "That's… frighteningly accurate."

When they reached 42nd street and crossed the open pavement, Blaine grew very quiet. Kurt glanced at him intermittently as they walked, enjoying the early reaction; the open surprise on his face, his huge eyes trailing over the marble of the building before them and lingering on the lions.

"I've never seen a palace like this one."

"It's not a palace," Kurt teased, lips curling into a knowing smile. He reached out to take Blaine's hand as they got closer, unable to look away from the enchanted expression on his face.

Kurt's heart fluttered with excitement as they wandered up the steps past packs of locals and tourists alike, giddy with the knowledge that this was going to be wonderful.

Blaine's eyes darted all around, soaking in the pillars and the carved statues, trailing over the three high arches of the entrance before they passed beneath.

They made their way inside, and he followed behind Kurt in small, stunted steps, stopping whenever Kurt stopped, holding tight to his hand, eyes never falling from the immensity of all that stood around them. The ceilings were high, and the staircase peeling off to the right lead up and away to another floor, turning at an angle. Blaine drew a long, deliberate breath, trying to soak in everything he was seeing.

Kurt lead him through another door into a long, grand hall, bigger than any royal court or council Blaine had witnessed. It was filled with row after row of tables, chairs and lamps, the walls lined endlessly with wooden shelves, and on them more books than Blaine had ever seen in his life.

His mouth fell open in surprise, eyelashes fluttering madly as he tried to understand what he was looking at.

The huge, arched windows let in curtains of warm daylight, spilling over the wood floors below and leaving shadows on the dark bannisters of the upper level. The huge hanging pendants above them lined the ceiling with circles of hundreds of smaller lights, each of them leading down the long hall in rows on either side.

"Oh," Blaine breathed, mouth still agape as he tried to form any kind of coherent thought.

Kurt watched him with a nervous, gentle smile, and squeezed his hand. "Welcome to the library."

Blaine turned to him, mouth trembling and eyes flashing with absolute, undiluted wonder. "I-" He panted softly, heart racing, trying to think of another word.

"It's okay," Kurt laughed, rubbing Blaine's back and leading him into the room. They found the nearest chairs, and Kurt drew them out quickly to sit down. "Just, take a minute."

He watched, unable to keep the grin from his face, as Blaine pivoted in his seat, straining and leaning to stare at everything he could. When he finally turned back, he dropped both hands on the table, his breath shaky and uncontrolled.

"Do you like it?" Kurt asked carefully.

"Like it? Kurt, it's-" his eyes fell closed, and his mouth shaped around the words before he said them aloud, "It's wonderful. I never even dreamed it could- that there'd be-"

"I know," Kurt said, rubbing the back of his hand soothingly.

Blaine met his gaze, brow drawn together, eyes bigger than Kurt had ever seen them and so much brighter, glowing with something unnamable in the silvery light.

Kurt realised in that moment what he'd just done.

To him, this is the fairytale.

Blaine's voice was barely a whisper. "Thank you."

Kurt let his gaze fall to the soft, shaking line of Blaine's mouth, and up again, trying to reconcile reality with the fluttering, somersaulting sensation in his stomach.

He realised he wasn't really breathing, just staring and smiling. He let his breath go slowly, carefully, resting his hand over Blaine's again, warm and solid (real) under his fingertips.

He wanted to say what he was feeling. He wanted, just once, to say without a blush to his face or a tremble in his hands; You take my breath away.

Instead he said, "You're welcome."