He showered, went through his routine, made his coffee, and hovered over the steam of his cup, staring down the hall. Waiting.

The door never opened.

It was Rachel's voice that drew him out of his reverie, and he turned to find she'd fixed him with a sympathetic gaze.

"He needed a place to think," she said. "I took him to stay with a friend, late last night."

Kurt's mouth dropped open to protest immediately, but she held up a hand.

"He's fine."

"But-"

"Kurt," she said, her tone serious. "He's alright. He just needs space, and time. He's trying so hard, and for some of us, it's not easy to accept that fairytales don't always come true."

Huffing out a sigh, Kurt let his eyes drift closed. "It's my fault."

She stayed quiet for a moment, eyeing him carefully.

"I called Kida's," she told him. "They're sending his suit over there. He'll be at the ball tomorrow night."

"I only had three days left," Kurt whispered, stirring his drink and staring at it with unfocused eyes. "And he's gone already."

"You'll see him tomorrow," she insisted, moving closer to pat at his shoulder reassuringly. "I promise. For now, there are things he just needs to process."

"Where did you take him, exactly? Off to stay with some… some… princess?" The word came out heavy and sharp, full of the venom he'd always kept under before.

She eyed him sadly for a moment.

"What?"

"He's been gone one night, and look at you," she said, folding her hands neatly together on the counter.

"I'm just-" He sighed heavily, slumping. "I'm angry. At myself. I'm sorry."

"I know," she said. "You care about him so much. And it hurts, I know. You broke his heart."

Kurt flinched, fighting back the bitter parade of voices in his head.

"But you didn't know you were doing it," she added carefully. "And in the end, it's a good thing. He needed to know what it felt like, to appreciate how it's going to feel."

"I didn't…" Kurt's voice trailed off in exasperation. "I didn't mean to. I was just trying to explain, to make it easier, to stop it from being worse when-"

"I know, I know," she said, cutting him off. "This is good, Kurt. It always hurts worse the first time, you know that. And with any luck, it'll be the last."

He let out a quiet, humourless laugh and sipped his coffee. "You really think he's going to get through the rest of his life with just - one heartbreak?"

She smiled, meeting his eyes. "Well that's up to you, now, isn't it?"

Stunned into silence, he watched her spin on her heels and disappear down the hall.

He wondered absently if her sudden penchant for talking in riddles was a byproduct of spending too much time with a fairytale prince.

As the day went on, time seemed to slow down to a near standstill, just an unending series of quick glances to the clock to find bare minutes had passed instead of hours.

Without Blaine, without work, he was left to himself and to his permanently, perfectly clean apartment, and the great gnawing lack of anything that might occupy his time. After the fourth call to Kida's to check on the gowns and suits, he'd been given strict instructions to not call back lest violent things happen to his person.

By the evening he'd essentially perfected the art of pacing, varying between the hallway and the living room, reading random magazines and picking up and putting down the phone too many times before he remembered Blaine didn't have a phone number.

When night fell, he stumbled down the hallway one last time on the same familiar path, shoulders slumped and face drawn into a permanent frown as he stopped between the two doors.

He glanced at his bedroom for a moment, blinking. Without a second thought, he turned around.

If he'd had the energy, he probably would have scolded himself, called himself pathetic or sad for doing it. But he didn't have the strength, and he didn't care. Just the warm, trigger-memory of scent was enough to get him through the night as he curled into the blankets of Blaine's bed, and drifted off to sleep.

He was sure, when he woke again, that he'd been dreaming. He remembered sparks of sickly yellow light, weaving through the darkness, holding him against his will. He heard his voice crying out, calling brokenly for Blaine, and shook suddenly with a shudder at the fading memory.

A vague sense of danger lingered at the back of his mind, and he sat bolt upright in bed, blankets coiled around his waist.

There was nobody there, no lingering malevolent presence. The shadows loomed innocently enough, their shapes twisting in the morning light to look less and less like silhouettes. He glanced quickly to the mirror, narrowing his eyes, unable to shake the deep-set feeling of unease it brought him.

If anybody had asked why he stumbled out of bed at that moment and threw a sheet over the vanity to obscure the reflection, he couldn't have given them any kind of sane answer.

The morning trickled by at an agonising pace, just as painfully stunted as the day before. His suit was delivered early, along with Rachel's dress, and he waited in the kitchen, hovering silently over his morning coffee until she came home.

She was barely through the door before he jerked to attention.

"Did you see him?"

When she met his eyes, she softened instantly. "Yes. He's fine."

Kurt nodded and let his gaze fall to the countertop.

"Now, you need to stop," she said firmly.

He blinked. "Stop?"

"This," she said, waving a hand at him. "It's very sad, and tonight we're going to ball, and balls are not sad, balls are happy."

He snorted into his drink. "I don't know, I've seen some pretty s-"

"Kurt!" she cut him off in mock outrage, slapping playfully at his arm.

Laughing, he rocked on his stool for a moment before he straightened and shot her a grateful sideways glance. He hadn't really laughed in days.

"Come on," she said with a nudge. "We have salon appointments booked all day long, because I'm fabulous, and you're fabulous, and we can at least do the world the service of being fabulous together."

He nodded, chuckling quietly as he took another mouthful of coffee and winced. "Can we get some decent coffee first?"

"That's probably a good idea," she agreed, pressing both hands to his shoulders and giving him a little push as he slipped down from the stool. "Go! Let's go get beautiful."

As they made their way outside, he couldn't help but feel that the world had grown smaller, somehow. Even in the honking, caterwauling orchestra of New York City, everything had telescoped down to little moments inside a glass tumbler, pockets of movement and sound. He wondered why it left such a bitter sting in the back of his throat, an old familiar hollow drag that lingered at the periphery of every quiet pause.

Halfway through his hair treatment, he realised why it felt so familiar and so foreign all at once.

This was how it felt before.

Before Blaine, before that night on the street when his head told him to run and his heart made him stay.

He shut his eyes and tried to relax in his seat, tried to forget about everything else. The ball was tonight. Blaine would be there. Everything was going to be alright.

When they made it home again, Rachel disappeared in a flurry of powder and the trailing scent of product, her brown hair spiralling over her neck in ringlet waves, clipped either side with faded gold pins that sparkled in the filtered late-afternoon light. She dragged the giant folded box of her new gown along with her, and Kurt tried not to laugh aloud at the image of his tiny roommate pulling along a box that was almost the same size as she was.

Gathering the pieces of his neatly packaged suit, he wandered down the hall soon after to get dressed.

The suit was just as stunning as he'd imagined it would be; the lines of his pants flawless and smooth, fitting snugly to his legs and accentuating the curve of his thighs. The boots were dark leather, buckled at each side with silver and thick interwoven woven straps, matching the tones of his belt. He pulled his shirt and jacket on carefully, drawing and clipping together the patterns of fine chain mail across the front and slipping his fingers under the silvery lines of his collar, making sure it stayed in place, cupping his neck and opening at the front to expose his throat and a long, triangular dip of pale skin.

As he watched himself in the mirror, he felt his skin prickle again, a fleeting sense of discomfort that came from the stillness of his reflection. His gaze fell to the suit, to the lines of black and silver, and he wondered how something so simple could make him look like he'd walked right out of Daltasia himself.

A smile curled at the edge of his mouth at the reminder of Blaine, the recollection of the suit he'd designed for him and how it might look in real life.

With a deep, careful breath, he steadied himself on the dresser, eyes fluttering closed as he tried to slow his racing pulse.

Everything is going to be alright.

He made his way out to the living room in long strides, and it was only another minute before the rustle of fabric caught his attention. He turned to watch Rachel glide effortlessly down the hall, shoulders drawn up in excitement and arms spread wide.

His eyes flashed with delight as he smiled and tilted his head to admire his work. Rachel was a vision in scarlet red, elegant and glittering with finely crafted beads and jewels down the front of her strapless gown.

"Well," she said, twirling on the spot and putting on a posh accent. "You certainly do exquisite work, good tailor!"

He gave her a dramatic bow. "Ah, the elegance is yours, my Lady," he said, playing along with a tone of deep sincerity.

His heart stuttered weakly in the moment, shocked at how much his own voice had suddenly reminded him of Blaine.

She watched him with a knowing smile.

"Soon," she offered gently, and he hated her a little for knowing him too well.

With a sudden, sharp breath, he turned and propped his arm, fist resting loose against his side as he offered his elbow. "Shall we?"

Hooking her arm through his, she gave him a quick nod. "I think I'm in the mood for a fairytale."

The car was already downstairs waiting for them, and he helped her in as carefully as he could, lifting the shimmering sweep of red fabric over the edge of the seat before he strode around to the other side and slipped in next to her.

When they arrived, he found himself reeling, struck numb and standing still on the leading carpet outside the ballroom, blinking stupidly at the swirling, glittering masses. Every colour he'd ever imagined bled together in a sea of endless grace, sweeping across the polished floors under the rich hanging purple and gold banners that trickled down from the ceiling either side of the room in velvety waves. The giant floor-to-ceiling mirrored walls made the ballroom look so much bigger than it had ever been, stretching out infinitely in front of him.

Two women moved past him carefully, skirting around him where he blocked the open doorway. They were both decked in finely cut suits of royal blue and forest green, emblazoned with the bronze crests of imaginary kingdoms, holding hands and laughing as they went inside. He watched them go, mouth still agape and brow twitching in shock and disbelief at the sheer enormity of all of it. This is real. This isn't a dream.

He didn't feel Rachel take his hand, but still his body swept along with the pull, wandering through the archway and over the rich byzantium carpet strewn across the entrance, embroidered with gold ribbon in the symbol of a lion.

When his mouth finally snapped shut, he swallowed against the dryness of his throat, letting his eyes fall closed for a long moment before he opened them again to stare at the spectacle spread out before him. It was everything he'd dreamed it would be, and so much more.

The music was sharp and regal; classical piano and the grandeur of strings in harmony, filtering across the room above the endless chatter of voices. It wasn't until Rachel squeezed his hand too tightly that he looked down at her, his eyes still glassy and bright with awe.

She smiled softly, her mouth turning up at the edges in a way that was both comforting and exciting all at once as she nodded to the door.

When he turned, he felt the world fall away in an instant.

The sound of the music, the hum of conversation, all of it drowned out as his heart thundered in his chest. His lips parted, and closed again, eyes flickering but never fully closing as he watched Blaine walk through the archway.

The suit was perfect. Beyond that, it was so very Blaine. Every part of Blaine; from the wide-eyed innocent prince he'd met two weeks ago to the stumbling, blushing boy that had wandered down his hallway so many mornings, to the sweet and gentle man that had held his hands and danced with him in the park.

His looked so much larger, his shoulders so much broader in the strong lines of the charcoal jacket, cut with lighter shades of grey trim and soft tones of silver. Kurt couldn't help but smile at the slight shadow on his face, not dark enough to be stubble but strong enough to make him suddenly so much older than before.

But he wasn't alone.

It was a sharp blow to Kurt's senses, a sudden rush of awareness that came crashing over him like a tidal; the realisation that there was an arm linked through Blaine's.

She was petite and very graceful, her arm perched delicately in the crook of Blaine's elbow and her head tipped to the side to offer their invitation to the host, her face obscured.

As they moved, Kurt studied her carefully, his brow dropping and breath drawing in on small, unsteady bursts. Light splashed over them again, and he caught the twist of her blonde hair, pulled back into delicately woven braids above her ears and sparkling with small silver leaves that matched the long embroidered vines on her ruffled dress of deep egyptian blue. She tucked a shoulder against Blaine's arm, leaning into him when she straightened.

Kurt's jaw fell slack again, and this time he wasn't sure if he let out the tiny startled sound or he'd just imagined it. He wasn't sure if this was actually happening.

When Blaine looked up, Kurt was sure his heart stopped.

He'd seen Blaine brighten instantly so many times before, always quick to smile and open his eyes so wide with wonder at every little thing, but this was different. Blaine stared back at him, his face an unreadable, stunning mask of something so much bigger than Kurt could comprehend in the dizzying rush of the moment. His soft, pink lips were parted and trembling slightly as he gave Kurt a tiny nod, and lead his lady over at last.

Kurt fought to swallow against the lump in his throat, trying to compose himself, trying for his strongest, calmest smile as they grew closer.

He settled his gaze on her with a gentle huff of breath. "Quinn."

She smiled at him broadly, eyes thinning with delight. "Kurt."

Her voice was soft and warm, laced with telling fondness. She uncurled her arm from Blaine's quickly, and leaned in to seize Kurt in a hug.

Blaine watched hesitantly, eyes flicking back and forth between them before he glanced to Rachel and caught her tiny little nod of encouragement.

"It's so good to see you, you look wonderful," Quinn said, glancing up and down to admire Kurt's suit.

"Ah, yes, and you look as beautiful as ever," he replied, ignoring the tremble in his hands.

"Lady Rachel, you look more stunning than any princess I have seen," Blaine said with a small, adoring smile, reaching out to take her hand and press a kiss to it.

Rachel's nose scrunched as she smiled and wiggled slightly. "Why, thank you, Blaine. You look very handsome."

"You do," Kurt said softly, voice barely above a whisper. He cleared his throat quickly as Blaine glanced at him. "I mean, you … look wonderful."

Blaine smiled, eyes shimmering brightly with something Kurt couldn't quite place.

"As do you," Blaine said breathlessly. "I … you look …"

Quinn patted at Blaine's arm, trying to save the moment. "We should dance," she suggested gently. "It is a ball, after all."

Blaine nodded, lips pressing into a thin line as he drew himself back and held out an open palm in polite invitation.

Gathering her dress in one hand, she took his with the other and let him lead her across the floor.

In their wake, Kurt let his chest fall as the air rushed out of his lungs, and it felt like his ribcage was caving in.

"What is it?" Rachel asked, her voice tinted with a peculiar tone, like she was waiting for something.

Kurt barely noticed. "He's… I never thought that he would…"

"What?"

"I guess-" Kurt huffed out bitter laugh. "If anybody were a fairytale princess, of course it would be Quinn Fabray."

"Oh, Kurt," Rachel said with a sigh, looping their arms together again and pulling him along as the music picked up. "Dance with me. Maybe it just needs a minute to sink in."

"What does?" Kurt asked numbly, spinning with her guiding hands and lettering her line them up to dance.

"Just think for a minute," she said calmly, pulling him along into the waltz. "It's all there, you just need to put it together."

He stepped in time with the music, the sway of the dance coming as naturally to him as it always had - mindless and easy. He blinked at her, meeting her searching eyes with confusion.

"I'm sure it'll hit you, any moment now," she said lightly, almost teasingly. "Aaaaaany moment now."

Kurt tipped his head back, growling in frustration. "Can you stop being so frickin' cryptic?"

As the song came to an end and the next struck up, he felt a warm hand on his arm and turned in surprise.

Quinn lifted her brow suggestively. "May I cut in?"

"Oh," Kurt said. "Of - of course."

Rachel reached out a hand to where Blaine lingered behind them, and curtsied.

"Your highness," she said sweetly, and he laughed softly as he accepted her invitation.

"Thank you, so much, Lady Rachel. In lieu of a princess, it was all too kind of you," he bowed to Quinn before he said very carefully, "to lend me yours tonight."

Kurt froze.

With a faint air of mockery, Rachel twirled a half-circle and into Blaine's arms, leading him away.

Blinking rapidly, Kurt tried to form a word and quickly lost it again, only feel the rush of blinding awareness strike him like lightning.

"Oh… my god."

Quinn smirked at him softly, sliding her hand into his and draping the other over his shoulder. He took her waist very slowly as they began to dance, steps stilted and awkward for a moment while his brain frantically scrambled to meet up with his body.

"Rachel said you weren't quite yourself lately," she began, her voice calming and pleasant under the wave of the violins. "After the last two days with Blaine, I can see why."

"He was -" Kurt's mind stumbled again, realisation crashing around inside his skull at a dizzying pace. "He was … with you. And you were… you and… ohhh my… I…"

She laughed softly.

"I'm so sorry," he said, trying to regain his composure with deep, steady breaths. "I had no idea. I just - I've been so … caught up lately. I never even asked her. I can't believe she didn't tell me. I can't believe I didn't even ask."

"She doesn't mind," Quinn said. "Actually, I think she was grateful. It's … new. It's new for both of us, and so much could go wrong so fast, between her career and… Well. I think the peace of nobody knowing was a comfort."

He nodded carefully, hand twitching at her waist as they danced. "So you two are-?"

"Together," she said. "Yes."

"Oh," Kurt breathed softly. "I…"

She laughed softly at his hesitation. "It just happened," she explained, suddenly seeming overwhelmed herself. "I was tired of my job, tired of… the entire legal system and having to pander to every belligerent asshole that walked through the doors with a trust fund and a sob story about how," she tipped her head back and forth, "they were the victim, and they were the wronged party. I couldn't do it anymore, so… I quit."

His brow lifted in surprise. He already knew about her time at Yale Law, and the last he'd heard she was working for some wealthy high-rise law firm, but he'd had no idea she'd wound up in New York.

"And then," she gave a tiny shrug, just a swift rise and fall of her shoulders as she looked across the ballroom, "there she was."

He stared at her, his gaze soft but unsure, brow pinching together.

She smiled at him knowingly. "Sometimes, very rarely, but sometimes - it doesn't matter what you knew before. What you thought you knew. Sometimes, it's just that simple."

"There she was," he repeated, voice distant as his memory drew him back to the one night that now felt like so, so long ago, when he'd stopped at the sound of a loud, pained cry on a dark street.

There he was.

Kurt tried to pull his mind back into focus, to find something to ground him in the new reality sinking all around him. Quinn and Rachel.

A part of him suddenly wondered how he never saw it coming.

It had always been there. They'd been two sides of the same coin for so long, warped by high school inexperience and drama, but somehow always there on the other side of the mirror when they needed each other.

When the naive hierarchy gave way to the family of all of them that sophomore year, everything had changed. Suddenly they were no longer pins on a popularity map, but human beings. Crying, loving, breakable human beings, who couldn't be denied with the wave of a dismissive hand, who left sudden, real, painful consequences in the wake of a brutal word or the sharp crush of a slushy to the face.

They were real.

This is real.

"So you're… I mean, you're looking for another position or-?" he asked slowly.

"I …" She seized a breath, eyes wide with playful faux-panic as she laughed, "I have absolutely no idea. It's all new, now."

He nodded as he listened, settling in to the dance.

"But I think that's what was missing," she went on. "Why I needed to leave, why I need to keep going forward. Why I need her."

He felt his body ease at the shy admission. Something in her voice was just as frightened as he'd felt, just as scared of all of this, but there was a strength underneath it that he couldn't deny.

"She's your new beginning," he offered lightly.

Quinn's knowing smile returned, and she met his eyes with a look that seemed so much deeper, and brighter than before.

"No," she said. "I think… she's my happy ending."

"May I-"

He jolted at the intrusion of another, deeper voice, realising the song had changed again. A voice floated through the air over the trickle of the piano, singing words he couldn't quite make out.

Blaine was there when he turned around, his huge eyes breathtakingly dark and beautiful as he fixed Kurt with an unblinking stare.

Kurt's heart lodged in his throat at the look of open, unabashed longing on Blaine's face, and he gasped softly when Blaine reached out, and offered his hand.

"May I have this dance?"