Chapter Two: Come To My Window

Amazingly, Kurt managed to find his way back to reality in time to learn that Blaine’s favorite music was classical and top 40, that Blaine played the piano, and that Blaine could sing.

Of course he could.  Blaine.  Kurt’s soulmate.

Kurt thought he ought to feel relieved, ecstatic, excited… any and all of the above.  But mostly what he did feel was overwhelmed.  He had spent the past twelve years living with the harsh reality that he would live and die alone, certain that he would never know the kind of love that was the most basic of human rights.  Natural cynic that he was, Kurt couldn’t, wouldn’t allow himself even the slimmest of hopes, because he knew the eventual fall-out would completely break him.

And now, here Blaine was.  Kurt could see him, breathe him, know in a new way that he existed… and well, that was everything. 

They hadn’t even spoken yet, but Kurt knew that Blaine would find a way to come to him.  He was so obviously full of confidence, courage, and determination.  Blaine was everything that Kurt would have decided his partner needed to be, if he had ever allowed himself to dwell on such thoughts.

As wonderful as Blaine seemed, when he wasn’t busy feeling overwhelmed Kurt was so very, very afraid.  He spent the rest of the week balancing precariously on an invisible edge, waiting to fall at any moment.  He wondered if anyone else could see the change in him.  He hoped no one knew, and yet he wanted to scream it out so badly, this newness, this energy, this fear.  But no one could know.

Except, of course, for his father.  Burt could know.  And Burt did know, knew it like he knew his last name, the very moment his son stepped through the doorway following his second day of work.  To his credit, he lasted until dinner without asking.  In fact, when the time came, Burt didn’t even need to ask.  One look and Kurt was spilling everything. 

“I found him, Dad.  I found him today.” 

“At the prison?” Burt questioned, the shock registering plainly on his face.

Kurt nodded once, and Burt waited patiently for more.  “We haven’t even spoken.  He was in one of my groups; he’s… an inmate.”  Kurt paused and waited for Burt to comment on that one, but his father remained silent.  “He introduced himself, and Dad … he’s so beautiful.”

Burt smiled at his son, bittersweet.  “You know this isn’t going to be easy, right?  But I’m here, whatever you need. And I’m happy for you, kid.  I know this wasn’t something you expected.” 

“No,” Kurt responded after a moment.  He opened his mouth to say something more, then changed his mind and closed it again.  They finished the meal in silence.

*******

It was Monday when it happened.  He stopped by the main office to pick up his schedule for the week, which the prison’s secretary had kindly offered to print out for him until he “got into the swing of things,” as she put it.  And there it was, Blaine Anderson, printed in the Monday, eleven o’clock slot that had been open the previous week.  Blaine had signed up for piano lessons.

It was far, far too soon for Kurt’s liking and not nearly soon enough.

Fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately, depending on perspective—Kurt was booked solid for the two hours prior to their meeting with yet another group and an inmate named Cindy’s violin lessons.  He didn’t have much time to dwell on what was to come, but managed to do a fine job cramming all of his nerves into the five minutes he spent waiting for Blaine to show up.  He wrung his hands and paced and almost cried and wow, he was even sweating, too.  Eww.

Then the door opened, and a large woman dressed in a guard’s simple beige uniform stepped inside.  Behind her was Blaine.

“Mr. Hummel?” she said.  “This is Blaine Anderson.  I believe you have an appointment.”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” he replied absently, hoping he sounded passably normal.

The woman studied him for a long moment, her expression hard to read, before nodding once and turning to leave the room, gently pulling the door closed behind her.

And then it was only the two of them, standing mere feet apart, staring at each other.  Kurt’s eyes wandered up and down Blaine’s body, taking in his dark curls, the cut of his jaw, the strength of his shoulders and arms, the trimness of his waist.  He was perfect.  Finally, he forced himself to meet Blaine’s gaze, liquid brown and deep, waiting patiently for acknowledgement. 

Kurt didn’t know how many moments they stood there, the silence between them thick and tangible and heavy with something he couldn’t place. 

“Hello, Kurt,” Blaine spoke at last, his voice rippling through the air between them and making something within Kurt want to hold onto him and weep and dance.

“Hi?” he managed to answer.  Stupid.  Kurt took a few steps forward, one arm outstretched, before he even realized he was doing so.  He swallowed audibly.  “Can I… can I touch you?”

Blaine nodded once, eyes never leaving his.  Did he ever blink?  Kurt wasn’t sure. 

But soon there was warm skin, rough with stubble, beneath his hand, and Kurt stopped thinking.  He traced his soulmate’s features slowly, reverently, over and over and over again.  “Blaine,” Kurt whispered, at once a word of praise and need.

And then Blaine was there, his arms around him secure and right in a way Kurt had never known he needed.  “Kurt,” Blaine’s lips were trailing his ear, “I’ve been searching for you forever.”

“I never searched for you at all,” he replied mindlessly, and Blaine pulled back a little to study Kurt’s face, his own etched with concern.  “No, I mean…” Kurt fumbled.  “I never allowed myself to hope I’d find you.  This is a miracle.  I don’t believe in miracles.  I’m sorry, I just keep rambling.”

“No, don’t.  It’s so good to hear your voice.”  Blaine paused for a moment.  “There’s so much I want to say to you, so much I want to know.  I don’t know where to start.”

“I don’t even know what to say, or what to do.”

“You can say or do anything,” Blaine said earnestly, “as long as you exist.” 

Kurt started to laugh, the joy bubbling up from within him, then fell silent as their eyes locked once more.  “Can I see your hand?” he asked tentatively.

“Oh, of course!” Blaine replied, immediately pulling off the fingerless glove that covered his palm and offering up his arm.  “I’d like to see yours as well.”

Kurt mirrored his movements even as his eyes eagerly devoured the name that was etched into Blaine’s skin.  Kurt Hummel, written in elegant, cursive script.  “It’s beautiful,” he said, looking again to Blaine’s face.  “You’re beautiful.”  And slowly, deliberately, he brought their palms together. 

After a moment, Blaine’s fingers curled around his own.  “I would say ‘not as beautiful as you’ but that would be clichéd, wouldn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t care,” Kurt said.  “Should we… is there some sort of ritual that happens now?”

Blaine’s face fell into a frown.  “Well, usually there’s a ceremony with family and friends—I’m sure you’ve been to some of those—but given the circumstances…” he trailed off, shaking his head sadly.  “I’m sorry Kurt.  I’m sorry we had to meet here, like this.”

“I’m not!” Kurt broke in resolutely.  “Given everything around us, we might not have met at all.”

“Oh ye of little faith,” Blaine said, the corners of his mouth beginning to curl upward again.

“Why are you here, Blaine?”  Kurt asked quietly.  “How did they not ruin you too?”  He hoped the many layers of meaning in his question were understood.

“That’s a long story.”  Blaine looked down at their clasped hands, where his thumb was slowly moving back and forth over Kurt’s skin.  “Can we save it for next time?  I just want to hold you right now.”

Kurt didn’t answer, silently leading them over to a worn plaid love seat where he sat, pulling Blaine down next to him.  Blaine twined himself around Kurt and rested his head against his soulmate’s shoulder, sighing contentedly as Kurt’s hand came up to stroke through his curls. 

As Kurt sat there, holding Blaine like this, the overwhelming of before grew and grew, blossoming within him until it burst and became beautiful and perfect and mine.  And suddenly he was crying, sucking in broken, needy sobs.  Blaine turned in his arms and all at once his hands were there, stroking Kurt’s face, grounding him, his reassuring voice ghosting over Kurt’s skin with “I’m here now; I’ve got you; I’m here.”

“This is real?” Kurt found his voice, crazy and raspy and more than a little desperate.

“This is real,” Blaine answered firmly.  “I’m real, Kurt.”

At that Kurt was moving, all pure instinct, wet lips brushing everywhere over Blaine’s face, sliding onto Blaine’s mouth again and again until they just stayed there, feasting and searching and finding together.  Blaine met him at every turn until something seemed to loose within him.   He growled deep in his throat, taking over the kiss and taking over Kurt, stretching Kurt’s body on the tiny couch, climbing on top and consuming.

It was all about hunger and rightness and warmth, slow drags of denim and cotton and skin; it was new and heady and way too much.  Kurt whimpered and writhed and clawed his way in and out, needing to be closer but also needing to breathe.

Blaine pulled back then, gasping for air and blinking at him sheepishly, running a hand through his own tousled curls.  “Wow,” he said, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on Kurt’s nose.  “I’m sorry, I… it shouldn’t be like this, shouldn’t happen here.  You deserve better than that.  And just… wow.”

Kurt smiled at him, feeling his cheeks heat in a blush.  “It’s okay, Blaine.  ‘Wow’ is a suitable word, I think.  I just… this is new.  And overwhelming.  And I’ve never…”

“Oh, no!  No, me neither!” Blaine cut in quickly, sitting up but not breaking contact.  “I’ve had opportunities and I almost, once, but… I couldn’t do that to you.  It wouldn’t be right.”  He swallowed audibly and lifted Kurt’s hand from where it was absently trailing the span of his chest.  “You should know that I love you.  I’ve loved you since I was thirteen and… well, maybe before.”

Kurt looked back at him and blinked.  “I love you too,” he said slowly, gaze locked on Blaine’s.  “I never thought I’d get to tell you that.”

Blaine smiled in response, leaning down to nuzzle their noses together softly.  “So… we’ll wait for this?” Blaine asked, gesturing between their bodies.

“Yeah, we’ll wait,” Kurt answered, then leaned up slightly to pull his soulmate back against him, slotting their lips together once more.

They spent the rest of their time together curled up on the couch, cuddling and kissing and being and, for the first time, completely content.  The knock on the door, when it came, was startling, and for Kurt a little scary.  He clung to Blaine’s hands, to their togetherness, even as their bodies began to separate and his own voice called out for the knocker to enter.

“Next time, I’ll actually play something,” Blaine promised with a small, sad smile as he followed the guard out the door.

And then Kurt was alone again, only not alone.  He sank into the faded leather chair behind his desk, put his head in his hands and sighed, grateful that he had lunch next.  It would certainly take the entire hour, maybe more, to put himself back together.  He tried and failed and tried and failed until it suddenly occurred to him that his attempts were futile.  The largest and best part of him had just left, and it would be a week before he could again collect all of the pieces.

*******

The week that followed was somehow even harder for Kurt than the last.  After getting through Tuesday—group time filled with frustrating, longing glances that he hoped no one else noticed—the rest of the week loomed and stretched barrenly before him.  Monday had never been more sought after, nor further away.

True to his word, when Blaine showed up the next week he made a beeline for the piano after greeting Kurt with a long, lingering kiss.

He situated himself on the piano bench and tinkered with the keys for a few moments before turning to look at Kurt, who had settled on the couch, his face a mix of strong emotions that Kurt didn’t have names for, but somehow knew meant I love you and we belong.

“So, I’ve spent a lot of years thinking about you, waiting for you,” Blaine began, his tone betraying that he wasn’t getting the words quite right.  “I wanted to find a song that would convey how desperate I was to find you, to make you real and okay, because I knew that those things weren’t just a given.  And, well… I searched for the right song for a while.  This is it.”  Blaine studied Kurt a moment longer, his hazel eyes warm and tender and pleading, before turning back to the piano and beginning to play.

Kurt waited and watched and loved him.  Soon enough, a strong, clear voice joined in with the piano.

I would dial the numbers just to listen to your breath

And I would stand inside my hell and hold the hands of death

You don’t know how far I’d go to ease this precious ache

And you don’t know how much I’d give, or how much I could take

Just to reach you, just to reach you

Just to reach you

Come to my window

Crawl inside and wait by the light of the moon

Come to my window

I’ll be home soon

Keeping my eyes open I cannot afford to sleep

Giving away promises I know that I can’t keep

Nothing fills the blackness that has seeped into my chest

I need you in my blood I am forsaking all the rest

Just to reach you, just to reach you

Oh to reach you

Blaine’s voice was captivating enough on its own, but the lyrics… they were broken and desperate and everything Kurt himself had fought hard never to feel.  Kurt’s heart hurt, realizing the suffering this man had gone through without him.  He was so sure that he had the worst end of the deal when he met Blaine and realized that while his life had certainly not been easy, Blaine was still himself and strong in a way that Kurt had never been.  But Blaine’s song spoke of something else.

Come to my window

Crawl inside, wait by the light of the moon

Come to my window

I’ll be home soon

I don’t care what they think

I don’t care what they say

What do they know about this love

Anyway…..

Come, come to my window

I’ll be home, I’ll be home

I’m coming home

As soon as Blaine had finished Kurt was there, pulling him into his arms.  They were both crying now, a new level of intensity sparking between them and fusing them together as Kurt whispered “You’re home now Blaine, you’re home,” over and over again as he rained wet kisses across his soulmate’s face. 

“I’m never saying goodbye to you,” Kurt promised, pulling back to look into Blaine’s eyes.  “We’re going to get you out of here.  We’ll go someplace safe.  We’ll go to Dalton!”

“Dalton,” Blaine smiled through his tears, even laughed a little.  “You mean The Olde World?  That’s where I’m from, Kurt.  Dalton is a school there, one that I attended.”

“I assumed that you had been… there,” he finished lamely, “The Olde World?  But if it’s safe there, then why did you leave?  How did you end up here?”

Blaine sighed.  “So many questions and so little time.  But I suppose it’s as good a time as any for this conversation.”  He cupped Kurt’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly.  “Let’s sit down.”

They settled on the couch mere inches apart, hands clasped and facing each other.  “It wasn’t until I was twelve that I realized I was different…”