‘Alright then, Mr. Hummel – your x-ray looks good; the fracture is healing nicely.  Have you been getting any more headaches or any localised sharp pains?'

            ‘No.  I've been fine.'

            ‘Good, good.'  The doctor makes a note in the file before glancing back up to Kurt.  ‘What about your vision: any flashing lights, or anything usual?'

            ‘Nope.  Nothing like that.'

Dr. Richmond nods and jots something else down in illegible handwriting (to Kurt's frustration).

            ‘Appetite back?  Sleeping normally?'

            ‘Yes to both.'

            ‘Great.  Well it looks, to my sincere and heart-felt delight, like I can give you a clean bill of health.'  The older man's smile looks genuine enough to Kurt so he allows himself to finally relax a little.  ‘If you develop any nausea, or start getting any headaches I want you to call me immediately.'

            ‘I shall.  Thank you again, Dr. Richmond.'  Kurt's vision swims and he realises the reason he feels light-headed – he had yet to eat all day.

The doctor nods slightly, as if unused to thanks, and Kurt finds himself frowning a little in response.  There is a softness – sympathy? empathy? – in the doctor's pale green eyes that Kurt does not recall having glimpsed before.  The effect makes the man seem all the more human and relatable.

            ‘Take care, Mr. Hummel.' Thank you again, Dr. Richmond.

The doctor nods slightly, as if unused to thanks, and Kurt finds himself frowning a little in response.

            ‘You too.  Thank you again.'

            ‘A little advice – don't be the hero.  I'm sure that young man you helped will be eternally grateful to you, don't get me wrong.  But I've had to help identify so many young people…  Never forget how lucky you were, Mr. Hummel.  Don't tempt fate again.  Don't put those who love you through that.'

It is a little out of the left field and Kurt is not wholly sure what triggered it or how appropriate it is, but he manages to stutter out something that he hopes sounded like

            ‘Thank you – I will.'

-+-

            Elliot looks ridiculous folded into one of the small plastic chairs in the waiting area.  Kurt stifles a giggle as he heads over to collect his friend.  He feels lighter and a little giggly now that he finally has a clean bill of health – he had not realised how much the idea that something may have been more permanently wrong had been weighing on him.

            ‘I just had possibly the most bizarre conversation with my doctor…'

The taller man raises an eyebrow as he extracts himself from his seat.

            ‘Alright – I'll bite.'

            ‘He basically told me “carpe diem”.'

            ‘O-kay.'

            ‘Yeah.  I mean – I'm sure he meant it in a nice way or something, but it was a bit odd…'

Elliot frowns a little as he falls into step with his friend.

            ‘Maybe he has some personal experience with what happened to you or you remind him of someone?'

            ‘Maybe.'  Kurt concedes.

            ‘So…what's the prognosis?'  The way Elliot asks (as if he too had been worried about Kurt) twists something in Kurt's stomach and he finds himself answering as quickly as possible.

‘I'm fine – all clear; no permanent damage - so I can write that off that chapter and move on with my life.'  Kurt smiles and Elliot's frown fades with it.  They fall in to silence as they walk companionably towards the subway – the rain has not let up so Elliot, as the taller of the pair, holds their umbrella.  ‘Are you going to tell me about last night then or what?  I need to live vicariously though you because as we know – I cannot help but mess up my relationships apparently.  Come on – spill, Mr.!'

            ‘Right.  So, I actually caught up with buddy of mine from back home – she let me stay with her for a while when I first moved here.  She – uh…back then I knew her as Anthony - Tony was a couple of years older, and he was my mentor – he's the one who taught me to sew.  I didn't get why the other kids made fun of him back then, you know?  I think I had a bit of crush...'  He smiles ruefully in that way that only Elliot can, and Kurt finds he can kind of relate to this boy who no one gets, who likes fashion, and is other.  Elliot nods as if he knows what Kurt is thinking, and Kurt wonders, not for the first time, whether Elliot “Starchild” Gilbert is not a little bit magical.  ‘When Tony first showed me his drag I was blown away.  Looking back it's kinda funny, you know, because he really wasn't very polished back then, but to me he looked amazing...  I helped him come up with her name – Miss D'Rection.  She still uses it.'

            ‘So, you and Miss D'Rection went to the Village last night?'

Elliot nods.

            ‘Yeah – she introduced me to some of her friends.  She's one of those people that you don't see for ages and then you catch up and it's like you never spent a day apart, you know?  You just click?'

It is Kurt's turn to nod, his thoughts drifting straight back to a certain dark-haired man he had had pressed beneath him on his couch last night.  Elliot can definitely read Kurt's mind because he takes Kurt's temporary distraction as an opportunity to gently cuff his shoulder in a bid to re-grab his friend's attention.

            ‘I'm sorry.  I'm listening, I promise – continue.'

            ‘So – here's the bit that will interest you – it's about Douglas...'

-+-

Charlie (to Anders):  You tell him?  Do I need to knock sense into you?

MissD (to B Anderson):  U need sumwher to stay, angel?  Charlie-boi told me abt u + ur X.

Blaine (to Charlie):  I can't believe you told Miss D. about the kiss! - B

Charlie (to Anders):  Sue me.

Blaine (to Charlie):  Don't tempt me. You are a terrible friend. – B

Charlie (to Anders):  Don't go throwing shade at me now.  You tell D or not?

Blaine (to Charlie):  He's taken the week off to spend time with me before we go to China. – B

Charlie (to Anders):  duck

Charlie (to Anders):  *fuck

Blaine (to Charlie):  Understatement. – B

Charlie (to Anders):  Actually it's perfect.

Blaine (to Charlie):  ?????

Charlie (to Anders):  You said you wanted more time with him.

Blaine (to Charlie):  Yes………………. – B

Charlie (to Anders):  duck this.  Gimme a sec.

Incoming call from Charlie

Blaine glares at his phone and is mocked by a picture the blonde took of himself when they had been trashed one evening back when Blaine had stayed at the other man's place the last time Douglas had been in China.  In the picture, Charlie is all gleaming green eyes and white teeth – he looks like a predator.  Blaine lets out a quiet huff and rolls onto his side.  He stares briefly up at the pristine ceiling of his and Douglas' bedroom – his eyes tracing the outlines of the woven lily-pads that form the intricate art nouveau cornicing.  Perhaps he had been reading into Charlie's words too much – after all, there is a lack of tonality in text which does lend itself to misunderstandings...  Begrudgingly he accepts the call willing to give his only remaining friend the benefit of the doubt.

            ‘How is this “perfect”, Charlie?  Oh, and thanks for actually talking to me – it's almost like you're my friend or something.'

            ‘Okay – take a breath and count to ten, Anders.  No one's dead.  Relax.'

He grits his teeth and rolls his eyes, but Charlie is talking again before Blaine has the chance to retort.

‘So, you kissed Kurt - so what?  To be honest I thought this would happen months ago.  Look, this is how it works: young guys like us we have two options in life – we can “fall in love”, repeatedly, with other young, beautiful boys who are just like us and live happy and broke until we finally hate each other ad infinitum, ad nauseum.   Or, we can settle down with a man who can provide for us.  Now this guy needs us because we are youth and vitality (something they no longer have) and they like looking after us, and we like being looked after – it's security, and it's easy.  Yeah – the older guys, they go off sex, and most of them only want to top when they can get it up, but it's not exactly a hardship is it, and there are plenty of “option 1” boys to occupy our other needs.  Get it?'

            ‘You really are something, Charlie.'

            ‘Don't pretend you're better than me, Anders.  Look at what you're doing.'

            ‘I love him.'

            ‘No one is doubting that.  I'd love anyone who bought me Barker Black too.  I'm kidding, I'm kidding!'  Charlie giggles.  It is possible that he is already drunk.  ‘It is possible to love more than one person at a time you know.  The point is – you need to think about your future and where you want to be.'

Blaine squeezes the back of his neck with his free hand in a vain attempt to loosen the knotted muscles there.

            ‘Anders, you still there?'

            ‘Yes.'  It is forced and Blaine's surprised he does not break his teeth from gritting them so hard.

            ‘You need to have a serious think about what you want from life, alright?  You choose to give this up you say goodbye to that penthouse, and to tailored clothes, and swanky restaurants – and for what?  An enthusiastic fuck and “love”?  Be realistic and promise me you'll think about it, alright?'  Blaine cannot bring himself to answer over the bile in his throat – it seems that Charlie takes the hint because all Blaine receives is a tight ‘Glad we had this chat.'

Blaine takes a moment and stares up at the ceiling again as if the answers were hidden somewhere in the tangled motif of lilies and vines.  To Blaine the lilies look as if they are being strangled today – smothered by the uniform repetition of the fluid frieze.  He imagines a weed and algae choked pond; he finds himself drowning in it.

            ‘That was very educational, Charlie.'  He mutters.

The headache he had been fighting off since waking that morning seems to have come back with a vengeance, and he wants nothing more than to hang up the phone and…and what?  He has no idea.  Douglas is presently cooking something that smells like a mixture of guilt and shame.  He wants to talk to a friend, and he hates that the first person he can think of is Kurt.  Desperate for a distraction he changes the topic.  ‘So – tell me all about that guy from last night?'

            ‘Not much to tell.  Tall, dark, dreamy – but complications ensued.'

            ‘Complications?'

            ‘He was a friend of Miss D.'s.'

            ‘Like that's stopped you before.'

            ‘True.'  Charlie's chuckle is dark in Blaine's ear.  ‘We had a really good night anyway.'

            ‘Don't tell me you ended up buying your own drinks?'  Blaine takes pleasure in layering mock surprise into his voice, and Charlie's resultant obvious frustration with the inadvertent revelation.  He can almost taste the blonde's revulsion and discomfort.

            ‘Yes, yes – laugh it up, Anders.  No.  Turns out he's a friend of your Kurt's.'

            ‘He's not mine.'  An image of a man seated across from Kurt in a café – hands entwined – rushes Blaine's vision as the name and the face snap together with an almost audible click.  It's utterly irrational, but his pulse speeds up and his lungs contract regardless.

            ‘No.  Of course he's not.'  Blaine ignores the sarcasm in the hope of gaining more information – he is rewarded by Charlie's quiet huff of a laugh.  ‘No – we didn't talk about you.  Much anyway.  Ha!  No, Elliot's a nice guy – like, a genuine nice guy.  Too many tattoos and he wears too much make-up for my tastes, but that's what happens when you grow up with a drag queen for a friend I guess.  Anyway – I have to dash.  Going out tonight again by the by if you'd like to join?'

            ‘Can't –'

            ‘- Of course, of course – Douglas is “making time” for you, I remember.  Well – enjoy!'

            ‘Thanks?'

            ‘Think about where you want to be in 5 years – 10 – 20!  Think about it.'

It is as if Charlie pulled the trigger:

“It'll be great for the next ten, maybe fifteen, years, but what happens when he's seventy and you're in your prime, Blaine?”

Fragments of half-repressed conversations splinter like ice in his veins and Blaine fights back the urge to vomit.

            ‘I…I will.  Thanks, Charlie.'

            ‘Anytime.'

Blaine's hands are sweating as he ends the call.  He scrolls though his contacts in search of the number he has no right to use; the number he should have called…  His index finger hovers over the name.

            ‘Blaine?'

Douglas' call derails him, and he quickly pops the phone back into his pants pocket before heading into the kitchen – the battery probably could not have taken another call anyway.  The other man smiles at him as if his mere presence makes things better and Blaine's throat dries to cotton-in-the-Caribbean-sun.  The table is actually set for once with a pristine, white tablecloth; there are three kinds of glasses on the table, and not only is the silverware out, but there are candles.  Douglas pulls the chair out for him and Blaine takes a seat automatically.

            ‘Are you alright, darling?'

Douglas' concern is palpable, and Blaine struggles to focus enough to respond.

            ‘This is incredible.'  His voice comes out breathless and airy.

The man across from him lights up; eyes molten and sparking with flickering flames.

            ‘I meant what I said this morning, Blaine.  I will make it up to you.'

Blaine's heart twists – this man, this kind, generous, gorgeous man is the man Blaine had been missing.  His re-appearance should be joyous, but Blaine finds himself wanting to scream at him instead.  Why could Douglas not have had this sudden revelation a couple of weeks – months - ago?

The other man pours impossibly dark wine from the decanter into the first of the glasses, and Blaine finds himself watching Douglas' hands rather than meeting his eyes.  He toasts on cue and drinks deeply - the wine smells thick and heady; it looks like blood.

-+-

            ‘I'm going to kill him.  No – that's too quick; I'm going to sneak into his place and cut up all his clothes while he watches, and then I'm going to kill him.'

Rachel glances over to Santana who is obviously trying her hardest not to laugh at Kurt as he paces, a furious animation, across the loft.  The fact that Santana is being sensitive(ish) to Kurt's ranting just drives home how much she genuinely does care to Rachel – but there is no time to marvel at the fact – she honestly fears that Kurt will have a heart attack or an aneurism if she does not intervene in the next few seconds.

            ‘I'm sure he only said something because he was worried about you…'  Rachel tries to placate him, but receives only a glare from the furious man before her.  Santana throws her a withering look, and takes a pacifying step towards their friend her arms held strategically open.

            ‘Look, Kurt – truth is I made him tell me.  I knew you and Sparkles the Rock-Gay had a secret meeting and that he took you to see that creepy Doctor for your check-up.  I figured with all the weird behaviour in the last 24 hours you were going to die or something…'

            ‘Gee – thanks ‘Tana.'

            ‘How was I supposed to know it was going to be all about Frodo again?  Not that we're surprised.  I mean – you did ditch Berry with your dad to go mack with him, didn't you?  I mean – I'd have figured it out even if Elliot hadn't told me - you blush whenever you look at the couch.  And I don't mean you flush a little pink – you go full on beetroot from your roots to your shoulders.  So, either Blanderson's got the world's best game (in which case – kudos for letting that slip out of your life for so long), or you my friend, were in desperate need of a maintenance-fuck.'

Rachel has to hand it to the other woman – she has an odd directness to her, and she may show her affections in peculiar ways, but she does get results, even if she does take it a little too far, and is more than a little close to the line sometimes.  Who is she kidding?  Santana is so far beyond the line that the line may as well be on the moon.

            ‘Alright, thank you, Santana –'  Rachel takes Kurt's hand and tries to lead him to take a seat at the table (Santana had been right about Kurt's new aversion to their sofa), but apparently the other woman was not finished.

            ‘- I mean, come on, Kurt.  You broke up with him for cheating on you, and then you actually enable him to cheat again with you.  He is still with that older guy, right?  Or did he leave Douglas for you?  How does it feel to be on the other side this time?'

            ‘Enough, Santana.  This is not helping.'  Rachel glares at the taller woman, but Santana just shrugs.

            ‘No, Rachel – she's right.  I told him I still loved him, I kissed him, he kissed me.  We stopped before it went too far, and he went home.  The end.  Now, can we talk about something else?'  Kurt pulls away from her hold and makes for their living area as if proving a point.

            ‘Come on, Kurt.  That's not the end.'  Rachel throws a pleading glance to Santana in the desperate hope that she may take the hint for once and use some tact.

            ‘Wow.  I thought you slept with him or something.  You only kissed?  Tell me something Kurt, when Blaine cheated on you before – did he go all the way or was it just a kiss?'  Tact and Santana are not bedfellows.  ‘Was it even a kiss?  And if that's what just a kiss does to you then I'm not sure what I'm missing out on but it would explain why Berry went all fag-hag for him for a while.'

Rachel does not catch Kurt's expression as Santana's head is in the way, but she does not exactly need to to know that that topic will not be a fruitful one.

            ‘That's not important right now, Santana.  What Kurt needs are his friends and a good distraction.'  She aims her brightest smile in Kurt's direction and none-too-gently nudges Santana in the ribs as she passes her to join her friend in an attempt of projecting positivity and solidarity.  She's not even a bar into “Not While I'm Around” when Kurt interrupts her.

            ‘Actually, what Kurt needs is to not have this conversation.'  He stands, strides past both women, and closes his bedroom “door” behind him.  The curtain catches a little and Kurt almost rips it as he tugs it closed.  Rachel winces in sympathy with the fabric.

-+-

Kurt pulls a pillow over his head as the opening music to The Hobbit starts.  He would not put it past Santana to have gone out specially to buy the DVD just for this purpose.  He grits his teeth and checks his phone again.  No messages.

He pulls Bruce's arm around himself – he feels cold to his core, and the dismal weather is doing nothing to ease the fact.  Without having to check he knows that the rain is still pouring down outside – the temperature has dropped significantly too so it will probably freeze and snow soon, after all, it is December in New York.  There should be snow by now.

The pillow does nothing to muffle the sounds of Rachel and Santana arguing – Kurt wants nothing more than to leave the apartment…but he has nowhere to go.  To top it off the weather is terrible so he cannot even just go for a walk and some fresh air.  His vision blurs slightly and he realises that he is breathing too quickly.  He struggles to breathe.

Kurt stands, regardless of how the blood rushes from his head causing his already hazy vision to temporarily black out, and strides with as much purpose as he can muster towards the door.  He pulls on the nearest boots he can find, and, ignoring his friends, heads out into the city.

It is only when he exits the building that he realises he forgot both a coat and an umbrella.

-+-

‘So let me get this straight – Miss D is friends with Blaine's friend Charlie, and Charlie used to go out with Adrian.  My doctor Adrian.  Who just so happens to be Douglas' ex.?' 

            ‘Yep.'  Elliot is nodding and Kurt frowns at him.  ‘That Charlie is a total piece of work, by the way.  No idea what Miss D., or Blaine for that matter, see in him.'

            ‘What do you mean?'

            ‘Right, so as far as I can gather – bearing in mind most of this is second-hand from Miss D. via Charlie so take it with a pinch (or pitcher) of salt, alright?'

Kurt raises an eyebrow, but nods regardless because this – gossip – is exactly what he needs right now.  Anything to make himself feel better, even if it is garbage…  Elliot seems satisfied and crowds a little closer to Kurt conspiratorially.

‘Don't say I didn't warn you!  So, from what I gather Douglas and Adrian were together a long time, but it was like fifteen years ago, and back then being out was a lot more hush-hush for professional men in the city.  Doctor Adrian didn't want to jeopardise his career, and Douglas wanted to make a commitment…  You can guess what happened.  They went their own ways and then about five years ago Charlie meets Adrian at a gentlemen's' club he and Douglas had been members of, and Adrian falls head-over-heels.  Adrian comes out for Charlie -'

‘That must have been horrible for Douglas.'

‘Yeah.  Apparently he went complete recluse, like overnight.'

‘So, what happened with Charlie and Adrian?'

            ‘Well, now, according to Miss D. Charlie's high maintenance – he has expensive tastes, and he had a couple of guys going at once.  Same MO – all society, all older… get where this is going?  I didn't want to say anything but I don't think Charlie is a good influence…don't get me wrong – Miss D. is my sister and I love her – but she's not her around Charlie.  I mean – last night was fun and all, but poppers and “good times” are not my thing, you know?'

Kurt stares blankly across the carriage of the subway car – his brain is desperately trying to soak in the new information but it feels like a barrage of flotsam.  He has no idea what any of it means – no idea what to do with any of it.  Hell, he has no idea what is truth or exaggeration here, but it settles uneasily in his stomach like stodgy overcooked porridge curdling with the recycled air.        

-+-

            Kurt has no idea whether Sebastian will be in, but he feels like he is out of options.  He needs to talk to someone a little removed – someone who knows both him and Blaine (as much as it pains him to admit it).  His lack of appropriate attire for the weather has left him shivering and soaked – he feels wretched.  Since Elliot had told him about Adrian, Charlie, and Douglas, Kurt had found himself feeling worse not better.  He tries not to think about it, and instead hops from one frozen foot to the other whilst he waits for Sebastian to answer the intercom and buzz him up.

Fortunately he does not have to wait too long – Sebastian is home.

-+-

            ‘I knew there was something about Charlie that I disliked.  He just seemed – I don't know – weasel-ey…'

Sebastian tops up Kurt's mug with coffee from the French Press as he talks, and Kurt tries not to cringe as that is exactly what he had once thought of the man seated beside him, though he thinks the animal-likeness he used was “ferret” they are the same family after all.

Kurt had not intended on telling Sebastian what Elliot had told him – he has no idea how much of it is actually true after all, and it is not exactly any of his business, but it had somehow all come flooding out anyway.  It does nothing to relieve the ache in his chest when he discovers that Sebastian knows Charlie, however, because Sebastian knows Charlie through Blaine.

            ‘Before you even go there Kurt you have to know that Blaine's not like that - Blaine's not with Douglas for his money, alright.'  Sebastian halts Kurt's thoughts, and Kurt tries to remember to breathe again.

            ‘No.  No – I know.  He's…he's not like that.  God, no.  I…'

            ‘You told him, didn't you?  You told Blaine you still loved him.  Goddammit, Kurt.  That's what all this is about.  What exactly do you want from me here?  You know he's not talking to me.'

Kurt glances down at his hands.  Both men fall silent in their own thoughts and, not for the first time that day, Kurt wonders how exactly he ended up caught in this giant web of a mess.  Sebastian is the first to break the silence and what he says adds another thread to the tangle.

            ‘Did you know Rachel's been texting Doug?'

            ‘“Texting” texting or texting texting?'

            ‘That makes absolutely no sense, Kurt.  I mean she and Doug have been talking.  I think he likes her.  A lot.'

            ‘They met for like five minutes a-ges ago.'

            ‘I know.  He called the other day – apparently his grandmother is hosting this big party and is summoning the whole family up to their place in Southampton.'

            ‘Well, Blaine and Douglas will be in China apparently…so…I guess they won't be in attendance.'

Sebastian makes a face at the obvious bitterness in Kurt's admission.

            ‘Well – Doug's planning on inviting Rachel to go with him.'

            ‘Wow.'

            ‘Yeah.'

            ‘She's never said anything.'

            ‘Why would she?  Were I her I'd not want to mention anything to do with Blaine or Douglas to you either.'

Kurt glances down at his hands then, unable to meet Sebastian's eyes.  He has been a terrible friend, he realises.  He feels torn and confused – he guesses a part of him thought that after Finn…that Rachel would never move on.  Mentally he kicks himself for assuming – for all he knows, Rachel and Doug may have just become good friends.  He makes a note to talk to his brunette friend when he goes home later – he needs to step up and stop moping, he needs to find himself again in the ragged ruins of this shambled semblance of “self” he has built.  With quiet renewed determination he finishes his coffee and turns to better face the man beside him.

            ‘Alright, this is what's going to happen – you are going to call Blaine and you are going to talk to him and be the friend you said you were because it seems to me that leaving him with Charlie's influence  is a terrible idea.  I am going to stop mooning over Blaine – I made my position clear, the ball is firmly back in his court – and I am going to go and be there for Rachel.  Got it?'

            ‘Ah - I see now what Blaine saw in you – you are kind of hot when you get bossy you know that?'  Sebastian laughs at him, and Kurt simply glares in response.  The other man shakes his head in what looks like amused resignation and Kurt smiles a little as he knows victory when he sees it.

-+-

            After Kurt had left (with one of Sebastian's umbrellas and a borrowed coat) Sebastian had promptly fixed himself a whiskey – he had not wanted to show Kurt how much their conversation had affected him, but now, in the silence of his own space, once again empty, he feels able to slowly process.  He contemplates the situation as a whole – as if he were an outsider looking in – and in a way he is.  He is the most removed from the situation after all.

When he finally picks up the phone it is not Blaine's number that he dials.  Instead he finds himself on google.  It is not long before he finds the number he had been looking for – after all, how else were medical professionals to get business?

            ‘Good evening, this is Dr. Richmond's office - Marjorie speaking - how may I help you?'

            ‘I would like to make an appointment, please.'

-+-

            The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started and a bone-deep frost had settled, freezing sodden earth into a deadly adventure course.  Thankfully the snow the weather channel had threatened had yet to rear its fluffy white head; Blaine felt thankful because the last thing he needed was pure, virgin snow to blanket his world.

The past few days had blurred into one endless torture for Blaine.  Douglas was charming, and warm again, and Blaine did not deserve any of it.  Douglas, now that he was actually paying attention to Blaine again, was not oblivious to Blaine's discomfort, but instead of trying to get Blaine to talk to him he had instead started over-compensating with affection, and gifts.  The result was, unsurprisingly, compounding the problem.  Which, in turn, made Douglas try harder.

Douglas was getting agitated – and Blaine could not exactly blame him.  Everything the older man suggested Blaine went along with in an attempt to make Douglas happy, but by not offering an opinion or an alternative or an input of any type, Blaine was accidentally maintaining a distance that had never been there before.  They had used to play-argue in the beginning – that was gone now and Blaine had no idea how to get it back – he was too scared of his suggestions being taken as an insult or as a suggestion that he was in some way dissatisfied with Douglas' plans.  Blaine felt like he could not win.

In an attempt to make things easier (and partly as a way to hide) Blaine had begun packing for China for the both of them – it had turned out to be difficult because he had never been there before – hell, he had never packed for two before, let alone for travel that would last (potentially) months.  How much do you take with you?  How many days do you pack for?  How much do you plan to buy over there?  How does laundry service work – do the clothes need to be pre-labelled or something?

It is in a state of bewildered frustration that Douglas had found him – half buried in a pile of clothes while he attempted to work out how many pairs of socks they would need to take with them each.

            ‘Blaine?'

He emerges from between towers of immaculately folded shirts and pants – on any other day he would have found Douglas laughing at him, for the sight should have been amusing.  But Douglas is not even smiling.

            ‘What's the matter?'

            ‘Uh…  I…we have to go to Southampton.'  Blaine's eyes quickly take in details he had not noticed immediately – in Douglas' hand there is a slip of heavy linen paper and Blaine knows immediately who sent the letter.  The other man's shoulders are drawn and his eyes are red-rimmed.  Blaine carefully manoeuvres his way to Douglas' side and gently takes the letter from him.

            ‘When?'

            ‘Tonight.'

He discovers a second piece of paper tucked within the first – what he sees forms a lump and catches in his throat.

            ‘I'll get some things together and then we can talk, alright?  You need to phone Penny and let her sort things out – she can send someone out to China in your He rubs soothing circles into his back until the other man breaks beneath him; pressing kisses into his neck as if he cannot believe Blaine had not just run away screaming.  Blaine does not utter another word beyond soothing hums – there is nothing he can say.  Nothing will make this better – they are not ready for this but the choice has been taken from them.

He glances again at the paper – it is a proof for an announcement for The New York Times' wedding section.

Mr. and Mrs. Douglas Graeme Chambers II of Southampton, New York, announce the engagement of their eldest son, Douglas Graeme Chambers III, to Blaine Devon Anderson, son of William and Pamela Anderson of Westerville, Ohio.  Mr. Anderson, a student of Law at Columbia, presently resides in New York City.  Mr. Chambers graduated magna cum laude from Harvard, achieved his Master of Architecture Degree from Columbia Universitys Graduate School of Architecture, Planning and Preservation, and an M.A. from the University of Cambridge.  Mr. Chambers works at his father's architecture firm, D.G. Chambers & Sons of 160 W. 71st Street, New York, also of Jermyn Street, London.  A wedding date shall be announced shortly.

They are out of time and he has absolutely no idea what to do.

-+-