‘Youre going out?

Blaine throws an exasperated glance over his shoulder as he fastens a stubborn cufflink before dropping his gaze back to the mirror.

            ‘Yes.  I told you - Rachel invited me to support Kurt at his performance.  Douglas blank gaze irks something inside Blaine so his next words are harsher than he perhaps intended.  ‘Remember - the one he missed because he was bashed?

            ‘Thats tonight?

            ‘Yes.  Tonight.  And Im running late already so...  The younger man adjusts his bowtie - his eyes flickering up to meet Douglas in the cool glass surface of the mirror as he does so, but there is something in the dejected look the older man is wearing that makes Blaine pause.  ‘Whats wrong?

            ‘I just...  Nothing.  Dont worry about it - have a lovely evening and send Rachel and Kurt my regards.

Blaine turns to face the other man, trying as he does so to school his features into a semblance of calm while his pulse kicks up a notch inside.

            ‘Dont nothing me, Douglas.  I didnt think youd mind - you actually said you didnt mind.  Its not like we do anything in the evenings anymore -  He aims for nonchalance but he can feel his jaw tightening as he speaks; words flowing more freely than they would have were he completely sober.

            ‘-Blaine, dont.  The interruption irks, but Douglas lack of continuation or explanation rankles more.

            ‘Dont what?  Go out?  Stay?  What do you want from me here?  Weeks worth of pent up teenage sexual frustration, nervous energy from not really having anything to focus on anymore, and bottled guilt nag at his centre and bleed through into his words in short sentences and sharp tones.  It is as if he is watching this scene from a couple of feet away - he feels disengaged and detached; somehow separate and other.  Blaine places a hand on the cool surface of the dressing table behind him as if he could somehow simultaneously gain some of the furnitures inanimate composure and strength.

Douglas regards Blaine carefully, and Blaine cannot help but notice the tired pleading quality to the set of Douglas jaw - it helps cut a little through the fogging of his mind.

            ‘I just thought we could spend an evening together - like we used to - have dinner out someplace and just...talk...  The taller mans voice rises a little at the end as if it were nothing but an innocent question, and the uncertainty barely concealed within twangs something within Blaines core.  It feels almost as if the question was actually criticising him; doubting him somehow.

            ‘Ive been suggesting we do just that for weeks...  He grits his teeth to find his jaw already tense.

            ‘I know.  Ive just been -‘

            ‘Busy.  I know.

            ‘Blaine, be fair -‘

            ‘Fair?  Im nothing if not fair.  I make sure when you get home theres food ready so you wont have to worry about it.  I make sure you have quiet when you slink off to your library to work until god knows what time in the morning, and do I complain?  No.

            ‘I know, sweetheart, and I appreciate it - I really do.  Im sorry Ive just been so stressed out with getting things ready for China...

Blaine barely stops himself from rolling his eyes in response.  Douglas looks exhausted but that has become so common place that it is actually normality these days - anyway, Blaine had tried to get him to talk about it but Douglas had never wanted to.  The younger man takes a breath to try to quieten the hammering in his ears and silently counts to three before continuing.

            ‘I know.  Look - well do something tomorrow night, alright?  I promise.  I think it would be really nice actually.  Ill make a reservation; that Italian we like?

Blaine takes a step towards the doorway where Douglas stands as if propped upright by the frame alone, but Douglas straightens and it looks for all the world to Blaine like a tiger squaring off before a fight.  Adrenaline courses through Blaines veins like white fire - assisted, no doubt, by the three scotches he had had earlier to settle his nerves and dispel the nagging sense of guilt that tightens around him daily like a blanket - but when the words come from Douglas they sound so utterly defeated that it serves to kindle the fire rather than quench it.

            ‘What do you do during the day, Blaine?

He erupts.

            ‘So now youre interested?  Now you want to talk?

            ‘You just have all day to spend with your friends, Blaine.  I feel like we dont see each other anymore...we dont talk...

            ‘And whose fault is that exactly?

            ‘Blaine, Im not trying to argue with you -‘  Douglas raises a hand to massage at his temple as if the motion alone would swat the conversation away like an annoying wasp.

            ‘Really?  Because I hate to tell you this but that seems exactly like what you are doing here.  Blaine takes a step towards him but, despite his apparent exasperation, Douglas makes no move to allow the younger man to pass.

            ‘Please can we just have one discussion without it ending badly?  I just... I care about you, Blaine.  Why is that so hard for you to understand?  Of course I care what you do during the day.  Im sorry, alright?  I should have intervened sooner - I know something happened while I was away last time -

            ‘-Why do we have to do this right now?-

            ‘- I was scared to ask because I was worried that youd maybe realised that this is not what you wanted...but you seemed alright when I was back so I left things be.  But I shouldnt have.  I know that.  I should have talked to you.  I was just so caught up with work, Blaine.  Coming back early has caused some unforeseen problems, and you know how important this project is to me -‘

            ‘-I know exactly the order of importance of things in your life, Douglas-‘

            ‘- Be fair, Blaine.  Please.-‘

            ‘Fair?  Ive been more than fair!-‘  Blaines veins thrum and a small voice inside is screaming at him to stop because deep down he knows that Douglas does care and that they both rely on Douglas business for their livelihood.  But there are louder voices:

~ Because you cant hold a job.  Youre useless.  Good for nothing! ~ It hisses.

When Douglas came back early Blaine had been elated - he had been in such a dark place, floating lost and adrift, that he had quashed the knowledge that there would be repercussions.

~ Which would make this all your fault... ~

To top it all off he cannot seem to get Kurt out of his head.  He had tried to seduce Douglas a couple of times with the thought that perhaps he was merely horny and if he took action it would get it out of his system...

~ But Douglas doesnt want you any more does he? ~  It claws at his insides and saps at him until even the truths he knows:

Douglas loves him.

Douglas trusts him.

Douglas is just tired from work.

Douglas does not blame you.

Things will get better.

Dissipate and dissolve beneath the sheer weight of it.

Blaine barely hears Douglas soft ‘I just...I wanted to give you space, Blaine.

            ‘Just so long as the space was exactly the same shape and size as this apartment, right?  He hardly recognises himself in that instant and a dull throb behind his eyes scolds him for drinking during the day time.

~ Yes, blame the alcohol. ~

He had needed it to tamper down the nerves of seeing Kurt again after seeing him in the hospital.

Of seeing Kurt perform again.

Would he still bear bruises from those fists?

He kept telling himself it was because he was nervous for Kurt.  It had to be that...because if it was not that meant that the dreams meant something more and - but Douglas is still speaking and Blaine struggles to quieten his thoughts and his blood enough to listen.

            ‘- But youre never here, Blaine.  Not really.  And dont try to tell me its because youre studying or at work because I know -‘  Douglas looks utterly distraught and exasperated.

            ‘What do you know, Douglas?  Enlighten me.  Blaine interrupts.

            ‘I know youre spending all your free time with Benedict Charles -‘

            ‘Who I spend my time with is my business -‘

            ‘He is not good company, Blaine.

            ‘Why?  Why do you hate me spending time with him so much?

            ‘This is not about that, Blaine.  Stop twisting the conversation, please!

            ‘You dont get to say who Im friends with or what I do, Douglas.  Youre not my father!

Theyre both panting - their breath coming in short, sharp, staccato punches of punctuation.

            ‘Youre right, Blaine.  Im not your father.  Ive not once tried to be - were supposed to be equals here, but every time I try to suggest something you bite my head off.

Blaine cannot find the words to apologise like he knows he should.  He should probably stay and talk to Douglas, the man is after all his partner...but instead of "Im sorry - you didnt deserve that.  Were both just tired.  Lets grab something to eat together and talk." what actually comes out is:

            ‘Im going out, Douglas.  Dont wait up.

-+-

            The cab ride is stifling and does nothing to calm Blaines thoughts or his hammering heart.  Instead he fumes and stews quietly, steadfastly ignoring the cab drivers short-lived attempts at conversation.  He glances at his wrist but finds he forgot to put on his watch in the commotion - he wants to blame Douglas for interrupting him getting ready and manufacturing the argument, but he knows that neither of those things are entirely purely the fault of the other man.  The further from the penthouse the black and yellow steel trap take him, the more melancholic his thoughts.  Blaine screws his eyes up and forces down a choked sob - it would only be self-pity that brought it forth and Blaine cannot succumb to that.  Instead he gently rests his head upon the ice of the glass and blindly stares allowing the blur of the familiar to bring him back down.

-+-

            Burnt dust, fresh paint, stale sweat, hairspray, and wood polish - those are the smells of backstage.  The smell is comforting and homely - it is Glee Club, and family.  Kurt breathes deeply of it and allows himself the indulgence for a moment of the odd peace of the frantic warm-ups and vocal exercises occurring around him; the nervous energy a gentle tickle up his spine.  He wrings his hands only to find them slick with sweat so he blows softly upon them instead.  He is not nervous - not for the performance anyway; he has that in the bag. His eyes fly open when a hand makes contact with his shoulder and Kurt takes a breath, head up, shoulders back, before walking out and into the performance space to his starting position - exactly as rehearsed.  His eyes flit quickly, senses tuned and feeling the room - how many audience members, where they are sat, their mood...all filed neatly away without effort so that he can make the best of the performance, use the right amount of energy, not bump into tables or chairs...  He spots Rachel and his father and...an empty seat.  A breath.  Another.  It means nothing.  It is unimportant.  It will not affect him.  He is stronger than that.  He has the bruises and aches and nightmares to prove it.  A breath.

He feels the vibrations of the music in the air and through the floor - he allows them to guide him and he lives his performance.  He breathes the words.  He is the song.  He knows without looking that there is a couple to the left of him and a trio of faculty at a table to the right, he plays to them in turn, but there is an itch between his shoulder blades shaped like an empty chair.

He uses it as a prop, improvising a Bob Fosse-esque move, before making his way around to his father - who is singing along quietly, the corners of his eyes suspiciously damp - and then to Rachel.  But he barely notices her encouraging and not-at-all-subtle thumbs-up, because someone is sitting at a table alone across from him.

Blaine.

 A fraction of a second and he recovers.  A quick glance to the table of Madame Tibideaux and Kurt is certain no one noticed his minor lapse.  Instead, he sends silent thanks to his adrenal gland as he makes his way towards the piano for the final chorus and does not give himself time to process what it means that he is here.  Kurt makes the jump onto the piano flawlessly (lightly slicing the soles of his shoes into perfectly regular diamonds with a sharp knife had been worth it for the extra grip after all) and before he knows it the last syllable is ringing around the golden walls of the space.  He takes a breath.  Another.  Another.

The applause feels like an eruption and Kurt can hear his father above all others except one - Blaine.  Kurts cheeks sting with the width of his smile, or maybe it is the still healing cuts and bruises, but none of that matters because...but the table is empty now.  A sea has gathered around the piano and he searches faces frantically for the familiar, but then there is a hand, and it is his Junior Prom all over again.  His prince is there to stand beside him and pull him from the fire.  The touch sends a tingle through his soul (or maybe it was cooling sweat and a come-down from the adrenaline of performance) as Blaine helps Kurt down from atop the instrument.  There is barely time for a "thank you" before Kurt is assaulted with complements and praise and smiles and "youre so brave"s.  He thinks he is successful in conveying the message that Blaine is to wait for him before he is dragged in a different direction entirely by a current of praising faculty.

It is all a blur really - a mass of comments regarding his remaining black eye from when his eye socket was fractured, mingling with praise for his song choice and of his performance.  He cannot recall exactly what Madame Tibideaux says to him, but the Dean is smiling, so it must mean he at least passed.  Rachel is talking animatedly in his ear while his father does his best impression of a bear by crushing him slightly until Kurt points out that his ribs are still bruised, and Burt releases him with chagrin, as if he just accidently murdered Kurts puppy or something.  It feels good.  It feels right.  It feels as if he is finally becoming himself again - that he is exactly where he is meant to be.

Eventually he pulls free - pointedly ignoring a smug look from his annoying brunette friend - and makes his way back stage.  In reality the entire thing must have been a matter of minutes because he can already hear the beginnings of one of his class-mates beginning their performance, but it felt like hours.  He makes his way quickly through to the lobby where he just knows Blaine will be waiting for him.

He is not disappointed.

He pauses a little distance away.

They regard each other.  Blaine is smiling but his eyes look tired and his shoulders are drawn - Kurt frowns slightly, then steps closer and pulls the other man into a hug.  Blaine smells like whiskey and the sea.

Kurt releases him and Blaine takes a small step back as if to keep himself in check.

            ‘Uh..hi, Kurt.

            ‘You came!

            ‘Rachel invited me.

            ‘I know.  There was a seat for you -‘

            ‘I didnt know if Id be welcome sitting with your family.

 Kurt frowns slightly and Blaines eyes break away from his own.

            ‘Im glad you made it.

            ‘So am I.  You were amazing up there, Kurt.

            ‘Thank you.

            ‘I mean it.

Warmth is creeping into his face and Kurt smiles.

            ‘I...uh....I should leave you to it...  Blaine turns as if to leave and Kurt gently takes his hand.

            ‘Blaine, I...uh...could we talk for a minute?  Or do you have to go right now?

He watches as the shorter man turns back towards him, Adams apple bobbing as he swallows thickly.  Blaine dips his head and Kurt takes it as an "okay".

            ‘I just need to take off this stage make up a minute, alright?

            ‘Ill wait here.

Kurt smiles and nods before dashing back down a hallway and into the dressing rooms.  Three wet wipes, a quick re-style of his hair, and a spritz of aftershave to freshen up, and Kurt reappears to find Blaine leant with his back to the wall and eyes to the ceiling.  The bright lights of the foyer bleach his skin leaving the impression that he has stepped straight from the screen of a black and white film.  Blaine must have heard a slight squeak from one of the abused soles of Kurts shoes as he straightens and turns to face him.  Kurt smiles softly and once again takes his hand before leading him out into the night.

It must have been raining for the pavements glisten in the sodium light - at least his shoes were already probably irredeemable; otherwise he would have been annoyed at having ruined them by wearing them outside and getting the suede soles wet.  It is never quiet in New York, Kurt has found; there is always life - usually he enjoys it - but since he was beaten it makes him a little edgy.  The hand in his own is heavy and reassuringly real though.

Another perk of city-living is that it never really sleeps - there is always somewhere open.  The coffee shop looks pretty dead which is actually perfect as this talk is likely to be awkward enough without the need for an audience.  Kurt finds the door opening for him and realises that Blaine must have let go of his hand at some point.  Before the heat flushing his cheeks again betrays him, Kurt enters and begins to remove his coat and scarf - at least this way he can put his bodys reaction down to the temperature differential between the freezing outdoors and cosy coffee-rich interior.

            ‘Your usual?  Blaines voice sounds a little rough and unsteady - his question betraying somehow the glamour of confidence he had been wearing.  Kurt nods lightly before taking Blaines wool coat and blazer from him and heading for a secluded booth on an empty side of the café.  He morns briefly Blaines need to remove the layers because he had looked so good - the long dark coat and scarf combination reminding Kurt a little of Dalton days, but this coat was far better cut, and this scarf was cashmere...  He folds the coat reverently after he takes a quick peak to confirm his suspicions - the label reads "Henry Poole & Co., 15 Saville Row, London W1".  The jacket bears the same.  He swallows before stealing a glance in Blaines direction.  Yes - the suit trousers are as well tailored as the outerwear had been - Kurt can appreciate a well cut suit at the best of times but outside of the vault at Vogue . com and his occasional find online for himself, his appreciation is usually limited to what Santana calls "perving" online at "fashion porn".  It is from one of those blogs that he actually recognises Blaines shoes as being by Barker Black.  He successfully quashes the ugly rearing head of jealousy that threatens to bring bile up with it, and instead merely focuses on counting the knots of wood in the top of the table before him, whilst reminding himself of discussions with his father and why he has brought Blaine here in the first place.

Regardless, his first words upon hearing the arrival of Blaine with their coffees is not "thank you" as he had been practicing, but rather

            ‘They should be hung up not placed over a chair, sorry.

Apparently this had not actually been a bad move as instead of the frown or awkward silence he had expected to result from his outburst, he receives a laugh.  A laugh which is apparently still infectious because it has all the tension flooding from Kurt with it as his own laughter follows.

            ‘I meant - thank you for the coffee.  Still, Kurt feels he needs to clarify.

            ‘I know.

Kurt glances up and Blaine is smiling at him still.  Kurt returns it.

            ‘So...

            ‘So.

            ‘This is...

            ‘Awkward?

            ‘I was going to say "nice" actually.

            ‘Oh...  Blaine frowns a little and Kurt feels a keen urge to bring the smile back and the sun with it.  Blaine seems to have other plans, however.  ‘You look better.

Kurt had forgotten for a while then that the last Blaine had saw of him had been while he was hooked up to drips and bleeping machines, swollen like over ripen fruit, and barely conscious.  He bites back the snarky retort that prepares to fire in automatic defence, but does not trust his tongue after its earlier betrayal, and nods instead.

            ‘I would have called to see you...to make sure you were better but..

            ‘I know: my attack dogs.  Theyve been called off.  Rachels apology was to make sure you came tonight.  What did she threaten you with?

            ‘She didnt have to threaten me, Kurt.

            ‘I know.  Actually it wasnt Rachel, or Santana.

            ‘Oh?  Kurts eyebrows raise and he takes to neatening the paper napkin and the teaspoon by making sure they are aligned correctly to the tables edge.

            ‘Uh - things havent been great.  At home.

            ‘Oh.

            ‘But thats not important.  Lets talk about you - you were so great up there tonight, Kurt.  Honestly - you were fantastic.  Your breath control was perfect -‘

            ‘Blaine, stop.  Perhaps a little harsh but he needed to cut the rambling off.  ‘I just...  Sorry.  Ill start again.  I had it all planned out - what I wanted to say, but you have this way of taking my words away and...  He lets his sentence fade to nothing and imagines words scattered across the top of the table before him - chaotic and meaningless.  His hand is in Blaines and across the table before he had realised Blaine had reached for it.  Circles rubbed into the back of Kurts hand soothe him a little until he is able to look up.  There is no pity in Blaines eyes; only concern so sincere that it pinches.  ‘Blaine...I miss you.  And Im sorry.  Im so sorry.

            ‘What for?  Youve not done anything wrong, Kurt.  Just focus a minute and breathe with me, alright?  In...two...three...out...two...three...in...two...three...out...two...three... thats it.  There we go.

Everything smells like coffee and for a minute he is in the Lima Bean; warm and safe and loved within caramel eyes.  A blink and he can think again.  He swallows thickly and reaches for his coffee with his free hand.  It is a little too hot still but he drinks deeply anyway.  The burn chases away the last of the clutter from the table.

At some point Blaine must have moved to slide in beside Kurt on the bench - his thigh is pressed against Kurts and warmth is ridiculously reassuring.  He feels the other man shift as if he is about to return to his own seat now that Kurt seems better - Kurt holds Blaines hand a little more tightly within his own and Blaine takes the hint.

Kurt takes another calming slug of coffee as if it were whiskey, then the words begin to pour.

            ‘Dad said were both pig-headed.  You and I, I mean.  He desperately wants to pause, to see Blaines eyes so he can gauge his response but he knows that if he stops now he will never say it - or they will get interrupted again...  He forces himself to keep going, anchoring himself by staring at their intertwined fingers and trusting in the fact that Blaine was not pulling away.  ‘Weve both said and done some things that are pretty terrible...but not unforgivable.

‘You should have sat with Dad, Blaine, because youre family - you will always be family to me.  It feels like years ago - Dalton, I mean - you took my hand and I think it was it for me then.  You are it for me.  You always have been.  And I knew youd never hurt me.  I knew it like I know that you were born for the stage, and that Rachel would be on Broadway even if she had to kill to get there...  But I was naïve, and I was wrong...  It is power - when you trust someone you give them the power to hold you up and tear you down.  Weve done both to each other, Blaine.  But I realised something that utterly terrified me: I never stopped loving you.  You hurt me more than anyone else, and I couldnt stop loving you, and I hated myself for it - not you.  I couldnt hate you.

‘I dont know what this all means...I just.  I needed to tell you that I understand - I think what we have was real, and I...  I still love you.  I need you to know that.  So that we can...work all this out?

The silence is a yawning chasm and Kurt risks a glance at the man beside him.  Blaines eyes are on Kurts lips, and Kurts drift to Blaines.

            ‘Please, say something?  Kurt is not above begging at this point.

            ‘Kurt, his speech is a soft breath and a moan.

His lips are magnets and Kurts drift towards Blaines as his eyes drift closed.  They collide without drama - there are no supernovas, and the world spins undisturbed - but Kurts heart races as if he were fighting for his life regardless.  It is too short and not enough.

            ‘You kiss different.  Blaine swallows Kurts words and drinks them instead of his coffee.