Crossroads

            Eight days.  It had been eight days since he had heard from Blaine. 

Douglas gently lets the phone rest back in its plastic cradle before glancing at his watch. 

            Good – there's time.

His suitcases are already downstairs waiting for him, but it is part habit, part paranoia that makes him check every drawer, under the bed, and around the bathroom before he lets the door click closed behind him. 

Douglas had barely noted his employer's reaction to the news that he was heading back to New York because of family reasons, but quite frankly, Douglas did not care – he had other things on his mind. 

The first time Blaine had missed his call Douglas had shrugged it off – perhaps the younger man was out late at a party or one of the Kingsmen rehearsals?  The second time he had tried to ignore the sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach.  As the days had passed, with no word, he had managed to remain calm by convincing himself that he was simply overreacting – Douglas had scoured whatever little information he could get (from US news sites that were not blocked) for news articles that could explain Blaine's disappearance.  There were none and he had no idea whether what he felt was relief or a deeper kind of worry at this revelation, and Douglas had to literally sit on his own hands to stop himself from calling Columbia just to check.

            You're not his father – you cannot call his school.  He's a grown man; an adult!  He can look after himself.  It's probably nothing.  He probably has a deadline for college and he's gotten carried away.  He's not obligated to talk to you – you're being too needy.  Give him some space – he'll call when he's ready and able.

His new litany had not stopped him from calling each morning (China time), nor had it saved him from the inevitable familiar crackle on the echoing line as it rang.

Douglas had wracked his brains in an attempt to see if he had missed something from their conversations – but Blaine had seemed happy – yes, he had said he was missing Douglas, but Blaine had never given Douglas any indication that he had not understood the reason the older man had been delayed in China.  Blaine had given him no indication that something was wrong – the thought should have been reassuring.   

Each time Douglas replaced the phone in its cradle he found himself a little more distracted, a little tenser, a little closer to breaking, until finally, that morning (China-time) he had called his building's reception to be told that no one had seen Blaine for days.  Genuinely in panic-mode he had called Doug and then Sebastian – what he learnt had Douglas booking his flight home as soon as he had rung-off.

-+-

            ‘I know he's there, Rachel.'  He leans a little too heavily on the door frame – Kurt can see a slither of crimson silk from where he stands, frozen, next to Santana.  The loft-mates had been part-way through a film – some chick flick with an unremarkable plot that Rachel had put on after she had satisfied herself that they had told her everything about their unsuccessful excursion – when someone had knocked on their door.  The petite brunette had answered it, leaving Kurt curled up under the blanket next to Santana; at least, that was where he had been until he had heard him.  At the sound of his voice Kurt had found himself on his feet and most of the way to the door before Santana had moved in front of him and placed a hand firmly on his chest. 

            I don't think now is the right time, Blaine.'  Rachel's voice sounds firm, but Kurt can detect a slight waiver to it that makes his mouth go dry.

            ‘I really don't think you get to decide that.'  Blaine's voice is liquid silk.

            ‘Oh, I think I do.'  Kurt watches as the woman tries to close the door – he can only see a fraction of what is going on from his location but when he goes to move he receives another look from Santana.

            ‘You know what – I think I've been really patient with your interfering up until now.  I get it – you're his friend – I do.  But what you may have missed, while you were so busy being his friend, was that Kurt is not your property and he can make his own decisions without you.  He doesn't need you to protect him, Rachel – certainly not from me.  He needed you years ago when he was being bullied on a daily basis, but you did nothing then.  As hard as this may be for you to wrap your head around – this is not about you.  So, if you would be so kind as to let him know I'm here…‘  There is a dark calmness to Blaine's voice – the soothing tones juxtaposing with the context as the other man lets his last sentence hang with unspoken implications.

            ‘I'm not going to take that personally as I know that you would never speak to me like that, so I'm just going to tell you again - he doesn't want to talk to you when you're like this.  Please, Blaine – come back tomorrow when you're sober or something.  You'll thank me – I promise, but just go.' 

Blaine's comeback is a little too quiet to hear.

            ‘What do you want to do, Kurt?'  Santana's voice is soft – the concern in her eyes palpable. 

He swallows.  A couple of hours ago he had been steeling himself to talk to the man at the door – a couple of hours ago he had known exactly what he was going to say, but now… 

            ‘Could you…?'  He cannot finish the sentence, but thankfully Santana understands and heads towards the door.  Kurt watches as she picks up two coats from the hook by the exit and takes the other woman by the elbow before leading a protesting Rachel out of the loft.

            ‘You have one hour and then we'll be back.  If you hurt him…'  The threat is left hanging palpably in the ether between them, and Kurt almost calls his friends back.  Instead, he listens as two pairs of heels clatter down the hallway; his pulse in his tongue.  Numbly he realises that his hands are shaking so he rushes over to the coffeemaker in anticipation; partly to give his hands something to do, but mostly so he does not have to look at the other man for a couple more minutes.

            ‘Come in, Blaine.'  Kurt throws over his shoulder.  That's it – cool and calm.

In hindsight the coffeemaker may not have been the best plan as it is noisy and he cannot hear whether Blaine has entered the loft as per Kurt's invitation or not.  Kurt grips the countertop and, taking a breath, turns.

Blaine is watching him – eyes dark, arms folded across his chest drawing the fabric of the silk shirt tight across biceps that Kurt is certain were not that defined last time they saw each other.  Kurt stifles a little cough and manages to splutter out something that resembles the word -

‘Coffee?'

            ‘Why were you looking for me?'  Blaine is all business.

            ‘I wanted to talk.'

            ‘We talked a couple of months back – it didn't go so well.'

            ‘I know.  I tried to call…'

Blaine nods, but makes no move to say anything.  It feels like a stand-off.

            One.  Two.  Three.  One.  Two.  Three.

            ‘What are you waiting for exactly?'  Blaine quirks an eyebrow at Kurt's silence.

            ‘Um…I…'

            ‘You wanted to talk, Kurt.  I'm here; talk.'

            As if it could be that simple.

            One.  Two.  Three.

            ‘I…I've been doing a lot of thinking…'  Blaine gestures for Kurt to continue.  Kurt closes his eyes.  ‘I'm worried about you, Blaine.  We all are actually.'

            ‘And who is “we”, pray tell.'

            ‘Your friends – you know: Sebastian, Rachel, Santana, and I.'

Blaine rolls his eyes and something in Kurt twangs.

            ‘Stop it!  Just stop it, Blaine.'

            ‘Stop what, exactly?'

            ‘This!  Whatever this is that you're doing!'  He gestures wildly in Blaine's direction before letting out a frustrated huff.  ‘What happened to us?  How did we get to this?'  His legs feel weak and he finds he desperately needs to sit down.  Ignoring the other man he crosses the living area and drops back down onto the sofa, his head in his hands, and stares numbly at the floor.

            One, two, three.

He feels the cushion dip as Blaine takes a seat beside him.

            One, two, three.

Blaine's touch is tentative – a question, and Kurt answers by leaning into the proffered embrace.  He wants to comment – Blaine's chest feels like rock, but he cannot bring himself to make a sound.

            One, two.

            ‘You'll chip a tooth.'  Blaine's voice is slightly gruff.  Kurt glances up.

            ‘Huh?'  Three.

            ‘You're clacking.' 

            ‘Oh.  I didn't realise.'

            ‘Hm.'  Blaine does not sound convinced and Kurt frowns slightly.  ‘You were doing that last time I saw you too.'  He offers as an explanation.

            ‘I guess it helps me think or something.'

They fall back into the hush of each other's breath and Kurt has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself clicking his stud suddenly paranoid about his lack of control over the rebellious organ.

            ‘So, my mother's dead, hm?'

Kurt swallows sharply, but detects no malice or anger.

            ‘Santana tried to pull the sympathy card with the guy at reception when flirting failed her.' 

Kurt feels Blaine nod slightly and the knot in his gut tightens.  The coffeemaker saves him from the silence and he is about to prise himself up when Blaine surprises him by standing instead.  Kurt fiddles idly with the hem of his waistcoat and is fleetingly grateful that he did not change into something more comfortable when he had returned to the loft earlier - at least he had dressed in anticipation of seeing Blaine.

He feels the man in question's return and looks up when a mug appears before his eyes.

            ‘Thank you.'  Kurt accepts the mug and takes a moment to inhale the aroma – it has always calmed him ever since that first day he had been caught spying at Dalton.  They had grown together over the warm, rich aroma – it feels like decades ago.

            ‘What was your attempted visit about then?  Trying to spy on me again?'  Blaine's tone is almost joking but there is an edge to it that Kurt has not heard before, and that (together with Blaine's apparent mind-reading capabilities) catches Kurt off guard.

            Why do we still have to be in sync?  What does that even mean?

            ‘I…uh…I guess I just wanted to make sure you were alright.  Rachel had seen Sebastian and he had given her your address.'

            ‘Right.  Well – I'm fine, as you can see.  What else?'

            ‘Blaine.'  Kurt rolls his eyes.  ‘What happened with Sebastian?'

            ‘We fell out.'

            ‘That's evident.'

            ‘Since when do you care whose company I keep anyway?  You've never been Bas' greatest fan.'

            ‘Yes, well – he tried to blind you -'

            ‘He tried to slushie you actually.'  Blaine takes a sip of coffee and Kurt finally lets their eyes meet.

            ‘What did you fall out over?'

            ‘How about we don't talk about Sebastian and you talk about whatever it was you wanted to talk to me about?'

            ‘If you don't want to talk about it I can just ask him.'  Blaine gestures “of course” with an air of “go ahead” and Kurt rolls his eyes.         ‘Fine.  When did you get this closed off and difficult?'

            ‘We've only got about,' Blaine glances at his watch – gold and expensive and new Kurt notes, ‘twenty minutes before your Rottweilers return so you might want to start talking if you want to talk.'

            ‘What in the hell happened to you?'  Kurt frowns a little at Blaine's choice of words, and Blaine echoes his expression.

            ‘You really want me to answer that?' 

The sound of breath and blood is static in his ears and Kurt tries to regulate his breathing.

            ‘Fine.  It was something Elliot said -' 

            ‘Oh, that's his name.'  Blaine takes another sip of his coffee.

            ‘Whose name?'

‘Tall guy with thick, dark hair – tattoos, piercings...  You know - your boyfriend.'

‘That's him but he's not my…  He's just a friend.'

‘I bet he is.'  Blaine gives him a look and Kurt almost growls.

            ‘When did you –‘

            ‘See you two together?'  Blaine finishes for him.  Kurt nods dumbly and Blaine smiles a little.  ‘The morning after we last exchanged pleasantries.  I thought about what we said to each other and I wanted to apologise so I headed over here because I thought maybe, just maybe, we could repair our friendship.  But turns out you were busy.'

            ‘He's a friend, Blaine.  We are in a band together and he's one of the only real friends I've made since I came here.  What does it matter anyway?  You should have said something.'

            ‘I didn't want to interrupt.'

            ‘You wouldn't have been interrupting!  God, you are infuriating!  You saw me with another man and you freaked out!  You assumed!  So what if he had been my boyfriend, Blaine?  It's not like you're single is it?'

The other man does not answer and Kurt only just stops himself from clacking his tongue against his teeth when he hisses out a breath.  He looks at him then – really looks at him; yes, Blaine has muscled up – that is plain to see, but he looks smaller somehow, like he has not been eating properly or been getting enough sleep.  His pupils are blown too – to the extent that Kurt can hardly see his irises.  Gently he reaches out and places a hand on Blaine's knee.

            ‘Blaine – where were you earlier?'

            ‘Out with some friends of mine.'

            ‘Who?'

            ‘You don't know them.  Quit avoiding the conversation, Kurt – you said you and Elliot were talking about me.  Go on…'

            ‘I just want to be sure I'm really talking to you and that you'll remember this conversation…'

            ‘I only had a couple of drinks and that was hours ago, mother.'

            ‘Damn it, Blaine – I care about you, okay, and at the moment it looks like you need someone to because you're pushing everyone away and I'm worried about you.'

            ‘I told you – I'm fine, Kurt.  I have friends –‘

            ‘Friends who take you out drinking and who knows what else.' 

            ‘You don't get to judge me, Kurt.' 

            ‘No – I remember.' 

            ‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?'

He can feel Blaine tense beneath his fingers and Kurt squeezes his eyes closed briefly in an attempt to ground himself.

            ‘Please – just listen alright?  I don't want to fight with you.  Please, Blaine.'  He waits until he is certain that the shorter man is listening to him before continuing; his thumb lightly stroking the other man's knee in an ancient, calming gesture. 

But the words do not come.

Kurt feels Blaine's hand cover his own, stilling the nervous movement of his thumb.

            ‘Are you happy, Kurt?'  Blaine's voice is soft and Kurt bites his lip.

            ‘I'm fine.'

            ‘But are you happy?'

            ‘This isn't about me.'

            ‘Kurt?' 

He looks up and Blaine's eyes are gentle – he recognises these eyes; they belong to the boy in the blazer.  Blaine's hand squeezes his own gently and Kurt is running with him through wood-panelled corridors.

            “Come on – I know a shortcut.”

            ‘When did you give up on your dream, Blaine?'  It comes out a little breathless and fast, and Kurt is not surprised when the smaller man stands, dropping Kurt's hand.  He holds his breath as he braces for the venom and fire that seem to be a part of this new Blaine, but they never come.

            ‘Thanks for the coffee.'

            ‘Blaine – wait –‘

            ‘The girls are due back any minute.'  It feels like an excuse.

            ‘Stay?'  Kurt hates how needy and desperate his voice sounds.

            ‘I should go home, but swing by tomorrow and we'll talk, okay?  You know where I live.'

The offer hangs like a golden thread and Kurt knows he has no choice – he never has when it comes to this man before him.  He nods and watches a smile ghost across Blaine's features.

Blaine's absence fills the loft as the door slides closed behind him.

-+-

            After Blaine's departure Kurt had stayed pretty much motionless until his loft-mates had returned – he needed to pick up a present for Santana because she had taken one look at him and then sent Rachel to bed without a word.  Kurt had retired to bed not long after, but even his old tag-team of Ambien and his boyfriend-pillow, Bruce, had been unable to quiet his racing mind.  He had glimpsed Blaine – his Blaine - beneath this tense and angry new version, and he could not help but take the other man's invitation to talk as anything other than a positive sign.  Now, standing in the elevator as it carried him up to the penthouse(!) he was not so certain. 

He had been expected when he had arrived – fortunately the receptionist was an older gentleman and not Markus from the previous day, so Kurt had avoided the embarrassment of that encounter – and had been sent straight up to meet “Mr. Anderson”.  As the lift doors slid open Kurt was blind to everything except the man standing before him.  Eventually, Kurt remembered to breathe, exiting the elevator with a step towards Blaine that displayed more certainty than he felt.  Blaine looked dishevelled – like he had not had any sleep – but more “with it” than he had the previous evening.

            ‘Hi.'  Kurt managed.

            ‘Hi.' 

A smile traced Blaine's lips and Kurt found his own mirroring them.  The other man slowly took a step backwards and gestured for Kurt to enter with a sweep of his arm.  Kurt took a breath and walked past Blaine and into the apartment. 

            ‘Coffee?'  Blaine's voice is softer than it was the previous night – almost apologetic and Kurt can only nod his response; this Blaine is at odds with the one he had been expecting, yet he is not quite the Blaine Kurt had hoped for either.  Wide-eyed, he watches as the smaller man pours two cups and tries not to wonder at the sheer size of the place – yes, the loft was big, but this place was huge, and tastefully decorated.  Deep down, Kurt had been hoping that the place would be over-the-top and ostentatious – with patterned carpets, textured walls and chintz.  The reality is anything but.

            ‘Thanks.'  He manages as Blaine hands him a blue and white T.G. Green mug, and Kurt uses it to warm his hands as he follows the other man further into the apartment.  He watches warily as Blaine takes a seat on the sofa, but the other man simply smiles slightly.

            ‘You know you want to, Kurt.  Go on.'

Kurt manages to refuse the invitation to inspect and peruse, instead taking the seat next to Blaine.

            ‘I'm here to talk.'

            ‘I know.  You can look if you want to though - I won't hold it against you.'

            ‘I know – but I'd rather just…'

            ‘Alright.'  Blaine gently places his own mug down onto the coffee table and Kurt finds himself mirroring him.  Blaine draws in a slow breath.  ‘Sorry about last night.'

            ‘It's fine.'

            ‘It's not fine, Kurt.  I was out of line.'

            ‘It's alright, really.'

Blaine's lips are a tight line, his eyebrows flat, and shoulders slightly rounded – he looks defeated.

            One.  Two.  Three.  One.

Blaine raises his eyebrow and Kurt bites his tongue.

            ‘Sorry.'

            ‘Finish or it'll kill you.'

            ‘I'm sorry, what?'

            ‘Threes.  You clack in threes.'  He says it as if it were obvious – but no one else had said anything.

            ‘Oh.'  He's right.  The knowledge makes Kurt's brain itch.

Two.  Three.

            ‘You were right, by the way.'  Blaine looks down at his fingers.

            ‘I usually am.  What about this time?' 

            ‘You are.'  Blaine laughs a little at Kurt's comment and the sound tingles in Kurt's pores.  ‘About talking to you when I saw you with Elliot - I should have done something.'

            ‘Yes.'  Kurt reclaims his mug and takes a tentative sip of the coffee – he only just manages to keep in a delighted moan at the flavour.  At least – he thought he had, but Blaine's amused eyes tell him otherwise so he quickly endeavours to change the subject.  ‘I'm sorry about Rachel.' 

            ‘I'm glad you have people who care about you.'  Blaine's eyes flick up and Kurt finds himself studying them again – looking for discernable changes in them from now to when he spent hours memorizing them before.  Before New York.  Before this mess.

            ‘You do too.'

            ‘I know.'  Blaine's smile lingers on his lips but fades from his eyes.  Kurt frowns as Blaine redirects the conversation.  ‘So – what did you want to talk to me about?  I…uh…I don't have a cell phone anymore so I know I've been hard to get hold of.'

            ‘Please get a cell, Blaine.  It's the twenty first century.'

            ‘The landline serves the same purpose.'

            ‘Not when you don't answer it.'

            ‘Touché.  But back to the topic – you were talking to Elliot?'

            ‘Stop changing the subject - it's not like you can't afford one…'  Blaine's features darken and Kurt immediately adds money to the mental list of “things to not talk to Blaine about right now”.  Kurt sighs.  ‘Elliot just told me that we…you and I…we needed to talk.'

            ‘I'm pretty sure that's not the story, Kurt.'

            ‘I…I'm sorry.  I'm sorry about a lot of things.  I pushed you away and I am starting to understand that it may have been the greatest mistake of my life.'

            ‘What exactly are you saying?'

            ‘What I'm saying is that – I miss you, Blaine.  You were my best friend… you were my everything.  Without you I don't think I'd have made it to graduation let alone New York, and when you cheated on me I didn't stop to work out why, because the man I knew…he would never have done something to hurt me on purpose.  I've done a lot of thinking, and for a while - I'm not going to lie – I wanted to forget you took my hand and sang your way into my life.  It was so easy to blame you - you made it easy.  But the truth of the matter is – we broke us.  Both of us, together.  I think you realised that before I did…  When Dad asked you to come up for Christmas I was terrible to you – but Dad's news kind of knocked me over and I don't think I…  When I saw you there at the ice rink I wanted to believe so desperately that this had all been a terrible nightmare – but you looked at me with those huge, sad, puppy eyes of yours and all I could remember was that night after Callbacks and it made me feel sick.  I had just found out my Dad had cancer and when I saw you all I could think about was how much I wanted you and I hated you for making me feel like that.'  He goes quiet, but Blaine makes no move to say anything.  ‘Adam was my rebound and the thing is – he knew it before I did.  He knew I wasn't over you so he left me.'

            ‘Why are you telling me this?'

He wants to say “I still love you, Blaine.  I've always loved you and I think I always will.”  Blaine's eyes are soft and earnest.  Kurt reaches out and pulls Blaine's hand into his lap.

            ‘Because I –‘ 

But there is a man in the room who pulls Blaine into his arms and away from Kurt.  He is tall – far taller than Blaine – his hair and eyes dark, and, though travel weary, he is immaculately dressed in a suit that is obviously bespoke.  He is trailed by the receptionist from the day before – Markus – who puts down the suitcases he carries, as the tall man showers Blaine unashamedly with kisses and concern.  Kurt watches as Blaine kisses him back.  Kurt watches the genuine smile break out across Blaine's face.  Markus shoots Kurt a look he cannot decipher as he leaves and Kurt wants nothing more than to follow, but he is frozen.  So, Kurt watches.