On the night of their graduation, that changed.

Blaine had never seen Kurt like this--hips swaying to the thrumming beat of a dirty dance number, hands lifted over his head, eyes closed in a sort of ecstasy as his hair slid out of its usually perfect hold, a few strands falling over Kurt’s face.

Brittany, Tina, and Mercedes danced around him, but Blaine couldn't take his eyes off Kurt, off the graceful, careless way he moved his body in the hot, torchlit evening air.

Puck slid up to Kurt slipping a refilled red cup in his hand. Kurt barely paused his movements, only deigning to lower his face a little to flash Puck a toothy grin and a bob of his head before falling back into the beat.

“Blaine?” Sam’s voice cut through his thoughts and he tore his eyes from Kurt’s hips to meet Sam’s expectant stare.

“Huh?” Blaine’s mind slowly came back to him, to the game before him, to the cards in his hand.

“I’m raising six Skittles, you in or out?” Sam asked and Blaine had to shake himself a little, glancing at his hand, eyes sliding back to Kurt.

“I fold.” Blaine tossed his cards on the table and pulled himself out of his chair, making a beeline for the door to the kitchen. The heat. He told himself. It was just the heat getting to him.

Blaine shivered a little as he slipped through the patio door, the cold, recycled air pumping into the room skimmed over Blaine’s skin, hill reaching more than skin deep and he grabbed a cup from the counter, ladling the near-neon mixture up to the rim.

It was his first drink of the evening and it would be his only. He wasn’t stupid enough to forget the last time he’d gotten drunk with this particular group of people and he was hoping to never repeat that performance.

As the punch slid down his throat, Blaine wondered how Kurt was even drinking it. Kurt had always preferred natural foods and constantly ragged on Blaine for the soda he drank. It burned a little, in a barely noticeable way, raising a trail of goosebumps along his arms that had Blaine downing half the cup in a span of a few minutes, the music from outside still beating in his ears through the glass.

He closed his eyes, leaning against the counter top for support. It all came down to Kurt, didn’t it? Everyone had expected them to get together, hell, even Blaine had, but...but what? He couldn't pin it down. He couldn’t name whatever emotion it was. Whatever feeling it was that he had for Kurt. It couldn’t be described in a simple word like love, or friendship, or platonic, and that was the problem.

Blaine liked definitions, labels, though perhaps not in the same way Kurt did. Kurt preferred labels with iconic names on them, while Blaine liked to use them to keep things organized.

Before Kurt, before Dalton, it had been chaos.

At his old high school, he’d been bullied. Kurt knew that, he knew some of the details too, and understood a lot of the fear that came with it. Never sure if he would make it to first period without a new bruise blossoming under his t-shirt, or wondering if he shouldn’t just duck into the girl’s bathroom instead to save himself the inevitable torture of stepping up to the urinals if a jock was already there.

He hadn’t known, for a long time, what label to give himself, though the rest of the world (his school, at least) was more than happy to cast judgment on him long before he’d made up his mind. It didn’t help that he didn’t fit in with any of the social groups, and more often than not, found himself alone at his lunch table scribbling lyrics and doodling into tattered composition notebooks.

When Blaine began to realize that he was more interested in the guys walking down the halls and the way their jeans moulded over slim legs, curving up to hug a gorgeous ass, rather than the hemlines of their girlfriends’ skirts and the ever-dropping line of their shirts, showing off just a bit more cleavage every year, he started to understand why the other guys shied away from him in the locker rooms even as he grew more curious over what they could be hiding.

Gay. That was the first label Blaine had imposed on himself. It certainly wasn’t an easy one to accept, a fact made even more difficult by his father’s thinly veiled attempts at straightening him out.

While it was grounding for Blaine, it had only served to make everything else in his life spiral even more out of control. Things only got worse after the attack.

That’s when new labels started coming into Blaine’s life. Zero-tolerance. Private school. He appreciated the uniform with its clean lines and neatly knotted ties. Blaine chopped his ear-length, curly mane off, favoring the more sophisticated, gelled-down look like he’d seen in so many classic Hollywood films with confident stars whose smiles could disarm even the most withdrawn of dames. It all worked so smoothly, clean-cut boys all dressed the same, tolerant on a level that Blaine hadn’t expected after what he’d been through, not until he was older and had gotten out of Ohio.

It was a charade, a fa�ade that he worked at to keep the other boys from knowing the truth about his past. However accepting Dalton boys were, however supportive and appreciative the Warblers had been of Blaine’s talents, no one ever saw him as anything other than the charismatic leader that he wanted them to see.

It wasn’t until another boy had shown up, tapping him on the shoulder as he rushed to a performance, and he turned and saw and recognized the smile on his lips that didn’t match the yearning in his eyes, that he opened himself up letting the truth come out.

Everything had changed that day in a single moment, with a simple gesture, and Blaine tried not to think about what could have happened if Kurt had reached out to another boy on the staircase.

The thought made his stomach knot and he tipped his cup back to take another drink.

His cup was empty, but before he had a chance to be stupid and reach for the ladle to refill it, consequences be damned, Kurt stumbled into the kitchen, a blast of the hot, summer air skittering over Blaine’s arms.

“Oh! There you are,” Kurt drawled as he pulled up next to Blaine, his warm hip pressing against Blaine’s side. Kurt dropped his head to Blaine’s shoulder after a moment and they stood there, just breathing, “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“You know you can tell me anything,” Blaine assured Kurt. Kurt nodded, having heard Blaine say this countless times as he spilled innumerable secrets, fears, worries, dreams, but instead of his usual excitement at finally being able to share something, something that he might actually have in common with another person, there was an intense amount of fear coming off his body in waves and he refused to meet Blaine’s eyes.

“First of all, I want you to know that I’m not drunk, so I’m not just saying this because I have alcohol in my system, though it certainly helps. Blaine,” he paused, eyes fluttering up to meet Blaine’s and he felt his stomach twist in knots at the expression on Kurt’s face. “I--,”

“So then I was like, no, you can’t fill a paper pi�ata with schnapps, and besides that would be really, really messy,” Santana finished as she wandered into the kitchen, a mostly disinterested Quinn trailing along next to her.

“Oh, hey guys!” Quinn perked up. “What are you up to?”

“Oh, nothing,” Kurt said, easily slipping into nonchalance, while Blaine felt as though he were about to get hit by a train. “Just reminiscing.”

“That sounds fun.” Quinn inched away from Santana, who was filling yet another glass with punch, “What were you guys talking about?”

Blaine could feel Kurt prickling next to him, even as his voice remained calm.

“Just talking about our time at Dalton, nothing terribly interesting, but a little private, so I think we’ll just...” Kurt trailing off, making a motion for Blaine to move. Blaine pushed off from the counter, leading Kurt down the hallway. “You guys have fun!”

“You guys should have sex! Bedroom’s third on the right,” Santana called after them, her words slurring together. Blaine heard Quinn smack Santana’s arm and didn’t have to turn around to know that Kurt was blushing as they made their way down the hall.

Blaine passed the third door on the right, ignoring Santana’s suggestion, but a moment later Kurt cleared his throat and Blaine spun around to find him leaning into the open bedroom.

“No one will bother us if we’re in here,” Kurt said as a way of explanation, and Blaine couldn’t fault him. He slipped past Kurt and into the room, bouncing a little as he dropped to the bed. Kurt clicked the door shut and settled onto the bed next to him, alone again.

“So, what did you want to tell me?” Blaine asked and Kurt gave him a pained smile, the flush Santana’s comment cause still high on his cheeks, hands twisting in his lap.

“I...I think you already know this, but I’m in love with you.” Kurt’s eyes slid up to meet his as he finished speaking. The words hung between them in the air, Kurt’s gaze frozen on him.

Woah. It wasn’t a total surprise. He had known Kurt had a crush on him, and had for, well, about as long as they’d known each other, he had always assumed that it was just a crush. Kurt had never acted on it, and since Blaine...

He was being too quiet, had let the silence go on for too long and Kurt dropped his gaze, eyebrows knitting, and he took a steadying breath before practically jumping up from the bed.

“It’s okay. I know you don’t...” He trailed off again. Don’t what? Don’t care? Don’t feel the same way?

“Kurt,” Blaine said, pained and a little desperate. He wanted to love Kurt, and he did, he did love Kurt, but not in the way Kurt loved him, he wanted to love Kurt, he wanted to be in love with Kurt, but life was a cruel mistress.

“Blaine.” The name came out as a soft cry, a desperate plea for Blaine to tell him what he wanted to hear and not break his heart.

He knew, and that was the worst part, Blaine knew what it was like to care so much about a person only to have them not return the feelings, and it was...easier. Easier before they said that they didn’t feel that way, because even though he was too cowardly to do anything about it, at least there was the hope that his feelings were returned and the other person was just too scared to admit it too.

It was a dream, a wish. It was something Blaine so badly did not want to shatter, no matter how much he might not return Kurt’s feelings.

“Please, let me kiss you,” Blaine pleaded, and Kurt spun back so quickly, it was a miracle he hadn’t tripped.

“Is this some cruel joke?” Kurt stared at him, his face wrinkled in distress.

“No,” he assured, “I just need to see.” To see if that’s what it would take to break this spell of platonic feelings and open him up to a world of romance with the boy he loved, but was not in love with. “Only if you want to,” he added.

“Only if I...Blaine,” and there it was again, the timbre of his voice as it rolled over his name cutting through him like knives. It cut to his core and he knew he had to do this. Kurt’s hand trembled as it reached out his thumb running along the outer edge of Blaine’s lips.

Blaine let his eyes drop closed, leaning into the warmth of Kurt’s touch, pressing back just barely against the tip of Kurt’s finger. Kurt dragged his finger along the lip and Blaine could feel Kurt’s shaky exhale as he drew his hand over Blaine’s cheek.

He was just about to open his eyes when Kurt leaned forward, closing the distance between them, pressing hot, sticky lips against Blaine’s.

Blaine’s lips parted slightly, slipping Kurt’s bottom lip between his own and sucking on the plush, pillow-soft skin. Kurt breathed a soft sigh into the kiss, settling more of his weight onto Blaine, his hands sliding over Blaine’s jaw, tangling into the humidity-curled hair at the nape of his neck.

Blaine shuddered at the contact and swiped his tongue over Kurt’s insistent lips, dipping it into the other boy’s mouth as it opened on a gasp. Wet, velvet heat surrounded his tongue and Kurt tasted like alcohol, but as he drew Kurt’s tongue against his, there was something more, something just so distinctly Kurt. He drew his arms up, wrapping them around Kurt’s back and pulled as he leaned farther back until they were tumbling to the bed, Kurt flush against him.

God it felt so good. All smooth, hard lines, muscled thighs, and the slight scratch of barely there scruff. Why hadn’t they been doing this forever?

A choked moan rumbled through Blaine’s throat, thrumming around the tongue that had found its way into his mouth, as he felt the telltale pressure of Kurt’s half-hard erection against his thigh. He couldn’t help the way his hips jerked up into Kurt’s body and Kurt groaned as he ground his hips back down into Blaine.

Suddenly there were too many layers between them and all Blaine could think about was how Kurt’s cock would feel heavy and large in his hand. He slipped his hands down Kurt’s back as their tongues moved together, sloppy and inexperienced. Blaine’s fingers danced along the hem of Kurt’s shirt and he rubbed circles into the smooth skin that revealed itself as the cotton inched up his back.

He couldn’t get enough of the milky skin, the tongue in his mouth, the body rocking on top of him, it wasn’t enough.

Blaine gripped Kurt’s hips and flipped them over, settling between Kurt’s legs and grinding down hard. Kurt arched into Blaine’s touch and moaned as Blaine’s mouth bypassed his mouth in favor of Kurt’s neck.

Blaine sucked a dark, purpling red mark into the flawless skin where Kurt’s neck met his shoulder and Kurt’s fingers dragged down his back, sliding down over his ass, bringing Blaine impossibly closer.

He was going to fuck this boy, mark him as his own and pound that sweet ass. Maybe not tonight, but soon, God soon.

“Blaine,” Kurt whined as Blaine bit at his neck, hands still gripping Kurt’s hips in a way that must have been painful.

Kurt. This was Kurt.

And just like that the spell broke.

Blaine pulled his mouth away from Kurt’s neck and stumbled back from the bed, leaving a dazed and breathless Kurt laying on the bed, his hard dick outlined in his tight pants in a way that left nothing to the imagination, and part of Blaine just wanted to drop to the floor and worship it because he was sure Kurt’s cock was beautiful, but...he wanted sex. Kurt wanted love. Kurt deserved love.

“I’m sorry,” Blaine choked out and ran from the room, not daring to look back. Not daring to watch as Kurt’s heart broke.

Courage. What a fucking lie.

One week, several dozen phone calls a day, and five shredded bouquets of flowers later, Kurt was still refusing to talk to Blaine.

He couldn’t really say that he blamed Kurt, but he wished that his friend, his best friend would give him the chance to apologize for how he’d handled everything. It wasn’t easy to tell your best friend that you weren’t in love with them, even if you wanted to be, but Blaine knew that running away after practically mauling Kurt was not the way to deal with it.

He needed to have courage, his own fears be damned, and face up to what he did, which is how he found himself driving to Kurt’s house, his own pulse drowning out the auto-tuned pop music wafting over the airwaves.

The forty-five minute drive to Kurt’s house usually felt like an eternity, Blaine would constantly drum his fingers along his gear shifter, left leg bouncing a little as he attempted to pay attention to all thirty-three stoplights that marked the difference between Westerville and Lima. Today, however, it seemed that all the lights were green, letting Blaine make the journey in record time. Anxiety pulsed through his veins, kissing along each nerve and jolting through his fingertips as they gripped the steering wheel, and three blocks away, Blaine had to stop the car and just breathe for a few minutes, staring out the windshield, wondering what to say.

He really should have known. Should have planned, but how could he explain this to Kurt? To the beautiful boy who, only a year ago, stood in his bedroom and was so uncomfortable about sex that he couldn’t handle talking about it with the one person that might truly understand. How was he supposed to explain to that boy that he loved him, but any romantic relationship would be a lie because even though Blaine did find him attractive in a completely untouchable way, Blaine was not in love with him.

Friends with benefits would be the best solution had Kurt not been in love with him, had Kurt not been so uncomfortable about sex, but as it was, Blaine felt as though he were losing something, something more than a best friend, but not quite a lover. Some unnameable in between category, which seemed appropriate to Blaine, since everything about Kurt was that way.

Blaine sighed, leaning his head back, letting his eyes drop closed for a moment. He could do this. For Kurt. He could do this for Kurt.

Settling back into his seat, he made his way the final three blocks to Kurt’s house, heart hammering as he walked up to the front door and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

Moments later, the door swung open to reveal Burt Hummel. It only took a second for the man’s face to fall into a deep, creased frown.

“What are you doing here?” Burt’s voice was gruff, low and unfriendly and his presence seemed to fill the entire doorway.

“I need to speak with Kurt,” Blaine explained, pleading just a little bit. Why couldn’t Kurt have answered the door? God, he should have known better.

“Like hell you do,” Burt ground back at him.

“Please, I just need to apolo--,”

“I don’t know what you did to my son, but I know it’s not good. You hurt him and now you need to leave, okay?”

“Please, Burt--,”

“Mr. Hummel.” Burt corrected. Blaine faltered back a step. Ever since he’d found out about Blaine’s father, Burt had made it a point for him to call him by his first name and be familiar and comfortable with having him as some sort of surrogate father, but this, this was a connection he hadn’t contemplated losing.

“Please,” Blaine begged.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Blaine?” Kurt’s voice drifted from the landing and Blaine could see his lithe form, arms crossed over his chest as he stared at Blaine.

Kurt’s name whooshed from his mouth, sounding pained and apologetic and everything Blaine wished he knew how to say, explain, but couldn’t.

“Blaine was just leaving,” Burt said, giving Blaine a pointed look and preparing to close the door. Blaine shoved his hand against the wood, holding it open.

“Wait,” Blaine shouted. “Please, Kurt, I just need a minute, to talk, to explain, to apologize. Please.” Blaine had given up trying to keep track of the number of times he’d said the word please since he’d arrived at the Hummel residence, no matter how many times it came out of his mouth, it never seemed to be enough. Never enough to show just how desperately he needed to talk to Kurt.

Kurt drank Blaine in as he walked down the steps, his eyes never leaving Blaine’s. It wasn’t until Kurt was next to Burt at the door that he looked away from Blaine. He didn’t know what was going to happen, and he wondered, for one insane second, if Kurt was going to hit him, but even if he did, Blaine knew that he deserved it.

Instead, Kurt turned on his heel, pausing long enough to give his father a look before Burt was stepping just barely to the side allowing Blaine to squeeze through the door.

Kurt remained silent as he led Blaine up the stairs and Blaine couldn’t help feeling almost as though he were walking towards his execution, Kurt’s stony demeanor stayed plastered on his face even as he let Blaine into his room, softly shutting the door behind them, did nothing to ease Blaine’s fears. But, Blaine supposed, this wasn’t about his comfort, it was about Kurt’s. Always.

Kurt leaned back against the closed door and stared at Blaine as he shifted awkwardly under Kurt’s gaze. Where was his cool confidence now? Blaine dropped his eyes to the floor, swallowing against the growing knot in his throat, not sure where to begin.

“Blaine.” Kurt’s voice drew him out of his reverie and his head snapped up, eyes meeting.

“Yeah?” Blaine asked.

“You were the one that came over here to talk,” Kurt said, almost sneering at him.

“Yeah, I just, don’t know where to start,” Blaine explained lamely, his eyes catching on the deep purple mark just barely concealed by Kurt’s shirt. He probably would have never even noticed it if he hadn’t known it was there. If he hadn’t been the one to put it there. “I’m sorry.”

“I gathered that, amazingly enough,” Kurt said, “but what, exactly, are you sorry about.”

Blaine gazed at him for a moment, taking in Kurt’s perfect posture, the rigid lines of his jaw, set with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

“Everything. God, everything, Kurt. I never meant to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you. Never.” Blaine closed the distance between them, pulling Kurt into a tight embrace. Kurt’s shaky breath grazed along the hair above Blaine’s ear and Blaine nuzzled slightly into Kurt’s shoulder, his mouth aligned with the mark he’d left on him only separated by a thin layer of cotton.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” Blaine asked as he breathed in Kurt’s scent, for what he was sure would be the last time. Kurt pulled himself from Blaine’s embrace, putting a few feet between them.

“What are you trying to say, Blaine?” Kurt asked, sighing, his expression battling between confused and hopeful. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do. You are so amazing and special and I have never met anyone like you. I love you so much,” and that was true, so true, Blaine couldn’t imagine his life without Kurt in it. He took a gulp, taking a small step forward before second guessing the move as Kurt’s expression lifted from pain to joy. And this was the hard part. The truth. The heartbreaking truth. “But I’m not in love with you.”

“God dammit, Blaine. You can’t...” Kurt huffed at him, cheeks flushing red.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” Kurt bit out whirling around in frustration.

“But I am.”

“Stop being sorry and love me. Why can’t you just love me?”

“I don’t know.” Blaine wished he knew. He wished he weren’t the reason for the tears sliding down Kurt’s cheeks. He wished he could reach out, to be the one to pull Kurt into his arms and will the tears away with a hug and ill-guided advice. Sometimes Blaine wondered how on Earth Kurt ever put up with him, but he’d seen enough movies to know that it wasn’t so easy.

Blaine’s hand twitched at his side and he made to reach for Kurt, but Kurt sidestepped the gesture, putting more space between them.

“I can’t see you anymore, Blaine,” Kurt choked out.

“What?”

“I need to get over you and I can’t do that when you’re here telling me how wonderful and special I am, telling me that you love me even if you aren’t in love with me. I can’t do that when you’re pressing me into beds and kissing me and giving me hickeys.”

“Can’t we just be--,”

“Friends? That’s all we’ve ever been, but it hasn’t stopped me.” Kurt folded his arms over his chest, staring down at his plush, bedroom carpeting. “Please leave.”

“I’m--,” Blaine cut himself off as Kurt immediately tensed, anticipating the end of Blaine’s sentence. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to stay and talk this out, like they always did. It was their thing. Ever since last year, after the whole sex talk debacle they had talked everything out and had always been honest and now didn’t seem like a good time to stop talking, but he knew Kurt and he knew when Kurt needed to be left alone.

As Blaine crossed the threshold into the hallway, Kurt’s soft voice called after him.

“Don’t call me.”

Blaine allowed himself a final look at his best friend, Kurt stared back at him with those indescribably blue eyes, cheeks tear-streaked, before Blaine turned and walked away.

As the front door clicked closed behind him, Blaine couldn’t help feeling as though more than one heart had just been shattered.

Three days. He hadn’t left his room in three days. Not to eat or go to work. He hadn’t spoken to anyone since the night of the party and had stopped himself halfway through picking up his phone to call Kurt no less than fifteen times.

Blaine had burrowed into his bed, throwing himself into his summer reading requirements for the mandatory freshman seminar during orientation at NYU. He was knee deep in literature when a knock sounded at his door, louder than the soft clacking of his mother’s nails, but much softer than the sharp pound of his father’s fist.

“Stop masturbating, I’m coming in,” Santana’s drawl drifted through the door and Blaine shot up from his nest of pillows, just in time to see Santana throwing his door open.

Blaine only ‘hmphed’ before settling back into his pillows. Santana slammed his door shut, bounded over to the bed and climbed onto it, kicking away books as she settled herself next to him.

“You’re an idiot, you know that, right?”

“Thanks, Santa.” Blaine knew it was a bad move, he knew how much Santana hated it when he called her that, and the swift strike of her heel against his calf only reinforced that.

“Yeah, complete fucking idiot.”

“Why are you friends with me then?” Blaine asked, rolling to his side to see her. Santana smirked at him.

“Because you’re hot,” she deadpanned, shooting him a lascivious look.

“If you weren’t gay, I might be worried.”

“If you weren’t gay, you should be.” Santana shot back. Blaine raised an eyebrow at her. “What? Just because I love me some ladies doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the male form.”

Blaine snorted, rolling his eyes.

“Was that a laugh?”

“No.”

“Close enough. I’ll take it. You drive a hard bargain, you know. For an idiot of colossal proportions.”

“I take it you heard?”

“About you planting one on Kurt and then dropping him like Quinn’s sanity, yeah. Even though we’ve graduated, the grapevine is still very much alive.”

“Lovely.”

“You should be happy I’m here.”

“Even though you’re insulting me and my intelligence? Do I need to remind you that I’m attending an Ivy League school this fall?”

“NYU is not an Ivy, and please, spare me the spiel on how you turned down Columbia and how pissed your father was. Also, yes, I am insulting you because I’m the only one from glee club willing to come within a five-mile radius of you right now, because you are a complete and utter idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot.”

“Maybe not up here,” Santana said, poking Blaine’s temple, “but down here,” she continued, shoving a nail against his chest, “you really, really are.”

“It’s not my fault I’m not in love with him.” It wasn’t for a lack of trying, that was for damn sure.

“Except it is, because you are.” Santana rolled on her side to face him full-on.

“I’m really not. Believe me, I’ve tried, but it’s just not there.”

“Is that honestly what you’ve been telling yourself this whole time? Because seriously everyone in glee club knows. Fuck, I think even Mr. Schuester could see how much you love him.”

“Well yes, I do love Kurt, but I’m not in love with him. There’s a difference.”

“And one you don’t seem to understand.”

“Are you really one to talk? You, who dated a closeted gay man and slept with half the guys in school before deciding you preferred to play for your own team? You, who have since dated a whole slew of girls, none for more than a few weeks.”

“Hey. I did not come here to get judged. You don’t know me. You don’t know shit about me, hobbit boy. So either shut up and work with me on this, or I’ll go and leave you to your pathetic, lonely misery. Your choice.”

“Fine. Sorry.”

“Say it when you mean it.” Santana held up a hand before Blaine could respond. “How do you feel about Kurt?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean...hmm, let’s start somewhere easier. When you think about him, in the future, in your head, what do you see for him?”

“I, well, Broadway for sure. He’s so talented and amazing; they’d be crazy not to love him. I could see him winning Tonys, getting married, perhaps adopting a kid. It’s hard to tell with him though, if he would want kids or not and I think if he did, he’d probably want more than one, being an only child, sort of. I mean Finn counts, but they weren’t always brothers, and, hmm. I’m not sure, he’d be happy and fabulous and so far beyond all the shit that happened at McKinley.”

“You said you see him getting married. What kind of person do you think he’d marry?”

“I’m not sure. He seems to go for all different types. Compassionate, certainly, and confident. Someone who could challenge him, but could be there for him too, always. Just always be there for him. Someone who could get him to loosen up from time to time. He gets so tense about things and I worry about that, I know I--,” Blaine stopped as he saw the way Santana was staring at him, amusement shining in her eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” she replied, not quite brushing off his worries. “Okay, what do you see for yourself in the future?”

“For me? Oh god, I feel like I’ve been getting this question a lot lately, do you want the pre-rehearsed speech?”

“No, I want to know what you want for yourself. Where will you be in ten years?”

“Ten years, twenty-eight. God, that seems ancient now, but I guess it won’t be when I get to it. Working, as a lawyer if my father gets his way, though I’d prefer to go into social work. Definitely working with kids if I can. Having some, two or three. Married, in New York. In love and happy and fulfilled and so many of the things I can’t be here.”

“Okay. And who do you see yourself with?” Santana asked, and all of a sudden, Kurt was all he could see. Kurt folded up on their living room floor, playing with a curly-haired toddler and flashing Blaine a toothy grin as the kid babbled nonsensical child-speak.

“Oh.” Blaine could barely breathe. Could barely think. Images. Images of him and Kurt, doing dishes together in a tiny, worn-down apartment they paid way too much money for, taking lazy baths in an oversized, clawfoot tub, exchanging rings, making love, making a life...together.

He had never just loved Kurt. All of that, all of it. The protectiveness, the want, the sheer adoration, everything. It was all Kurt, it was all for him, always. He didn’t just want to protect Kurt, he wanted to be with him, in every sense. Body, mind, and soul.

“Blaine?” Santana asked, waving her hand in front of Blaine’s face, bringing him back to reality. “Where’d you go?”

“I’m in love with Kurt.”

“No shit.” Santana gave him an incredulous look. “Hallelujah, it’s finally happened!” Santana shouted happily, throwing her arms up in the air before falling back to the bed. Blaine watched her for a moment, taking in the way she stared off for a second.

“Why haven’t you told Brittany?”

“What?”

“Why haven’t you told Brittany that you’re in love with her?” Blaine asked, but Santana wouldn’t meet his eyes, just picked up the nearest book and thumbed through its pages.

“I did.”

“She doesn’t love you?”

“She does. She didn’t choose me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You know, you’ve really got to stop apologizing, especially for things that aren’t your fault.”

“I’m sorry; it’s kind of a habit.” Blaine grimaced as he realized his mistake. “Sorry,” he blurted before he could think about it.

“Don’t apologize for being who you are. Own it.” Santana rolled over him and Blaine just barely felt the brush of lips to his temple before she was off the bed and heading towards the door. “Tell him before you lose him.”

“What if I already have?”

“Then fight for him.” Santana gave a little salute as she headed out the door, leaving Blaine with his thoughts.

He waited until the middle of the night, until he was sure Burt wouldn’t be there to stare him down and possibly, more than a little likely, kill him. Blaine snuck into the backyard, grabbing a handful of pebbles from the landscaping and tossed them at Kurt’s window. Kurt had always wanted romance right?

Only, when a figure appeared in the window, it wasn’t Kurt, it wasn’t even Burt. It was Finn.

Blaine considered running away. Since Burt and Carole had gotten married, Finn had started taking his brotherly role quite seriously, threatening anyone who tried to hurt Kurt, while of course still making fun of him himself. It was the brotherly thing to do.

Granted, Kurt gave even better than he took and insisted that just because he was gay and about a foot shorter than Finn didn’t mean he always needed to be looked after and he took much joy in reminding Finn that he was actually a full four months older than him.

Finn had always liked Blaine though. Something Kurt had chalked up to Blaine’s endless supply of charm and frighteningly vast knowledge of football. Finn wouldn’t hurt him, would he?

By the time Finn was slipping out the back door, Blaine had lost the chance to flee, but the expression on Finn’s face was quickly making him regret that decision.

“What are you doing here?” Finn asked, his voice barely above a whisper, though it cut through the silence of the still evening as though he were shouting.

“I need to see Kurt.”

“No, you need to stay the hell away from Kurt. You’re lucky I didn’t wake Burt up. He’s got a shotgun with your name on it.” Finn warned. Blaine flinched, taking a step back and rocking back on his heels as if to leave. “What did you do to him? No one else will tell me.”

“I broke his heart. But I’m trying to fix it.”

“By not letting him move on and showing up at our house in the middle of the night?”

“Finn, I need to talk to him.”

“No, you need to leave,” Finn corrected, drawing up to his full height and hitting Blaine with the most menacing stare he could manage. “Don’t come back. Give him his space.”

Blaine backed away from the house, only glancing back to catch Finn’s glowing face glowering at him from the front windows. He climbed back into his car, heart pounding and drove off.

He wouldn’t give up though and, despite Finn’s warning, not even the terrifying prospect of Burt’s shotgun could deter Blaine’s resolution to make things right and tell Kurt how he felt.

It wasn’t until he was safely back in his bed in Westerville that he plucked up the courage to type out a message to Kurt. A fifth draft because telling someone you’re in love with them in a text message was so inappropriate that even Blaine recognized the absurdity.

To Kurt: I need to talk to you.

Blaine clutched the phone in his hand for the rest of the evening staring at the darkened screen until he drifted to sleep. A reply never came.

Blaine didn’t wake up until well past noon the next day and his first, foggy thought was that if Kurt knew, he would reprimand him for sleeping the day away. At the thought of Kurt, he jolted awake, nearly dropping his phone in his haste to check the messages.

Nothing.

Unlocking the phone, he hit five on his speed dial. The center button for the center of his life. How had he been so blind?

Brring. Ding. Ding.

“I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this message in error, please hang up and try the number again.”

Blaine flicked the end call button, immediately calling back.

Brring. Ding. Ding.

“I’m sorry, the number you have dialed is no longer in service--” Blaine clicked off the call, heart thudding in his chest.

Kurt had changed his phone number.

Blaine threw the phone across the room, flinching as it clattered against his dresser before falling to the wood floor.

He’d really messed it up this time.

Pulling himself from his bed, he padded over to the phone, giving it a cursory once-over inspection for damage. He unlocked it, bringing back his speed dial, this time he hit nine.

“What’s up, hobbit boy?” Santana’s haughty voice rang through the phone. “Did you tell him yet?”

“No, Santa, I haven’t,” he almost growled, his irritation dripping through the receiver.

“Will you stop calling me that? I will come over there and beat your ass if you don’t,” Santana threatened and Blaine knew she would. He’d had a bruise on his arm for two and a half weeks after he’d made a snarky comment about one of Santana’s “girlfriends” several months ago.

Never again.

“Stop calling me hobbit boy and I will. Don’t you at least prefer it to Kurt calling you Satan?”

“At least Satan is more appropriate.” Santana pointed out.

“And when have you ever been appropriate?”

“Touch�. So, Blaine Warbler,” Santana started and Blaine rolled his eyes at the name; if it wasn’t hobbit boy, it was bound to be something, “did you extricate your balls from whatever crevice they’ve been hiding in for the last year and a half and tell Hummel you want to have wild, passionate sex with him?”

“Santana!” Blaine spluttered as he clambered back into his bed. “Not everything is about sex.”

“That is a lie; sex is what everything comes down to. Who you’re having it with, who you aren’t, who you shouldn’t, who you want to, how often you are or aren’t. If everyone were free to have sex with whomever they wanted to whenever they wanted to without any sort of judgment, the world would be a much better place, but fine. If you want to make this about your precious penguin love, then we can.”

“I need your help.”

“What did you do to fuck it up this time?”

“What makes you think I was the one that fucked it up?”

“You’re the one calling me, and from what I hear, you’re about one pebble away from Papa Bear throwing a restraining order at you.” She had a point. Despite her spiky exterior and penchant for making truly anything dirty, she was right more often than she was wrong.

“He changed his phone number.”

“So go to his house.”

“And have Burt shoot me? I don’t think so.”

“So you’re fucked. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. I don’t know what you want me to tell you because anything I suggest will have you running for the hills.”

“I could write him a letter.” Blaine perked up at the suggestion, a letter could work, and then he could say everything he was too terrified to explain in person.

“Would he read it?” Santana asked. Blaine slumped into his pillows. If he were being honest with himself, for once, since he’d apparently been lying to himself for quite some time, no. Kurt would be more likely to set fire to his entire collection of Alexander McQueen scarves than read a letter from him at this point.

“Look, Blaine, I know I told you to fight for him, but...”

“Santana. Are you trying to tell me to give up on love?”

“I’m not telling you to give up. Just...give him some space, some time. He just had his heart shattered. Let him cool off before you rush in guns blazing, declaring your undying love.”

“Why are you always right?” Blaine sighed, shrinking into his pillows.

“Because I’m a girl.”

“So is Rachel.”

“Because I’m me.” Santana amended.

“Indeed.” Blaine clicked off the conversation. Blaine could give him space. He could wait for Kurt. Kurt had certainly waited long enough for him. He would wait forever if he had to.

So he waited. A week turned into a month and that month turned into two until it was the end of August and Blaine was losing himself in the whirlwind of getting everything prepared, his heartache taking a backseat to the suddenly overwhelming stress of moving to New York and starting over.

Moving and orientation and settling into his first few weeks of classes flew by in a blur and before long the leaves were turning vibrant fiery reds and oranges, falling around Blaine as he crossed Washington Square Park between classes and his dorm. New York amazed him, more and more every day. The people he would meet, the level of intelligence presented to him in his average daily conversations.

It reminded him a little of Dalton, but so much more free. He could be anyone he wanted to be, so, for a time, he was Blaine Anderson, NYU freshman majoring in Social Work who loved Top 40 hits as much as he enjoyed classic literature and had a habit of climbing all over the furniture, a trait his roommate Trent didn’t particularly appreciate, but accepted. He wasn’t Blaine Anderson, boy who ran from his high school into the protective arms of the zero-tolerance policy dictated by a gilded private school, only to leave that safety for the boy he loved, but didn’t realize he was in love with until it was too late. Until all he could do was weather the storm and wait and hope and pray and wish that that beautiful boy would talk to him again someday.

He could start fresh.

At least he thought he could until one day, running late for his 2 pm lit class, he caught sight of a perfectly coiffed head of hair, a telltale McQueen scarf draped around an elegant neck, highlighting broad, angular shoulders that sloped into a slim, but sturdy body, finished off with a pair of black, knee-high Doc Martens.

Blaine spun on the spot, his eyes chasing after the image of the boy he loved and Blaine’s body soon followed.

“Kurt!” He shouted after the boy and that flawless head of hair whipped back, and he stopped in his tracks, eyes widening.

“Blaine?” Kurt sounded breathless as the name rolled of his tongue, and for a moment Blaine was back in that bedroom, Kurt’s mouth wet and open against his as they rubbed together, Blaine shook himself, jogging to where Kurt stood, transfixed.

“Hi,” Blaine stated lamely as he drew up to Kurt. I’ve been looking for you forever. Blaine flashed him the biggest grin he could manage. How could he have been so stupid? Of course he’d run into Kurt eventually. Their dorms stood across the park from each other. How often had Blaine stood in front of his own dorm window, gazing across the park at the lights that dotted the dorm across the way, wondering if any of them were Kurt’s. Wondering if Kurt might be doing the same thing and thinking of Blaine.

“Hi.” They stood across from one another, a throng of tourist bustling past them pushed Blaine just a little bit closer to Kurt, until Blaine could see the flecks of green in Kurt’s eyes. The whole city fell silent in Blaine’s mind. Only the whispering sounds of wind fluttering through dry leaves reaching his ears, all else drowned out by the thump of his own heart.

Blaine was a concept man. Great with ideas, horrible with follow-through. So many half-written songs based on a single line or a chorus that never went anywhere. Blaine would work on them passionately for a day, before he hit a wall and suddenly all those well-versed lyrics turned to shit. Verses were crossed out, rewritten, and crossed out again and he could never get past it.

Seeing Kurt standing across from him, there was nothing. No words. Anything Blaine could have said he’d already gone over a thousand times in the dark of the night, mentally scratching out every word and phrase until he was left speechless. It all sounded so trite.

A million love songs, but all overdone.

Love was patient, love was kind. Love was a cold, uncaring mistress that left you clutching the sheets as you spilled your greedy seed into her waiting womb. It was nothing, it was everything, and Blaine was ready to throw himself at Kurt’s feet and beg him for forgiveness. Offer him a million and one clich�s on how much he loved him and beg him to give him another chance. Beg him to still love him too.

Laughter bubbled from Kurt’s throat which rapidly devolved into an embarrassing giggle and Kurt shoved a gloved hand over his mouth, an inch away from putting his fist in his mouth, to stop the sound from escaping.

Blaine’s laugh reached his eyes before his lungs, crinkling the corners of them and squeezing his eyes nearly closed before he was doubling up in laughter, hand grabbing Kurt’s forearm to hold himself upright.

Coffee. It seemed appropriate. Every turning point in their relationship revolved around the beverage, save the one that last one, but even as they settled into chairs across a too-small table in the cafe, Blaine couldn’t help smiling.

Sure, their speech was stilted, the natural rhythm of their conversation lost in the months of silence until the boys were left making small talk about things neither of them cared about, but they were Blaine and Kurt, Kurt and Blaine and now, now they were going to get to be together.

“Kurt, there’s something I need to tell you.” Blaine reached across the table, drawing Kurt’s hand into his own, reveling in the soft skin pressing against his.

“There’s something I need to tell you too, and this is rather important, so I hope you don’t mind me going first.” Kurt squeezed Blaine’s hand a moment. “Blaine, I have to thank you, for backing off and giving me my space, giving me some time. It really helped and I had meant to call before we left for New York, but things were so crazy and your name was like poison in my house and before I knew it I was here and in New York,” Kurt exclaimed.

“It’s okay, I--”

“That wasn’t...I’m not done.” Kurt took a moment, eyes shining at Blaine, a smile gracing his lips that Blaine hadn’t seen in far too long a time. “I’m seeing someone.”

Love was being bitch slapped by an iceberg.