It’s hotter than hell in the attic and Blaine has already stripped down to his undershirt in order to avoid a heat stroke. Kurt, for his part, still looks perfectly comfortable in his fitted short-sleeve button up.

“How are you not hot right now?” Blaine asks, wiping his brow as Kurt lifts another impossibly heavy box and moves it off to the side. Kurt looks up, a quizzical smile on his lips, and another curiosity occurs to Blaine. “Come here.”

Kurt’s grin widens and he sets down the box and walks over. Blaine sticks out his hand to touch Kurt’s face. He’s warm now, but he’s not flushed or sweaty like Blaine feels. He must realize what Blaine is doing, because his mouth quirks up into an interested smile and he asks, “What do I feel like to you?”

“You’re warm,” Blaine answers happily. “Well, you are now. Usually, you feel like—not cold—but like you need a jacket. It’s almost like you’ve been standing outside too long in the cold. When we share a bed, you’re always nice and warm though.” Blaine smiles softly and kisses Kurt’s forehead.

“It’s because you’re so warm,” Kurt says, wrapping his arms around Blaine’s middle.

Blaine’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “So, you’re like a lizard?”

Kurt breathes out a quiet laugh. “Sort of, I suppose.” He shrugs. “It’s very hard to explain.”

“I know.” Blaine nods. “Just as long as you’re okay. That’s what matters. You could be cold as a popsicle and I’d still love you,” Blaine answers, beaming.

Kurt lights up at the words and kisses Blaine on the lips, twining his arms around the smaller boy’s neck as he kisses him deeper. “You’re perfect, Blaine,” Kurt breathes against his lips, unwilling to pull away further. “I love you so much.”

Blaine pats Kurt on the cheek and kisses him again quickly, smiling against his lips, before turning back to the box he’d been sorting through, deciding what gets donated and what just goes in the trash.

His fingers stumble across something cool and smooth and metal. “Hmm,” he hums inquisitively as he pulls the thing out of the box, holding it up to the light. “I found a pocket watch,” Blaine says, smiling.

It doesn’t look very expensive and it looks sort of well-used, but he finds that he actually quite likes it. Kurt crosses over to stand beside him, taking the watch and turning it in his fingers. “This was your great grandfather’s,” he says quickly. “There’s a secret catch to open it.”

Kurt freezes as he pops the catch and Blaine’s stares at him curiously. For the first time, Kurt stumbles over words. The words are awkward as Kurt backpedals. “I—I mean, judging by the age of it, it was probably your great grandfather’s, or a male in your family. I’ve seen a watch like this before, so I knew about the catch—“

He breaks off when he sees Blaine staring. He clears his throat and he smiles before folding the small circle into Blaine’s hand. “I’m sure, if you like it, you could take it to a jeweler and they’d polish it up for you. I think you should hold on to it though. It suits you.”

“Thank you,” Blaine says automatically, still a little confused by Kurt’s strange behavior. He shakes his head, clearing it, and he’s able to give Kurt a genuine smile. “I think I will keep it. I think it would make me look distinguished.”

Kurt smiles and darts a kiss to his lips. “It certainly will.”

They fall back into companionable silence for a few minutes, working together comfortably.

Blaine lets the repetition of the task at hand clear his mind. He tries to force away the thought that he’s going through his grandfather’s things and that, by the end of the night, all traces of the man who once lived here will be gone, save for maybe a small stack of boxes tucked neatly way in the corner of the attic. He sighs and turns away from the box he was sorting through to find Kurt staring toward a garment bag hanging from a hook on a rafter.

As he gets closer, he sees that the bag is zipped open to reveal a uniform of some kind. It’s a dark green jacket folded over a pair of slacks, and Blaine recognizes it from a picture of his grandfather taken right after he enlisted in the Army.

What Blaine can’t figure out is why Kurt looks almost as though he’s about to cry. He hooks his chin over Kurt’s shoulder and wraps his arms around his waist. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

Kurt just shakes his head and clears his throat, turning around to face Blaine. There’s a small smile on his face but it’s clearly forced and barely hiding the pain in his eyes. Blaine reaches up to sweep a stray lock of hair from Kurt’s forehead, receiving a small smile that falls away just as quickly as it came, and Blaine sighs. “You wouldn’t tell me, even if I asked, would you?”    

“I want to, Blaine.” Kurt swallows thickly and shakes his head. “God, I want to tell you everything, but I just—I just can’t. Not yet.”

His voice is almost tortured, and Blaine longs for a way to change that. All he can think to do is lean forward and kiss him softly. “You should get out of here for a while. Weren’t you going to meet up with your uncle today?”

Kurt nods and lets out a breath through his nose. “Yeah.” He sounds grateful for the escape. “You wouldn’t mind if I just…?”

“No, honey, you go ahead,” Blaine says with a smile. Kurt’s hands come to frame Blaine’s face and he kisses him with enough desperation and love that it makes Blaine’s knees shake. When Kurt pulls away, Blaine tugs on his hand to catch his attention. “Are you going to stay tonight?”

“Of course.” Kurt smiles and leans over to kiss Blaine’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a little while. You’re right. I just need to get out and clear my head.”

With a quick kiss goodbye, Kurt is gone.

————————

The boxes are all squared away and Blaine blows a stream of air up toward his forehead to dislodge a stray curl as he carries the last box over to the designated corner. His eyes land on a foot locker his grandfather used to tell him about. They’d sit up in the attic and his grandpa would have the trunk open, showing Blaine all of the things he brought home from Germany. There were pictures and journals, old knives and relics. Blaine loved to rifle through the box. There was just so much history.

He reaches inside and picks up a ratty cloth-bound journal and leans back against the wall. There’s just enough light to read the words. It looks like this journal starts in the early fall of 1942. There are detailed accounts of his squad did that day and Blaine finds himself enthralled.

He flips the page, the date at the top of this one reads, October 15th, 1942. He lifts the book and a picture falls out, landing face down on the floor. He lets it lay there for a moment as he starts reading.

“Today was the worst day so far. I feel like I’ve lost a part of myself, and I’m not sure I’ll ever recover. All of the things I’ve seen here, all of the losses we’ve suffered, could never have prepared me for this. How can I go home and face his father, a man who has lost so much already, knowing that I am the reason he’s lost his son?”

That’s the end of the entry. Just four short lines that capture an amount of pain that Blaine can’t even fathom. He’s sure his grandfather has never mentioned it to him before. Then again, who would want to relive the horror of someone dying.

Something ticks at the edges of Blaine’s consciousness. A dream, he thinks.

“…your dad lost your mom. Don’t make him lose you too.”

It’s then that Blaine remembers the picture that fell to the floor. He stands and crosses over to where it slid, and he’s not sure why his hands are shaking as he reaches down to pick it up, but they are. They’re trembling as though his body already knows what he’s going to see before his mind figures it out.

It doesn’t hit him all at once when he flips the picture over and sees the image there. It happens in slow waves of realization as he takes in everything about the picture. The paper is frayed and browning, looking every bit like it belongs in an old journal from 1942. Next, he sees the date at the bottom of the picture, October 15th, 1942. It’s the same date as the entry. It’s what hits him next that strikes him absolutely dumb.

The picture itself is of his grandfather standing next to a boy who is presumably his friend. The boy is smiling a crooked smile and leaning heavily against his grandfather’s side. Their bright expressions stand in stark contrast to the scene. They’re posing next to a very military-looking Jeep wearing standard issue GI uniforms, and Blaine realizes that he recognizes the uniform as the one he remembers seeing blood seeping through in his dream, because there’s no mistaking who the second person—a pale, lean boy who is graceful even in stillness—because even after 70 years, he still looks exactly the same.

And Blaine is in shock. He freezes in place, unthinking and unmoving. His brain refuses to process any of the information he’s just received. It’s not possible. None of this happens. People don’t have dreams of their boyfriends dying in a war with their grandfathers only to find that those dreams are actually and inexplicably true.

His mind whirls around a million unanswered questions that are indecipherable in his current state of shock.

He doesn’t hear the sound of the door slam downstairs or approaching footsteps and only recognizes that he’s not alone when he hears a soft voice. “Hey, sweetheart, the door was unlocked, so I just came in. I figured you were busy up here.”

Blaine doesn’t even turn around before he flatly asks, “Who did you come here to see?”

Kurt’s voice is confused when he answers. “I came here to see you, Blaine. Who else would I be here to see?”

“No,” Blaine clarifies, his voice startlingly even in a way that surprises even himself. “When you picked me up the night we met. Where were you going?”

“Blaine…” Kurt starts, his voice worried and apprehensive. “What are you—“

Blaine raises his voice and he sounds a little panicked, even to himself. “Who were you coming here to see Kurt?!”

Kurt says nothing. He looks more than a little shocked and Blaine continues on his tirade. “Don’t lie to me. I’m not stupid. Something is really, really screwed up here and I don’t know what it is, but I am done with lies!”

“Please calm down, Blaine,” Kurt pleads but Blaine isn’t ready to be talked down. Not without some answers.

He shoves the picture toward Kurt. “I found this.”

Kurt takes the picture and his shoulders slump. His face falls and he looks defeated, resigned. He sighs. “I told him not to keep any pictures…”

“Who? Who did you tell, Kurt? Because I am really confused right now!” Blaine is still shouting, though he’s not sure why. He’s pretty sure if he wasn’t yelling, he’d be crying and he doesn’t want to break down yet.

Kurt sighs and he reaches for Blaine’s hand. He flinches and his breath catches when Blaine jerks away. He sighs again. “Your grandfather, George. I told him when I came home that he needed to get rid of all the pictures he had of us. Of me. I told him that it would be safer if they weren’t floating around.”

When his words are met with stony silence, Kurt continues. “Blaine, please. I just need you to understand that I didn’t want to lie to you.”

“Then tell me the truth now. My grandfather, the cemetery, your Uncle Finn. Everything,” Blaine orders, helpless, frustrated tears pricking at his eyes. “Kurt, please, just stop lying.”

He takes a deep breath and gestures for Blaine to sit down on the lid of the trunk. He begins by pleading, “I want to tell you everything, but I need to you swear to me that you will never tell anyone. It’s essential that no one know.”

“You know I won’t,” Blaine assures, his voice flat. He can see the way it makes Kurt’s face crumple. “How old are you?”

Kurt takes another deep breath and lets it out through his nose. “I stopped aging at eighteen, but I was born in 1924.”

Blaine flies to his feet, his hands fisting in his hair before he throws his arms up. “That doesn’t happen, Kurt!” He shakes his head in confused frustration. “People don’t just stop aging. They get old and they die. That’s life.” He pauses. He remembers the cemetery and a random realization hits him all at once. “Those people weren’t your grandparents.” It’s not a question.

“No. Elizabeth was my mother. She died when I was young. Burt was my father. I didn’t see him or Carole again after I died,” Kurt explains. His voice sounds sad and distant.

“So, Finn…?”

“Finn is my brother,” Kurt says quietly. “He, just like everyone else, thought that I died in the war. Today was the first time I’ve seen him since 1942.”

Blaine’s head is spinning. None of this can be real. It’s not possible. He’s shocked and his feet feel frozen to the floor. Surely he’s going to wake up soon, because this has to be a dream. 

“The only person I kept in touch with was your grandfather,” Kurt starts slowly, sighing before continuing. “We’ve been best friends since we were five years old. We had the same birthday, so everyone always said we were like twins. And we were. George was my best friend. He was there for everything. He was the first person I came out to. I thought for sure that it was going to be the end of our friendship—things were different then. You think it’s bad now. You have no idea what it was like then. But George hugged me and told me that I was still the same Kurt. We did everything together,” Kurt muses. “Do you remember that place I took you on your first date?”

Blaine nods woodenly. It feels like years ago that he and Kurt had their first date to the spot overlooking the town. 

“I used to cover for your grandfather when he’d take your grandmother there. He’d say he was staying over at my house. He was the best friend I ever had. Which is why, he was the first person aside from my dad that I told when I enlisted. There wasn’t a moment’s hesitation, and he enlisted with me. We were put into the same squad. We were securing the perimeter one night and we got ambushed. It was a trap and I fell for it. Your grandfather, being who he was, followed me to make sure I had cover. When the gunfire started, we took off down the road, but somebody had their sights on him, so I shoved him out of the way and shot. I killed the guy, but not before he got a shot off. Got me right in the chest.”

Blaine feels himself trembling and Kurt comes to stand next to him. His voice is calm and even as he explains.

“I made him leave, because he couldn’t save me. I knew it and I didn’t want him there. I didn’t want him to see that. It was more important that he get under cover, so I made him go, and I was left to die. Which, by all accounts, is what should have happened.” There’s a pause in which Kurt takes a deep breath before continuing with, “But it didn’t.”

Blaine’s sure Kurt is glossing over some vital information for this story, but he lets him go, determined to bring it up soon, but Kurt is still talking. “And after I became like this, I went back to the spot where I fell, knowing he’d be back. I dropped my tags and my jacket. There was already blood there so it just looked like I got picked over for supplies and then gotten rid of.

“Later, I watched from a distance as your grandfather found my stuff. It killed me to see how much it hurt him, and I knew that he’d feel guilty for the rest of his life that I died protecting him, so I told myself that as soon as I was strong enough to resist temptation, I’d go see him. And, I did it because I was terrified. I didn’t know what had happened, really. I just wanted my best friend. It was selfish, but I had to. I needed him. It took a few years, but I finally did it. I came home and caught him when he was walking home from work. I told him what I was and what had happened. He didn’t even care. He was just glad I was alive…well…as alive as I can be like this.” 

It feels as though there’s a hand cutting off air to Blaine’s lungs, tightening around his throat and causing his voice to come out high and panicked as slow realization washes over him. “K-Kurt.” His voice crackles with fear. “What are you?”

Kurt turns toward Blaine and tries to take his hands again but like before, Blaine pulls them away. This time it’s more of an accident borne out of fear. Kurt sighs sadly. “When I was dying, one of the less civilized of my kind came out of the forest. They linger around battle areas, because it’s easy to feed and no one notices bite marks. They just chalk them up as another casualty. But this one—I don’t even know his name. He was stupid. He fed me his blood so that my heart would stay beating longer because I was dying. I guess he didn’t realize that feeding someone vampire blood and then killing them starts the transformation because he took off after he finished feeding and I was left to fend for myself.”

Blaine recoils as though he’s been electrocuted and fear pulses, sharp and intense, through his body. Before he realizes it, he’s backing away slowly.

Kurt jumps up and crosses the distance between them a little too quickly. His hands fly out toward the retreating boy. “Blaine, please. Just let me explain.”

It’s a plea for understanding, but Blaine can’t find an ounce of it anywhere. He’s petrified. Images of Kurt hunting, stalking, draining, killing burn in his mind. The graceful, beautiful boy in front of him is a monster. Kurt is a predator. And, if lore is to be believed, Blaine is prey.

Kurt reaches out a hand, but before he can make contact, Blaine is bolting through the door. He runs down the attic stairs and directly into his bedroom, slamming the door and throwing himself on his bed.

It takes less than ten seconds before there’s a knock at the door and Kurt’s voice, broken and quiet, can be heard. “Blaine, please open the door,” he pleads through the wood. “I swear I’d never hurt you. I love you. Please open the door and talk to me. Please just let me explain.”

Kurt sounds devastated and Blaine can hear the soft sound of a hand coming to rest against the door. He wonders briefly why Kurt doesn’t just come in, because in his haste, he forgot to lock his door.

It only adds to the confusion swirling around in his head and the tears in his eyes spill over as a fit of sobs racks his body.

“I’m so sorry, Blaine.” The words sound tortured in a way that makes Blaine’s heart clench and long to comfort him. “I didn’t want you to find out like this. Please, sweetheart, just open the door.” The next words come out so soft and so broken that Blaine isn’t even sure he’s heard correctly, but he hears a muted thud that sounds like Kurt’s head thumping against the door and the soft, pleading scrape of fingernails against the wood. “Please, Blaine. Don’t be afraid of me.” 

Blaine pulls his knees to his chest and draws in a shuddery breath. Despite that fear coursing through his body, the pain in Kurt’s voice is almost enough to make him open the door.

Almost.

“K-Kurt,” Blaine chokes out through tears, his voice shaking. “Please leave. If you love me, then please leave.”

He can actually hear when Kurt starts to cry. “Blaine, please. Please don’t—“

“Leave, Kurt!” Blaine shouts at the door, feeling more panicked and confused with each second.

There’s a beat of silence before Kurt’s voice comes back, defeated and small. “Okay, Blaine.”

When he hears the quiet snick of the front door closing, he lets himself break, covering his mouth to quiet the sobs tearing out as tears stream down his cheeks. He curls up in his bed and cries until he’s weak before falling asleep.

As he sleeps, his phone chimes twice on his nightstand before sitting silent for the rest of the night: Two texts from Kurt.

(10:15 PM) If you want to talk, I’ll be at Finn’s house. He lives on the corner of North Pine and East Cottage.

(10:15 PM) I love you, Blaine. Please don’t be afraid of me.

————————

When Blaine wakes up, his entire body aches and his eyes are sore from tears. It quickly erases any hope that yesterday was just a nightmare. He’s not going to wake up to Kurt’s arms comforting him and soothing away the fear.

Kurt is the fear.

His phone lights up from the nightstand with a pointless text from his mother, and he sees the messages from Kurt. (“I love you, Blaine. Please don’t be afraid of me.”) It was all Kurt seemed to be able to say yesterday.

And Blaine wonders if he is scared. Is it fear coursing through him or something else? He’d been panicked yesterday, he’s sure of that, but what about now? Now that the shock has worn off, he’s not sure what he feels. Kurt had lied, but he’s not sure he can blame him. Lying was something that was essential for him to do in order to keep his secret.

The secret that he had revealed to Blaine. He trusted Blaine with the knowledge that he was a vampire, knowledge that he’s only entrusted to two people in seventy years, his brother and his best friend.

His best friend who is now dead.

And it’s in that moment that Blaine realizes what Kurt has been through in recent days. From the mall, to the cemetery, to having to clean out his best friend’s attic while trying to hold back tears because he hadn’t even known he was dead when he came to town. Kurt has lost his best friend, the person he gave his human life to protect. But the thing that had made him break down was the thought of Blaine being afraid of him.

His eyes drift to the bags scattered at the foot of the bed, evidence of their day together before everything had gone completely insane, and he remembers how those bags had been lying on the bed before being hastily pushed off when Blaine shoved a giggling Kurt down onto the mattress and stretched out over top of him. They’d kissed until they were both breathless, and Kurt’s lips trailed down to Blaine’s neck.

Blaine shudders at the memory. It would have been easy to kill him right then if he’d had a mind to, but he’s still alive. Even now, Blaine had learned Kurt’s secret and panicked. If Kurt was going to kill him for anything, it would have been to keep his secret. It was almost illogical that Kurt keep him alive when he could have run screaming “vampire” through the town. Kurt should have killed him.

But he didn’t. He had refused to even come through an unlocked door.

Blaine swallows thickly, pushing away the last of his fear, if that’s even what it is, because he realizes that Kurt doesn’t want to hurt him. It’s something he feels down to his bones now, though he’s not sure why. Kurt won’t hurt him.

————————

He showers in a daze and leaves the house, but he’s not sure how he got here. For the second day, he’s back in the cemetery, but this time, he’s not here to see his grandfather.

Even though he knows what he’s going to see when he looks down at the headstone set into the ground—the one Kurt had been so cleverly hiding yesterday—it doesn’t make it any less of a shock. There’s always a difference between realistically knowing something and actually seeing it, which is why seeing the name “Kurt Hummel” etched into a weathered stone hits him like a wrecking ball.

The reality of what lies in front of him is staggering. There’s a stone marking the spot where Kurt—loving, kind, funny Kurt—is supposed to be buried. It’s a spot right next to his family, shaded by a tall oak tree, ideal as far as these things go, Blaine supposes. If the world was as Blaine believed it to be—believed it to have been. He’s not sure what the hell he believes anymore—this is where Kurt should be. Where Kurt realistically should have been for the last seventy years.

But six feet under where Blaine is standing, is nothing, maybe an empty box.

His family mourned the loss of a son who never came home. Whether Kurt had actually died or not, he certainly had never been able to go home to his family. Kurt’s father died thinking his only son was dead. He wonders briefly how Kurt had found out about his father’s death. Had his grandfather called him? Did he find out accidentally as he had about his best friend’s death.

Kurt has lost so much. Blaine’s sure he couldn’t even begin to fathom how it feels to know that he has to watch everyone he’s ever cared about die until there’s no one left—none of his family, none of his friends, just himself. It’s probably the most sobering thought.

Kurt is alone. Until yesterday, he had none of his family. Kurt has been living for decades all on his own, isolated. Soon, his only living relative will be gone and Kurt will be back to being alone in the ever changing world.

The thought makes fresh tears start to fall silently down his cheeks, because he realizes that Kurt had essentially told him exactly what he just realized, but he’d been too oblivious to hear it.

“Blaine, so much has happened in my life. I’m not sure I could even begin to explain it to you, and there have been so few things that have been certain. Everything has changed and I’ve just been wandering around like a lost soul, searching for something but coming up with nothing, because I had no idea what I was looking for.”

“W-What were you looking for?”

“You.”

He sits down on the grass and touches his fingers to the cool stone, sliding them over the etching of Kurt’s name. He’s selfish and stupid. He acted impulsively and managed to hurt someone who has lost everyone he’s ever cared about.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt,” he apologizes toward the stone, the sound is no more than a choked whisper. “God, honey, I’m so sorry.”

As he starts crying harder, apologies still falling from his lips, he’s lost track of what it is he’s actually apologizing for. He’s sorry for hurting Kurt, sorry that he’s lost so much, sorry that he has to live every day knowing that he is going to lose so much more. And Blaine can’t take anymore.

He reaches into his pocket to take out his phone, staring at it in contemplation before realizing that some things just cannot be said over the phone. He’s pretty sure that talking about coming to terms with the fact that the person you love is in fact an eighty-eight year old vampire is one of those things, so he tucks the phone back into his pocket and lifts himself to his feet.

With a parting glance to Kurt’s headstone and a steadying breath, Blaine climbs back into his car and heads over to where he knows Kurt is waiting for him.