Blaine ushers a giggling and squirming Kurt through his bedroom door when a thought wallops him like a sledgehammer.

The suit.

Blaine had forgotten about the suit.

The beautifully tailored but puzzling pariah suit that Blaine had brought back from the Victorian house.

The suit Blaine had wanted to see Kurt wear so he could relive the vision of the handsome young man with the sorrowful eyes.

The suit that Kurt seems to fear for unexplained reasons.

It's still hanging in Blaine's closet, where he had hastily shoved it among his shirts and slacks.

Shit!

Everything has been going so well between him and Kurt so far. Blaine was so excited over the prospects of a date with Kurt that he didn't remember the suit until they walked into his bedroom and Kurt zeroed in on his closet. Blaine runs ahead to intercept him, sliding between Kurt and the door at the last minute. He covers the doorknob with his hand to keep Kurt from touching it. Kurt laughs.

“Blaine! What are you doing?”

“Uh … I just forgot. My closet … it's a mess.”

“Oh, I don't care about messes.” Kurt touches Blaine's shoulder, giving him a hint to move out of the way.

“Oh, b-but this mess is massive …” Blaine says, making vague and ridiculous hand gestures in his attempt to dissuade him. “I mean, really, really massive, and … and smelly and …”

“I'm sure I'll survive.” Kurt pushes Blaine's shoulder this time, but Blaine doesn't budge. Kurt takes a step back and puts his hands on his hips, his mouth twisting at the corner as he tries to think of a way around blockade Blaine. Kurt feigns for the doorknob, but pulls back when Blaine reaches out for him and stumbles. Kurt lunges forward and nudges Blaine aside with his hip, laughing at the look of distress on Blaine's face that he's sure is only part of Blaine's teasing.

“A-ha!” Kurt grabs the doorknob, turns it, and pulls the door open.

“No, Kurt!” Blaine pleads. “Wait!”

“Too late!” Kurt says triumphantly, prepared to guffaw at the colossal disarray, but instead he is struck by how neat and tidy it is. “Oh!” Kurt groans. “Yes, I can see why you would want to keep this hidden! Your closet is atroc---“

Kurt's voice cuts off the second he lays eyes on it.

The suit sticks out in Blaine's closet like a sore thumb, a void among the bright colors and patterns of his wardrobe. Kurt's jaw drops and he stares transfixed, unable to move his eyes away or utter a single word. Blaine fills in the silence with nervous chatter, livid with himself for being so damned absentminded.

“I am so sorry, Kurt,” he says, hands poised over Kurt's shoulders as he tries to figure out a way to pull the puppet away. “I didn't have any place to put it, and I thought … maybe … well, I didn't know why you …”

Blaine sighs. Nothing he can think to say makes any sense. If he knew why the suit bothered Kurt so much, he would know how to better handle his response. He should have shoved it underneath his bed, but Blaine didn't want to ruin it. He'd thought that maybe Kurt's initial reaction, which he'd interpreted as fear, was simply shock, and that after some time had passed, Kurt might consider wearing it.

Kurt closes his mouth and raises a hand, reaching into the closet to touch the sleeve of the suit.

“You didn't do anything wrong,” Kurt says. “It's … it was given to me on the day I was broken. It's not a day that I like to remember.”

As is becoming the norm, Blaine's mouth speaks before his mind has a chance to censor it.

“Who broke you, Kurt?”

Kurt stares at the suit as if it might speak for him, give Blaine the answers he wants.

“I don't … I don't remember.” Kurt turns to Blaine, his glass eyes apologetic. “I really want to remember, believe it or not. I do, it's only …”

“I had a dream,” Blaine reveals, “and in that dream, I saw you running. I think you were running through the house I took you from. Then, I became you - puppet you. I ran into that room in the basement where I found you, and someone I couldn't see started to hit me with a hard object. It felt like metal maybe. Like a tire iron or …”

“No,” Kurt cuts in, shaking his head. “A bat. A baseball bat.” He runs his finger around the cuff, his eyes traveling up and down the fabric. “I wanted to be free. We both did - Sebastian and me. But he wouldn't let us. He gave me this suit. He said that I belonged to him. Sebastian tried to reason with him …” Kurt's expression becomes tight, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Sebastian stood up to him. He took the first blows for me.”

“Who?” Blaine puts his hands on Kurt's shoulders, turning the puppet to face him. “Who wouldn't let you be free?”

Kurt drops the sleeve of the suit, letting go as the memory starts to leave him.

“Sebastian's dad,” Kurt says. “Andrew Smythe.”

Blaine's insides freeze, Kurt's words taking hold of his heart and his stomach and turning them into solid stone. Whatever sympathy Blaine had felt for Andrew Smythe turns immediately into loathing. He makes the decision then and there that he hates Andrew Smythe.

And he despises that Godforsaken suit.

He moves Kurt gently and sits him down on the bed. Then he turns back to the closet, tears the suit from the hanger, and rushes with it outside, bunching it up in his hands while he walks, forcing it into a tight ball.

He knows exactly what he wants to do with it.

He heads straight for the trashcan, opens the lid, and throws it inside. He takes one last look at it, piled in a heap over old fast food containers and other various, disgusting garbage items, and feels less than satisfied. If he had a match, he would set it on fire. He knows that Cooper would cringe if he saw what he was doing right now. The suit is vintage. It's worth a few bucks. Blaine could probably sell it himself and make a few hundred off of it, but he doesn't want that. He doesn't want anyone to have it. He wants to obliterate it from the planet and forget it ever existed.

When Blaine returns to his room, Kurt has an outfit laid out on the bed for him – a pair of chocolate brown pants and a maroon polo. Kurt goes back to the closet to retrieve a belt to match.

“I hope this is okay for today.” Kurt fingers a thin, maroon belt, then pulls it down from the rack.

“It's perfect,” Blaine says, watching with satisfaction as Kurt's smile returns. Kurt lays the belt across the waist of the pants, then stands to look at the pieces together.

“How do you do that?” Kurt asks, still appraising the clothes on the bed.

“Do what?” Blaine asks, the urge to put his hands on Kurt's shoulders or hold Kurt in his arms overwhelming.

“The dream. That's the nightmare you were having this morning, wasn't it?” Kurt doesn't wait for an answer. He doesn't want to put pressure on Blaine to give him one. “But you weren't there. You couldn't have possibly known any of that stuff.”

“I don't know really,” Blaine admits. “It's not something I can turn on and off. It just sort of happens when it wants to happen. I don't usually put a lot of weight on it, but the visions I've seen of you … they're so vivid. So intense. They're hard to ignore.”

“Do your parents know?” Kurt sits on the bed, and Blaine joins him.

“They do. My mom likes to call it my uncanny way of knowing things that I shouldn't.” Blaine emphasizes the words by making air quotes with his fingers. That definition of his mom's has always been a point of contention between the two of them. It's her way of saying that she thinks Blaine makes up the things he says he sees, they just happen to be right.

A lucky guess that's correct 100% of the time.

“Like what things?”

“Like why my mom makes tuna casserole for dinner every Wednesday night.”

“Why does she?” Kurt crosses his legs and locks his hands around his knee, giving Blaine his undivided attention.

“My grandfather's favorite meal was tuna casserole. When my mom was a little girl, they ate it every Wednesday night without fail. Once, when my grandmother had pneumonia, my grandfather tried his hand at making it, and it came out horrible. But they were poor and they didn't have much else, so they ate it anyway.” Blaine laughs a small, wistful laugh, and Kurt echoes it, like maybe he has a similar story from his past.

“Your grandfather must have been quite a card,” Kurt says as his laughter fades.

“Not the way my mom tells it. But I wouldn't know. My grandfather died before I was born, and my mom doesn't talk about him much. Apparently there were issues between my mom and her dad before he died.” Blaine pauses. He wants to tell Kurt everything, but there are parts of this story he's never spoken out loud. He tries, but he can't seem to make himself do it now. “Anyway, one night, when I was four, I guess, I asked her if grandpa would mind that she switched from cheddar cheese to American in the tuna casserole.”

“What did she say?” Kurt asks eagerly.

“She didn't say anything. She just cried.” Blaine drops his eyes to Kurt's hands and sighs. “When you're a little kid, it's kind of scary when your parents cry, you know? So, I didn't tell them about any dreams I had for a long time. I didn't want to make my parents upset.”

“I know how you feel,” Kurt says, but he doesn't elaborate. “Was there anything else?”

Blaine sorts through his memories, smiling when he comes across one he finds he can tell Kurt.

“My dad played baseball in college, and I somehow knew that my dad owned a pair of lucky socks that he wore to every game … and that he never washed them.”

“Oh good heavens!” Kurt exclaims. “That's horrendous!”

“Yeah. Now that will give you nightmares.”

Blaine lies back on the bed, and Kurt follows.

“Were you born with it?” Kurt asks.

“I think so. I mean, I don't remember suffering from any trauma as a child. No knocks to the head, no comas, nothing like that.”

Kurt makes a motion with his mouth like he's trying to bite his lower lip. “Does it ever work in reverse? Do you ever dream about things, and then they happen?”

Blaine laces his fingers together, rests his hands over his chest. “Yeah. I saw my grandmother the night she passed away. I was eight. I saw her sitting at the end of my bed. She said she came to say goodbye. She told me to take care of my parents and my brother.” Blaine chews the inside of his cheek. “But maybe that's not what you were asking.”

Kurt rolls his head to face Blaine. “I'm sorry.” He reaches out his hand and lays it over Blaine's twined fingers. Blaine grabs Kurt's fingers between his own and holds Kurt's hand over his heart.

“I see other things, too,” Blaine continues, “but I'm not sure they count.”

“Hmm? Like what?”

“I've seen my high school Glee club win show choir competitions. I'll dream about the routines, see them step-by-step in my head. I hear the songs, the precise arrangement that we need to use. Then in the dream, when we win, I feel my fingers wrap around the trophy, and I know that's exactly what we need to do. We do it, and we win. But I don't know if that's a premonition or just the power of positive thinking. Why do you ask?”

“Just wonderin'.” Kurt blushes and turns his face away, and Blaine immediately understands why he wants to know.

Blaine's vision of the future – a future where Kurt and Blaine get to be together.

A future Blaine didn't realize that Kurt might want.

“Um … why don't I go throw together some sandwiches while you get dressed,” Kurt suggests, getting up from the bed. Kurt's fingers slip smoothly from Blaine's grasp.

Blaine is sad to feel them go.

Blaine's not ready to leave. It might be nice to spend the day at the beach house, lie on the bed beside Kurt and waste the day talking about their lives.

He knows they can't. Not right now, at least.

Damn responsibility.

But maybe it's something that Kurt would be willing to do later on.

“Okay,” Blaine says as Kurt hurries toward the bedroom door. He turns once to smile at Blaine, then heads for the kitchen.

Blaine rushes through getting dressed. He's not anxious to get back to work on that Victorian monstrosity, but he is impatient to spend the day with Kurt. Kurt is still in the kitchen making sandwiches when Blaine walks out into the living room. The television is already on, presumably to keep Sebastian company, the wooden puppet turned a skosh on his loveseat to get a better view of the screen. Kurt has switched the channel to a station showing a baseball game. Blaine had put the old movies on for Kurt primarily. Sebastian must be more into sports.

Makes sense considering his room.

Over the voice of the sports announcer and the cheering of the crowd, Blaine hears Kurt singing an upbeat, old-fashioned tune. He can't make out the words but that doesn't matter, as long as Blaine can hear Kurt's voice.

Blaine crouches beside his makeshift bed on the living room floor and picks up his cell phone, the banner on his lock screen showing that he has over a dozen messages.

“Come on, Gary,” Blaine mutters. “It's nowhere near noon yet.” Blaine checks the messages as he walks out the front door to his van, but none of them are from Gary.

All of them are from Cooper.

Blaine pops the trunk hatch as he reads through them.

To: Blaine

From: Cooper

Remember to get as many shots as you can today. I'm doing a big edit and I need lots of sweeps and close-ups.

Blaine furrows his brow as he reads the message. Blaine knows what he needs to accomplish for the day. Same old crap, different house, different day. It's not rocket science. Why Cooper is even concerned is beyond Blaine. He skips to the next message.

To: Blaine

From: Cooper

Remember, we have another live shoot in a couple of days. I need to know where you expect to be in the renovation by then.

That message is offensive to Blaine. Blaine isn't the one that takes off to Vegas for the weekend without telling anybody, nor does he frequently forget live feeds, leaving someone else to fill in the gaps while they wait for him to answer his phone. When did Cooper wake up and decide to become Captain Work Ethic?

Blaine erases this message with extreme prejudice and moves on to the next one.

To: Blaine

From: Cooper

I'm going to need the sketches of the rooms ASAP. I would like to post them to the website.

Cooper has never once asked to see the sketches before. Blaine always sends them to him, but Cooper has never outright asked for them. Besides that, Cooper isn't in the habit of checking up on Blaine. This is definitely a new development.

To: Blaine      

From: Cooper

Look, Blainers, if you're too busy being a lazy ass to answer any of my text messages, could you do me the honor of calling me then? You know, when you're not PLAYING WITH YOUR PUPPETS!

Wow. Blaine can nearly hear Cooper yelling at him through the message on the screen. Lazy ass my … ass.

He erases that one as well.

To: Blaine      

From: Cooper

Callmecallmecallmecallmecallmecallmecallmecallmecallmecallme…

The rest of the messages are a continuation of this last one, the words callmecallmecallmecallme running from one message to the next. Blaine scoffs, erasing the remaining messages and shoving his phone into his back pocket, in no mood to talk to his older brother.

You've waited this long, Cooper. You can wait a bit longer.

Blaine examines the contents of his trunk. The boxes from earlier are in there, taking up the available space. He has to unload them. It would kill his gas mileage to drive around San Diego with his tail end dragging. But mostly, he doesn't want to leave them there and chance Kurt finding them. The journals might trigger more of his memories, but it might be too much too soon.

Curiosity gnaws at Blaine's brain. He wants the chance to go over them between filming today. He sees it as his only chance to read them. With Kurt aware, he doesn't know when else he'll find the time alone. He peeks around the end of the van for any sign of Kurt, but he's completely alone. He opens the box closest to him and pulls three of the leather journals out at random. He checks the dates on the spines - 1924, 1926, and 1928. He hides them underneath a towel and closes the box up, preparing to take it inside.

You make me feel like Im livin a teenage dream, the way you turn me on …

Blaine's phone rings and he jumps. When the singing started, he had half-expected to see Kurt round the corner and discover him with the journals. He takes another peek around the van to make sure he's still alone, then he grabs his phone out of the pocket of his pants.

“Cooper,” he grumbles when he sees the caller ID flash across the screen. “What a surprise.”

He's being both sarcastic and honest. It is a surprise. As odd Cooper Anderson behavior goes, being this involved in a renovation is definitely bizarre. Blaine deliberates between answering and letting it go to voicemail, but since Cooper will only call back, Blaine decides to get this over with.

“What is it, Coop?” Blaine says in lieu of hello.

“Finally answering your phone, huh?” Cooper's tone doesn't sound out of the ordinary, but that means very little under the circumstances.

“Well, you know, after reading the seventh message I kind of got the impression there was something you needed to talk about.”

Blaine sandwiches the phone between his ear and his shoulder so he can lift the box out of the trunk. He adjusts the box in his grip, then re-adjusts it, but the box is heavy, and carrying it while talking on the phone, awkward. He can't get a perfect grasp of it, so he decides to put his faith in physics and sprint-walks into the beach house before he can lose his grip.

“I just wanted to know how things are going in your neck of the woods,” Cooper says.

“The same way it goes with every house,” Blaine grunts, straining to lower the box down to the floor and slide it underneath the dining room table.

“Yeah, only this isn't like every other house, is it, Blainey?”  

Blaine makes his way back to the car and grabs another box. “What's that supposed to mean?”

Cooper takes a breath in and lets it out before he answers. “You know what I mean.”

“No.” Blaine slides the second box beside the first. “I actually have no idea.”

“Blaine, you gave up your commission for puppets! What do you think you're doing!? You need that money for college! For NYADA!”

Blaine stands and puts a hand to his forehead. Here it is - the opening he had been hoping for. He can talk to his brother and get his commission back. Blaine isn't scared of losing the puppets. His brother wouldn't want them anyway. That had been an act for the show. He sounds so sincere in his concern, he might not even humiliate Blaine in return.

But in the grand tradition of Andersons, Cooper doesn't know when to stop.

“I mean, you're kind of proving mom and dad right, squirt, acting stupid and immature like this.”

Blaine stops breathing. He feels his ears burn with those words. How dare he? How dare Cooper, of all people, lecture Blaine on maturity? So what if the decision Blaine made with regard to the puppets was insane? Obviously, he'd been right, but Cooper doesn't need to know that. He doesn't need to know anything about Kurt and Sebastian. But Blaine is far from the irresponsible one. Blaine has his priorities straight. He's a straight-A student, class president, head of the Glee club, a member of almost every McKinley High School club. He's organized food drives, neighborhood clean-ups, pet adoptions ... Blaine Anderson is not irresponsible, and if anyone in the world should stand by his side and trust his decisions, his family should.

“Look,” Blaine growls, fighting to keep his temper, “your house will be done on time and you're going to come out ahead. After that, you won't have to deal with any of my immature crap, alright? In fact, you don't even have to deal with it now. Whether or not I get enough money to go to NYADA isn't your concern, so why don't you just go back to whatever it was that you were doing that has nothing to do with caring about me or my future?”

“Blaine, I didn't mean …”

Blaine hangs up and stuffs the phone in his pocket, determined not to answer Cooper's calls or messages for the rest of the day. He continues to unload the boxes, dropping them unceremoniously onto the dining room floor and kicking them underneath the table, taking out his fury on them since his brother is not within kicking distance.

“I've got the sandwiches!” Kurt sings just as Blaine finishes sliding the final box beneath the table.

“Great!” Blaine says, overly bright, not wanting Kurt to worry about his petty problems. There are so many things Blaine has to consider now that Kurt is alive. There's always the chance that this life of Kurt's won't last much longer and, regardless of his promises, Blaine will wake up one day and find that Kurt has moved on. On the flip side, it's possible that Kurt could be immortal. He's been around this long. Maybe he can't move on.

In that instance, Blaine will need to figure out a plan for the rest of Kurt's life.

Kurt doesn't have a house to return to. He owns nothing. Maybe Blaine can open some sort of trust for Kurt that will accrue interest for the future, capital that will continue to grow while Kurt lives off it (and Sebastian, too, if it comes to that). He'll need to find out the specifics from someone who knows about these things.

All of these thoughts assault Blaine in a matter of seconds when Kurt says the word sandwiches.

“Dear Lord, Blaine!” Kurt places a brown paper bag of sandwiches on the dining room table and hurries over to where Blaine is balling his fists at his sides, staring off into thin air. “You look like you've seen a ghost!” Suddenly serious and looking apprehensively around, Kurt asks, “Y-you haven't seen a ghost, have you? C-can you … can you do that? See ghosts, I mean?”

Blaine is about to reassure Kurt that he hasn't, but after thinking over Kurt's question - and the idea that a living puppet is afraid of ghosts - he can't help laughing instead.

“No. No ghosts here.”

“Thank goodness!” Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine and hugs him in relief. “I don't think I can handle ghosts!”

Blaine buries his head in Kurt's neck. Kurt closes his eyes and breaths in – or mimics breathing in – imagining what Blaine must smell like. He might smell clean like Ivory soap, or musky like his dad's cologne. Whatever the smell is, it's uniquely Blaine. That Kurt knows for sure. It's warm and spicy and sweet and sensual and all Blaine.

Kurt wishes he could know what that smells like.

“Thanks for the sandwiches,” Blaine says.

“You're welcome. I hope you like ham and cheese.”

“I do.” Blaine runs a hand up and down Kurt's back, feeling his porcelain spine beneath his shirt. “Are you okay going out in these clothes? I'm not sure I have anything else that would fit you. I'd have to look around.”

“No! No, these are great! But, I might need some shoes.”

“Shoes, hmm? I don't think my shoes are big enough for you, and I don't want to risk crushing your feet. I think I might have a pair of flip-flops you can borrow. Those should do for now.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Kurt's heard of flip-flops but he hasn't worn a pair before. He's sure that if Blaine recommends them, then they'll be fine.

“So, shall we get going?” Blaine asks, not willing to let go of Kurt yet.

“Yeah,” Kurt says, not quite ready to let go of Blaine either.

“Okay.” Blaine hesitantly pulls out of the puppet's arms. “I think they're in the car though, so I'm going to have to carry you.”

Kurt is struck speechless by Blaine's suggestion, but Blaine has the bag of sandwiches in his grasp and Kurt up in his arms before he can object.

“Oh!”

“Is this alright?”

Kurt giggles, looping his arms around Blaine's neck. “Absolutely.”

“Hold on tight. Here we go.” Blaine takes great care not to knock Kurt's legs as he walks through the doorway. He shuts the door with his foot, and uses one hand to lock up the house behind them.

The beach house is quiet and still again with Kurt and Blaine gone except for the television with the game playing on the screen, and a small tabby cat, completely unnoticed when it crept in, sitting beneath the loveseat and waiting … patiently.