Kurt was unable to make any such metaphors, only aware that people were losing their grip on the railing on either side, falling and screaming and landing with thuds that made his whole body jerk in an instinctive cringe. All he knew, hanging there, feet skidding and slipping on the deck, was that Blaine’s arms around him, Blaine pinning him to the cold metal rail, Blaine’s white-knuckled hands were the only thing keeping him from joining them.

The Titanic stopped for a moment, stern high, bow low, and for a moment it seemed like it would stay there, in that macabrely humorous position. But then there was a horrible shudder, a groaning, an almost animalistic moan as the weight of the stern became too much. Wires snapped and ricocheted off the three remaining smokestacks, boards split in two, steel tore like paper, and the mighty Titanic slowly split in two.

Azimio, crawling along the deck, bleeding from the head, was one of the unfortunate few who fell down the crevasse in the middle of the ship, falling without a sound to the crackling infernoof wires meeting water. The ocean poured into the submerged half of the ship, reaching the electrical breakers and, with a sporadic flicker, the great ship finally went dark, lit only by the stars.

When the ship had broken in half, the stern had come falling back to hit the water, the huge jolt causing many to lose their grip. Kurt had gasped in spite of himself at the sickening feeling of freefalling, and now tasted blood from where he’d bitten his tongue, his lip, something. The salty-metallic taste made his head spin, made him want to spit out the mouthful of blood, but the ship was rising again.

The two halves were held together by threads, yet these were strong enough to drag the stern up into the air again, as the forward half filled with water and started to sink towards the ocean floor. This time, though, the back end didn’t hover motionless -- it sank as well, so quickly that Blaine swore under his breath and, with dexterity born of years of practice, quickly climbed so he was on the other side of the railing.

“Come on, Kurt, we have to stay on the ship, remember,” he gasped, grabbing at Kurt’s coat, prying his icy-white fingers off of the rail. The last thing the first class boy wanted to do was let go, but Blaine had him, Blaine was holding onto his arms and around his waist and soon they were both kneeling on the very back of the ship, just above the yellow letters that proudly declared “R.M.S. Titanic”.

Never again, Kurt decided in the very back of his mind, the only part that wasn’t mad with terror, never again will I fear anything. Because nothing in the entire world could ever possibly be this bad. The sight of the bubbling, churning ocean, coming relentlessly towards him, swallowing up the ship like a living thing, would never leave his mind. Even when he shut his eyes and clung onto Blaine’s arm and silently begged whoever would listen to make it stop, he could still see it, could still picture the bodies disappearing into the sea.

No amount of begging or ignoring could make this end, so he forced his eyes open, forced his ringing ears to listen to Blaine. The other boy was remarkably calm, his voice clear, his hand holding on tightly to Kurt’s. “The ship is going to try and suck us down. It’ll be strong, Kurt, but you can not panic, understand me? You need to kick towards the surface and keep kicking as hard as you possibly can. You have the life jacket; that’ll help you.”

But you don’t, Kurt thought frantically, turning and giving Blaine a desperate look. If he meant for Kurt to let him go, if he was going to try something idiotic like sacrificing himself to save Kurt...

Blaine’s face was ashy-colored and tensely drawn, but he glanced over and forced the faintest of smiles. “Don’t let go of my hand. I’ll be right next to you, just don’t let go of me. We’re going to be okay, Kurt. Trust me?”

It was a question, not a command, and Kurt was nodding hard before it was even all the way said. Of course he did. Implicitly, without question, even now, even when the ocean was less than ten feet away. Kurt would’ve believe Blaine if he’d claimed to be able to fly.

With a nod back, and one last desperate kiss pressed against Kurt’s forehead, Blaine turned back to the rapidly approaching sea, then tugged Kurt up to stand, balanced on the very back of the Titanic, the same place they’d been two days ago, hand-in-hand, working in unison to survive. Just like now. “Take a deep breath and hold it in three...two...one!”

In the relatively small town where Kurt had grown up, there was a pond. He’d swam in it exactly once, with a few kids from the neighborhood, on an exceptionally hot summer day. He’d been seven years old, scrawny and skinny and nervous of rumors that the other kids’s favorite pastime was “dunking” each other. One of the older boys had reassured him that he’d be just fine, but after an hour of splashing, just when things were starting to get fun, that same older boy had swam up underneath Kurt, in the deepest part of the pond, grabbed his ankle and yanked him down under the water.

Therefore, there was something horrendously familiar about how plunging into the icy Atlantic and being sucked down by the vacuum of the ship felt. The same feeling of abruptly being surrounded by water, the same shock and fear and betrayal that someone or something that claimed to be trustworthy was responsible for pulling him down, and the same sickening sensation of being completely alone and helpless. For, as Kurt kicked and flailed and held his breath, trying to find out which way was up, his hand groped aimlessly in the water for Blaine’s, which had been ripped out of his by the force of going under.

And even when Kurt finally broke the surface, gasping and choking and sputtering in the frigid air, one among hundreds splashing and screaming in the water, as he looked around at the drowning mob, he couldn’t find Blaine anywhere.

“No...” Kurt choked out, teeth already chattering, too-big life jacket making it impossible to see. Then, with a strangled sob, he started swimming, kicking and splashing through water so cold that it made his whole body ache. “Blaine!” he called out, voice swallowed up by the wailing and weeping. “Blaine!”

Nothing. No answering call, no wonderful familiar voice saying his name, no strong arms to grab him, hold him, calm him down, tell him what to do.

No Blaine.

Kurt halted for a moment, shivering and treading water, spinning around frantically, trying to see through the crowd. He only just caught a glimpse of someone swimming, life-jacket-less, with dark curly hair, when one of the hyperventilating men around him suddenly seized his life jacket, clinging to him like a drowning rat and sending him under.

Sea water filled his nose and mouth again, and Kurt kicked violently, clawing his way to the surface and trying to push the man off him, to no avail. “Blaine!” he managed to gasp before he was underwater again, struggling and shoving, lungs burning for air, feeling the icy hands pawing at him, using him as a way to stay afloat, drowning him--

And then he was back in the blessed air, watching the man flounder away, something that looked like blood dripping from his nose. Kurt was baffled, until someone else grabbed onto him, a firm hand locking around the shoulder strap of his life vest. He whirled, automatically trying to push them away, until he saw who it was.

“Blaine,” Kurt gasped, lunging forward to try and embrace the other boy, so relieved he felt weak from it.

Shaking out his hand -- he must’ve punched the man who almost drowned Kurt -- Blaine evaded the hug, treading water and coughing a little from the salty taste of it in his mouth. “Kurt, swim, please, I need you to get us away from the crowd,” he managed.

Kurt winced, nodding and starting to kick away from the thickest part of the mob. The water was churning, getting in his face, stinging his eyes, but he fought his way through, though his legs felt heavy and his muscles burned from overexertion. Finally, right when he felt ready to give up, he bumped into a piece of wood, molded and carved elaborately -- a piece of the wall, from the Grand Salon.

Blaine nodded, shortly, already starting to boost Kurt up onto the narrow piece of wood. It was small, too small, Kurt’s legs still submerged from the knee-down. And when Blaine tried to climb on as well, the wood tipped, almost sending them both back into the sea.

“I-It’s t-t-too s-small,” Kurt hiccuped, starting to shiver violently in the wintry air.

“It’s w-what we’ve g-got,” Blaine retorted, swimming around to rest his elbows on the opposite end, facing Kurt, in order to balance it.

Being out of the water, being able to rest and stop swimming felt inexplicably wonderful, but Kurt shook his head, trying to slide back into the water. “Y-You get on--”

“No.” Blaine said it so forcefully that Kurt froze, face filled with grief and anger and desperation. Exhaling slowly, Blaine reached out to take both of Kurt’s hands in his, squeezing gently. “No, you stay p-put. We’ll be r-rescued soon and I’m m-more used to the c-cold. Just...d-do that for m-me, ok-kay, Kurt?”

He looked so desperate, so earnest, and Kurt was so tired that he slowly settled back into place, wet clothes clinging to his body. After squirming forward so his forehead was resting against Blaine’s, he shut his eyes and exhaled, nodding. “F-Fine. But if the b-boats don’t c-come back in f-five minutes, we’re s-switching, unders-stand me?”

Blaine laughed, breathy and soft, giving a nod. “Yes s-sir.”

The kicking and splashing slowly died down, the passengers giving up or succumbing to fatigue and cold. The lifeboats hovered nearby, full of grieving passengers and resolute crewmen -- they’ll swamp us, we’ll all go under, we can’t go back, we can’t -- but not a one returned to save those still in the water.

In those endless, frozen moments, worlds away from London society, or New York prejudices, Kurt Hummel-Sylvester leaned close enough to feel Blaine Anderson’s breath on his lips and whispered, “I love you, Blaine.”

There was an endless pause, then Blaine was pulling back, exhausted and frozen and pleading, shaking his head. “No, Kurt, no, don’t say it, don’t tell me goodbye, no. You said, you promised--”

And that made Kurt laugh, opening his eyes halfway. “Shhh, hush,” he mumbled, lips almost numb, but not enough that he didn’t feel Blaine’s against them. “Shh, I’m not. I’m making up for lost time.” He pulled away, the tip of his icy-cold nose brushing against Blaine’s. “I should have said that a long time ago.”

There was something almost shy in the way Blaine smiled back, bowing his head a little, caught off-guard for the first time since Kurt had met him. In another time, in another life, perhaps they would’ve had the time to talk like this, to smile and flirt and edge around all the new, frightening, wonderful emotions. But the cold and the water refused to give them that luxury, forced them to surrender their pretenses and coyness and hesitance, throwing them together, two tiny souls clinging to a bit of wreckage, lost in the middle of the sea.

So Blaine just sighed a little, setting his chin on his numb hand, long eyelashes resting on his cheek, and mumbled, “Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry,” Kurt slurred, feeling both exceptionally sleepy and somewhat disappointed that Blaine hadn’t said anything more romantic than that. He was just about to settle down and let his tired body rest, when Blaine’s cold hand was on his face, cupping his cheek, making him whimper in protest and open his eyes again.

“I need you to do something for me,” Blaine whispered, running his thumb over Kurt’s cheek in a motion he could only see, not feel. “Will you?”

Kurt nodded, blinking slowly, wondering why Blaine wouldn’t just let him sleep. “Of course,” he remembered to add, finally.

“T-Two things.” Blaine was shivering, words gulping and shuddering out of him, and something in the back of Kurt’s tired mind screamed five minutes, five minutes, remember that, but it melted away in the haze of cold and exhaustion, the whole world narrowing down to Blaine’s face, Blaine’s hand on his cheek, Blaine’s eyes. “F-First, that you w-won’t go to s-sleep. Ok-kay?”

Pulling a bit of a pout -- he had said he’d do what Blaine asked, but didn’t Blaine understand it was time to let go, time to sleep, time to close his eyes and make it all go away -- Kurt grudgingly nodded. Blaine exhaled a little in relief, then, after closing his eyes for a moment (and he looked so upset in that moment, like he was in pain and Kurt wanted to comfort him, wanted to hold him, but he was in the water, why was he in the water, he should come up so Kurt could wrap his arms around him and make everything better and happy and warm again) continued.

“S-Secondly, you have to k-keep that first prom-mise you made t-to me. T-To n-not say goodb-bye.” Opening his eyes seemed to take a great effort, but Blaine managed it, he managed to look right at Kurt and oh, oh he was the loveliest boy in the world and Kurt loved him, he did, he loved him so much. “Never e-ever. Nev-ver. Promise me?”

Kurt almost replied that he’d already promised, silly boy, he’d promised on the ship and he’d promised silently in the hot dark messy wonderful back of that car, with Blaine’s hands and lips and eyes as witnesses, and Hummel’s didn’t break promises. But that took too much effort, so he just nodded. “I-I p-promise,” he whispered, frowning a little at how hoarse his voice was. He sounded horrible.

Apparently Blaine didn’t share that sentiment, because, with a great sigh that seemed to leave him weak and small, he rested his cheek on his and Kurt’s entwined hands and mumbled, “Kurt, rem-member not t’sleep. S-Stay awake. Sing. Sing m-me something.” He shifted slightly, looking up at Kurt through heavy lids and his lips were blue and his body was so cold, but his eyes were burning gold. “Sing me my song for you. Can you do that?”

“Doesn’t have w-words,” Kurt muttered, before smiling and pressing his trembling lips to the back of Blaine’s hand and starting to hum the song anyways.

And he thought he heard Blaine whisper, as he shut his eyes and curled closer to the whispery sound of Kurt’s voice, as he gave a shudder and relaxed his clenched teeth and stopped treading water, “You’re gonna be okay, Kurt. You’re gonna be okay.”

Of course I’m going to be okay, Kurt thought, dreamily, half-whispering, half-humming the notes of Blaine’s song.

I’m with you.

He’d stopped singing so long ago -- no, he was still singing -- no, he was humming and Blaine was too and so were all the other people in the sea and so were the stars, it was a symphony, an concert and it was a shame nobody could hear them.

Kurt was drifting, on his back, looking up at the humming stars and smiling a little and thinking about how he ought to point them out to Blaine, ought to ask if they had the same constellations in Ohio. But that was silly, of course they did, no need to bother Blaine with such silly things. No, it’s better for him to keep singing, because now there was a spotlight on him, a bright, blinding, brilliant spotlight...

“...yon...ive...ut the...?”

Frowning, Kurt shifted slowly -- so slowly, his hair and clothes had frosted over, frozen to the wood he was lying on, and oh dear, he’d been on it much longer than five minutes, that wasn’t good at all, for some reason. He wasn’t sure why. And he wasn’t sure why there was such a bright light being shone in his face, making his eyes ache from it, though he wasn’t quite sure anymore what the proper response to that was. To turn away or blink, surely, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t make himself do it, because the light was important.

“Anyon...ali...out ther...?”

It wasn’t a spotlight. It was a flashlight. It was a flashlight held by a man, a man on a boat, a boat that was coming closer, a boat!

“Anyone alive out there?!”

It was a lifeboat, and those were crewman and oh, they were saved, oh god, oh yes, they were saved, they’d come back, they were going to get out of there and Blaine...

...Blaine.

“Blaine?”

You promised, Kurt.

No, no he didn’t, he promised nothing, he was nothing, there was nothing else, nothing left, nothing.

You promised him, Kurt.

No.

No, he didn’t and he wouldn’t and he refused. His eyes were shut and his hands were curled around the icy one still clutching his and he was ready and he was waiting and there had to be some sort of goddamn afterlife because he’d be right there, just wait, just a couple more minutes...

Don’t say goodbye.

He wasn’t. This was him not saying goodbye.

Maybe it’d be faster if he got in the water too, like he should’ve been from the beginning, like he deserved to be, because he had the jacket and he had the coat and he had nothing else and Blaine had everything, was everything and oh god Blaine no come back come back wake up Blaine wake up please wake up...

Please, pretend like you never saw me, like you were never here.

I told you. I can’t do that. I'm not gonna say it can't be as bad as all that...but...maybe in the daylight, things’ll look better?

I’ve got you.

I’m not letting you go.

You can do this, I know you can, just...

Don’t let go of me.

Don’t say goodbye.

Kurt.

Kurt.

The water was so cold. It was colder the second time. It was colder after lying out in the icy air for so long. It was colder after letting his body stiffen and freeze and chill.

It was colder after prying his hand free and watching the sea swallow up who it’d claimed.

It was so cold and Kurt was so tired, but the whistle wasn’t frozen yet, wasn’t unusable, wasn’t useless, and he pried it from the dead man and put it to his lips and compared to everything else it was warm, like the light and sun he couldn’t remember anymore, like daytime and summer and happiness and freedom, like life.

Like Blaine.

Because Blaine was warm and bright and colorful and alive, and whatever he’d just let go of wasn’t Blaine, because he’d promised not to let go, not to say goodbye, not to give up and give in and become icy and cold and dark. Blaine wasn’t ice and cold and darkness.

Blaine was life.

And so Kurt lived.

“--bugger me, is that a whistle?”

“Shine that light over ‘ere!”

“Blimey it’s -- he’s alive! We’ve got a live one, over here, come about, damn you, row! We’re comin’ to get you, don’t worry! Hold on just one more second, just one more...”