It's crazy how life can be so cruel and unfair, with those messy, sporadic pockets of time that pop up in the midst of everything. If life were a play, these times would be the scene changes. They come abruptly, quickly, and they rearrange everything, sometimes organized, sometimes not so much. They set the atmosphere for new seasons, new things. They aren't always nice. But there are some that are so significant that we look back one day, remembering the pain and being thankful for the cleansing it brings, point our finger and say, "There. That was the day that everything in my life shifted so dramatically that I would never be the same again."

Kurt Hummel's biggest scene change comes two months before his thirtieth birthday.

"You're breaking up with me?" Kurt's voice cracks on the last syllable, and Adam, his fiancé -- ex-fiancé? -- quickly reaches over to take his hand. But Kurt doesn't let him. He just pulls his hand back and lets it fall limp in his lap. Shock colors his tone, but anger colors his expression. Really, dumping him a month before their wedding? Kurt has to wonder what part of that seems logical to Adam.

"Kurt, come on, you can't tell me that you don't feel the changes over the past few months. Ever since we got the wedding all squared away you've been..."

"What? Spit it out." Kurt says snappily. He's doing his best not to cry, to hide the sadness with anger, but he can feel the heat forming in the corners of his eyes, and his chest is constricting painfully, heart lodged in his throat and threatening to choke him. It's not fair that Adam is doing this.

"Kind of a bitch." Adam says finally. Kurt tenses, sitting up straighter, taller, like a Cobra in defense and ready to strike.

"Excuse me?" Kurt hisses, his hands clenching the fabric of his jeans. "I'm sorry that I've been nervous--"

"Don't give me that bullshit, Kurt. I've seen you when you're nervous, and whatever the hell this has been these past few weeks... that's not you being nervous. You've gone into straight up Kurt Hummel Bitch Mode, where you do everything with this haughty, holier-than-thou attitude."

Kurt's lips press together; he can't think of anything to say, so he doesn't speak. He just looks at Adam from across their kitchen table. Handsome, lawyer Adam. Adam with the brown hair and the jade green eyes, Adam with the skinny body and the tight, firm abs. Adam who was Kurt's boyfriend for two years, and his fiancé for six months. Adam who always looked at him with such awe and reverence that Kurt could melt under his gaze, Adam who seduced like it was his profession in life, Adam who was supposed to love him forever.

And now he's breaking Kurt's heart.

"Can't we talk about this?" Kurt says, voice timid and quiet because it's getting so hard not to cry. All he really wants to do is bawl and sob and hit something.

Adam smiles sadly. "Baby, what good would that do us? I love you, Kurt, god do I love you, but you're not you anymore. Somethings always got you on edge, or in a bad mood, or you're jumpy and pissy with me. Not anyone else. Just me, and I don't know what it is that I've done, or said, but I can't be around you while you're like this."

"So let's-- let's take a break." Kurt's throat clenches in the middle of his sentence, and fuck, he's about to cry. "I'll get my stuff together and, and we'll be okay. Don't just.... Adam, please."

Adam's shoulders sag, but Kurt can tell that he's already made his mind up. When Adam reaches a decision, very little can make him change his mind, and Kurt knows that Adam doesn't plan on staying. Not tonight -- not ever.

"I'm going to get my stuff and go, alright?" Adam says slowly, almost likes he's afraid that if he says it too quickly Kurt is going to explode. But Kurt is too heartbroken to explode. Too heartbroken to stop Adam when he gets up from the table, too heartbroken to breathe a single word when Adam shuffles out of the kitchen, too heartbroken to move or blink or do anything as Adam takes the suitcase he's already packed and heads towards the door. With a lingering glance at Kurt, a small, watery smile, Adam opens the door and leaves. It closes behind him, echoing in the silent apartment. It all feels so incredibly empty all of a sudden.

Kurt heaves a shuddering sob, and crumples over onto the table in a hurt, broken mess.

x

Once Kurt has finished crying (which takes two hours; thirty minutes at the kitchen table, thirty minutes on their bed -- his bed, thirty minutes as he rips all of the pictures of them together off the walls and off the shelves, and thirty minutes on the couch in the living room), he does the only thing he can think to do. He calls his best friend.

"Hello?" Blaine says, and Kurt sniffles in response, relaxing into the couch. Overhead the ceiling fan whirs, Kurt watching it through puffy eyes as it turns. Around, and around, and around, and he forgets that he has Blaine on the line until Blaine says, "Kurt? You there?"

"I never realized how big this apartment was when I'm the only one here." Kurt croaks. His throat is sore from crying, seeing as he'd done a pretty good amount of screaming, too. He can't actually remember much of the past two hours, now. The last thing he's consciously aware of is the cold press of the wooden table in the kitchen, and after that it's all... blurry. Fogged by tears and anger and confusion. When had things started falling apart for them? Everything had been perfect. Weren't they in love? Maybe he'd made an error in judgement.

"Only one there? Where's Adam?" Blaine asks. Kurt can hear it all in his voice; the worry. The confusion. The hinting suspicion.

"He's gone." Kurt hums. "Gone, gone, gone." He says, surprising even himself by how utterly bitter he sounds. But he just laughs, even more bitterly and even more angrily.

"Where's he gone to?"

"Don't know." Kurt spits. It hits him that he has absolutely no idea where Adam could possibly have gone. His parents are in Michigan because he'd moved here, to New York, to go to law school. Kurt doesn't know of any of his friends that would let Adam live with them, because most of Adam's friends are pretentious, arrogant assholes. Kurt wonders if maybe Adam has someone else to stay with. Someone buff and protective, someone who would let him curl up with them at night, someone who Kurt may not have known about. Maybe that's what all this is. Maybe Adam has found someone else. The thought alone makes Kurt feel sick to his stomach, and he has to lurch off of the couch, stagger down the hallway to the bathroom. He drops his phone somewhere along the way, but it's all background noise to him as he empties the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

When he is able to stand up again without collapsing into a trembling heap, he stumbles off to find his phone, laying forgotten on the floor beside the couch. Blaine is calling out for him in concern when he presses the phone to his ear again. "Kurt? Kurt, oh my God, are you okay? I heard a loud thump and I thought you were hurt, and then you didn't respond. Kurt? Kurt, please, please say something."

"Blaine," He whispers at long last, "can you come over?" Blaine hears the desperate urgency in his voice and wastes no time at all to reply.

"I'm on my way."

x

Blaine knows he is a disheveled sight when Kurt opens the door to let him in. And Kurt... Kurt looks awful. He's in a pair of baggy sweatpants that are too big for him and probably belong to Adam, and his skin is red and splotchy the way that Blaine knows Kurt hates. His hair is sticking out at some pretty odd angles, and over all he looks like hell. Blaine steps into the apartment and closes the door behind him, watching silently as Kurt heads back to the couch and sinks onto it, curling in on himself. It breaks Blaine's heart a hundred different ways. He'd been worried before, but now he's just sad. Sad that Kurt has to look like this, and he still doesn't even know why.

Not that he doesn't have a pretty great idea.

Toeing off his shoes and abandoning the entryway, Blaine joins Kurt on the couch. Kurt's face is pressed to his knees, which are pulled tight to his chest. They don't say anything, for the longest time, no noise in the apartment but the sound of the clock ticking in the background.

"I don't know what to do." Kurt says without prelude, voice muffled by his legs. Blaine only hesitates for a second before he reaches over and places his hand on Kurt's back, warm and soothing. Encouraging Kurt to just keep talking. By now, they both know the drill. They've been here so many times, more than Kurt can count, more than Blaine cares to remember. Kurt talks, Blaine listens, Blaine makes Kurt happy again, Kurt makes Blaine stay the night, and in the morning Kurt will start to move on. But Blaine has to wonder if Kurt will be able to this time since Adam had been such a serious relationship. The first serious one at all, actually.

"He just... left. He told me I've been acting like a little bitch, and he left. He didn't stop to... to talk or anything, just said he was leaving and that was that. I came home from work today and he was already packing his bags, Blaine. What if he's been seeing someone else?" Kurt's voice cracks, not for the first time that day, and he winces. Swallows back tears. Refuses to cry.

"Kurt, I doubt that. Adam was a nice guy, and I don't think he would cheat on you."

"Right, but he would come up with some shitty excuse and just leave me instead. Of course. That all makes such perfect sense."

Blaine knows that, by nature, Kurt is being extremely rude because of the circumstances, so the bite in his words does nothing at all to Blaine. He just slowly begins to move his hand on Kurt's back, up and down, up and down, fingers scratching lightly through the fabric. Scratching Kurt's back always calms him down. Kurt breathes deeply, trying to steady himself, but his shaking shoulders give him away. God, he's trying so hard not to cry, because he's done enough of that to last a lifetime.

The worst thing, the only thing Blaine hates about having to console Kurt, is seeing him in this shape. Seeing his best friend broken and so sad that he can hardly form sentences kills Blaine. Adam had been a good guy. A really nice, cool person, Blaine had actually even liked him a little. He treated Kurt right. With all the proper respect that Kurt deserved, wholly, devotedly, sincerely. Blaine had liked him. But right now? Blaine hates Adam so much that he could point a gun at his head and not even feel bad about pulling the trigger.

"Kurt, hey, don't cry..." Blaine whispers, scooting closer to the other and tugging him close, until they're pressed side to side. Kurt turns his head and buries his face into Blaine's shoulder, breathing shakily, breath catching every so often as he just relaxes against his best friend. Warm. Safe. Refuge.

"Married by thirty," Kurt laughs, though it sounds more like he shudders and his voice is just quavering. "I was supposed to be married by thirty, Blaine Anderson. I think that's going to be next to impossible now, considering I'm thirty in two months. God, I'm going to have to call all of those people we invited and tell them..." Kurt trails off as Blaine turns and presses a kiss into the messy mop of hair. His arm slips to wrap around Kurt's shoulder, hand rubbing his arm gently. Blaine was supposed to be his Best Man, and he'd admittedly been pretty excited about it. Now he feels bad that all of Kurt's hard work has gone to waste. All of the hours spent planning, writing Save The Dates, searching for a venue, all of it. Totally in vain now. His dreams of being married by thirty, ruined.

Kurt is getting progressively more still at his side, likely drifting off to sleep. He deserves it. After the day he's just had, he definitely deserves a little rest. Even for Kurt, who can handle more than Blaine could ever dream of handling, having a fiancé just walk out is taxing. Well, so Blaine assumes, in any case. He wouldn't actually know. Nonetheless, when Kurt begins to snore quietly, Blaine leans him back into a laying position. He pulls the orange throw off the back of the couch and drapes it over Kurt. Blaine brushes a lock of hair out of Kurt's face fondly, a small smile forming on his lips. Kurt looks innocent; small, with his face lax and still completely wrinkle free thanks to all of those careful skin treatments. He looks younger than he has in years. Young, like they're in high school again.

High school...

It hits Blaine like a ten pound bag of bricks. Right in the chest, leaving him slightly winded. Oh. Oh. He swallows as he remembers. The pact. The one they had made when they were just seventeen years old, when they were still kids, right after Kurt's very first terrible break up. How could he have possibly forgotten? He wonders if Kurt remembers that at all, if Kurt had actually been completely serious. Looking back, Blaine realizes that it had been a bit silly, all of it.... Blaine leans back against the couch, tugging Kurt's legs into his lap, and he loses himself in the steady rise and fall of Kurt's chest. Thoughts of the pact ease in and out of his mind as he drifts off. Would spending his life with Kurt really be so bad? It would be easy. They already knew each other so well, being best friends and all. Falling in love could only be the next best thing, right?

When he finally allows the hands of sleep to drag him under, he dreams of weddings and kissing Kurt at the altar.

x

Blaine wakes the following morning to the smell of pancakes and with a painful crick in his neck. He sits up and tries to pop his neck, but the crick is worse than he thought so he ends up just hurting himself even more. He winces, ears picking up on the sound of Kurt's laughter coming from the kitchen.

"S'funny?" Blaine asks groggily, and Kurt laughs some more.

"You. Serves you right for letting us sleep on the couch last night. My back is going to be in terrible shape for days, Blaine Anderson."

When Blaine stumbles into the kitchen, he sees that Kurt has changed out of the sweatpants from yesterday. He's wearing a pair of dark, tight jeans instead, accompanied by one of his fancy-shmancy shirts. Blaine creeps up behind him and hooks his chin over Kurt's shoulder, ogling the pancakes that are being so meticulously made. "Going somewhere?"

"Work," Kurt hums, "because despite last night's... events, the world is still turning, and life must go on. Shocking, isn't it?" Kurt sounds better. Happier than last night, though that doesn't say much. Blaine isn't surprised that Kurt is trying to brush it all off. It's such a Kurt thing to do.

"You had a rough night. You should stay home instead. I'd be more than happy to keep you and your cooking skills company."

Kurt laughs, scooping the pancakes up and sliding them onto a plate he has set out. He turns, dislodging Blaine's chin, and passes the plate to Blaine. "You only want me for my cooking. I'm hurt." Kurt teases. "These are for you. Syrup is in the pantry, whipped cream is in the fridge, and there's also bread in the pantry if you want toast too. I know you're kind of a garbage disposal."

Blaine scoots over to the table as Kurt glides out of the kitchen. "Stay home." Blaine whines, dropping into one of the cushioned wooden chairs.

"Can't, Blaine." Kurt singsongs from down the hall. "Some of us don't have the luxury of staying home all the time like you do."

"Hey, I'm a starving actor who's waiting for his next audition!" Blaine calls back, delighted to hear Kurt's laughter drifting back to him from wherever he is. The familiarity, the way they flow back and forth so easily reminds Blaine of how his parents had been when he was younger. His parents. His married parents. Blaine takes a deep breath, mind flitting back to the pact. He has to bring it up. To see if Kurt remembers, at least.

Kurt drifts back into the room with a scarf wrapped around his neck, even though it's spring and getting closer to summer with every passing day. The fabric looks thin, so Blaine chooses not to comment on it. Kurt would probably just say that scarves were fashionable and trendy during any season. He's smiling and humming under his breath, happy, even if it is forced, and Blaine just has to go and open his big fat mouth at that exact second. He can't stop himself.

"Do you remember the pact we made when we were seventeen?"

Kurt's eyes immediately flash up from where they're concentrated as he pulls on his shoes. He's shocked, blinks, opens his mouth and closes it a few times. Blaine feels his face warming in sheer embarrassment. He's a total fucking moron, and Kurt just had his heartbroken, and he probably doesn't even remember, and really, what are you doing, Blaine Anderson?

"Yes, of course I do." Kurt says at last, slowly. "...Why do you ask?"

Okay, so Blaine hadn't given this much thought. He'd known that he should ask, but he hadn't anticipated actually doing it, and he definitely hadn't anticipated Kurt actively remembering.

"Well, I don't know, because you have a deadline, don't you? You'll be thirty in two months, you just got dumped, and we did make a promise to each other, right?"

Kurt stares at him, eyes assessing in that Kurt Hummel way before he says levelly, "I'm not marrying you just because I want to meet a deadline, Blaine."

Blaine winces. "Okay, that was bad way of putting it." He begins to toy with the fork set beside his plate of untouched pancakes. "That's not what I meant. We promised each other, you know? And we made that promise because at the age of thirty, if there was no one else, we could just be together. We're best friends, right? We know tons of stuff about each other. I'd say that I know you better than anyone else. Besides your dad."

Deciding that Blaine has some pretty valid points there, Kurt gives him a curt nod before standing up straighter and grabbing his keys off of the counter. "I have to go now. But when I get home this afternoon... we're going to talk about this, alright?"

Blaine can do little more than nod as Kurt walks over to the door. He hesitates when he gets there, hand on the doorknob.

"Blaine?"

"Yeah?"

"I really need you to understand that if we do decide that we're actually going to go through with this, I may need some time. Adam... he meant a lot to me. I had plans to spend the rest of my life with him. I'm not saying that we're going to do with this, but if we do, don't expect me to jump right into any married people stuff, okay?"

And Blaine understands. He really does. But for some reason, this suddenly means a lot to him; Kurt's happiness means a lot to him. He nods. "Yeah, of course, Kurt." Kurt nods back, opens the door, and disappears. Blaine lets out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

x

"Rachel, it doesn't seem like such a good idea-- yes, I know, but-- of course I want what's best for you, why on earth-- mhm, Rachel, I get that-- hello? Rachel? Are you still there?" Kurt sighs, annoyed with Rachel for hanging up on him, among other things, and drops the phone onto his desk. At age twenty nine, Kurt thinks that he should be able to get through a single day without any drama, but Rachel Berry doesn't seem to understand that at all. She can't seem to wrap her pretty little head around the fact that this isn't high school anymore. He's pretty sure that she builds her life around the day to day vexation that she instills in every living individual that she encounters, but Rachel is one of the industry's best models, so he can't fire her. No matter how badly he wants to sometimes. She's young and beautiful, modelling just until she gets her big break on Broadway. Kurt hasn't ever heard her sing or seen her act, but if her obnoxious, lively personality is anything to go by he's sure that she's probably a star. But Rachel often wants what she can't have, and in that right she's a bratty diva; she just can't take no for an answer.

Kurt must admit, however, that asking to pose nude with one of Francina's male models is definitely over the top, even for Rachel. It wasn't at all like she hadn't just begged Kurt two days prior to make her a last minute gown for an upcoming event.

Dragging a hand through his recently frosted hair, Kurt leans back in his chair, tired even though it's barely midday. Being a fashion designer, Kurt follows the money (and the beauty) wherever it takes him. After college he had been lucky enough to land an internship at Vogue, which ultimately lead to him attaining his current job. It's not perfect, but it's better than anything he'd ever dreamed of. It's crazy and hectic, he's busy more often than not, and sometimes he gets himself way in over his head. The industry is vicious and cruel and insane, from bitchy models to even bitchier designers, but it definitely has its perks. Sure, for a while, he had wanted to act, just like Rachel. And he'd been good, damn good. But he was young, and so was that dream; growing up meant that he had been shocked into the reality that sometimes dreams didn't come true. Money was important, you had to have it to live, and being an actor wasn't exactly a stable job unless you were the cream of the crop (like Blaine). So instead of chasing those far fetched dreams, he had settled on fashion, another prominent passion of his. There was never a dull day in this profession, that much was for sure.

Kurt plucks a sketch pencil off of his desk and twirls it between his fingers, staring at the sketchpad. It stares back accusingly, as though it knows how he lacks inspiration. His teeth dig into his lower lip and he considers just telling Rachel that he can't have that gown ready by Saturday. But no, that would be bad for his reputation; he's Kurt Hummel, he's infamously good at putting masterpieces together at the very last minute. Like last winter when Kate Hudson had needed that dress for her biannual gala because she'd spilled red wine on her original. He'd had it made -- beautifully fashioned from the finest combination of silk and velvet, blues and purples spiraling and slimming her dazzlingly -- in a single afternoon. He wasn't famous yet, but people knew him.

Rachel's demands to have a black gown were nothing, challenge wise and pressure wise. Kurt just doesn't really feel like doing it. There's no inspiration, no creative juices flowing. He feels entirely spent from last night, like he's been zapped and completely drained, and he wants nothing more than to simply laze around his apartment and mourn the loss of his future with the former love of his life.

The pencil clatters to his notebook as he groans, folding over and resting his head on his desk. The ring finger on his hand feels barren and strange in its newly empty fashion, and Kurt is hyper aware of it as he catches sight of the naked digit. Before his emotions threaten to get the better of him, he taps the home button on his iPhone to pull up the lock screen. 12:30. Now seems like a great time for his lunch break.

x

"I just don't have any drive." Kurt sighs into the phone receiver. On the other end of the line, Blaine hums his acknowledgement. Kurt knows that Blaine is probably still caught up in the events from earlier that morning, but Kurt plans on keeping his word -- they aren't talking about it until later. After Kurt has finished work and most likely after they've eaten dinner, which is no doubt going to be Chinese food because Kurt doesn't feel up to cooking, and god knows Blaine would light the whole apartment on fire if he even made an attempt. By that point in the evening, their minds should be clear, and much more level than early in the morning.

"I tried sketching," Kurt says, "just random things. Skirts, shirts, pants, it's all terrible. What if I can't do it and she hops agencies, Blaine? Or worse. What if she stays with us but finds another designer?"

"Kurt, I hardly think that you having a single dry spell is going to result in the loss of a model. From what you've told me, she's kind of really into all of this. And she likes you. You guys are friends."

"So to speak. We have coffee dates sometimes, and she brings me mix CDs of nothing but show tunes."

"See? Friends." Kurt sighs at Blaine's faulty logic, because since when do coffee and show tunes equal a friendship, but he can't find purchase in any sort of argument, so he just goes with it. He uncurls his legs from beneath himself, his slightly heeled shoes meeting the hardwood floor with a clack.

"Are you still at my apartment?" Kurt asks, fiddling with the pencils and pens in the little black cup on his desk.

"Yeah. I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"What, no auditions for the starving actor?" Kurt teases. Blaine mimics him playfully and they both share a brief laugh. "I should be home in about an hour." Kurt says once they've calmed down. "I'll bring food." Blaine makes a theatrical gurgle that just gets Kurt going again.

"Chinese food?" Blaine asks hopefully.

Kurt rolls his eyes before he realizes that Blaine can't see it. "Yes, Blaine."

"Awesome. Don't forget to get sweet and sour sauce. Egg rolls kind of suck without it."

"Of course, dear." Kurt says it without thinking, naturally, and even though he always says it it's different this time, given the strange circumstances that they're under. Kurt makes a mental note to hold off on the pet names until they figure out what grounds they're on (which is only a few hours, but for them? That's more than a life time), and clears his throat before the silence gets any more awkward. "I better let you go. I think I hear Isabelle coming this way. I'd hate to let her see me slacking."

"She might not think you're an angel anymore. God forbid." Blaine jokes. Kurt breathes a sigh of relief that they slot so easily back into place, thankful for it. Momentarily. But then he scoffs.

"Shut up, brat." He promptly hangs up, the sound of Blaine's laughter being cut abruptly short. Kurt doesn't even realize that he's smiling until Isabelle gets to his office and points it out to him.

x

"God, sorry I'm late! There was like a small village of people at the Chinese place." Kurt says the second he's through the door. He slips his shoes off by the door and shuffles into the kitchen where Blaine is sitting on top of the counter, his finger sunk up to the second knuckle in Kurt's jar of peanut butter. Kurt raises an eyebrow at his best friend, who looks like a deer stuck in headlights since he's just been caught. "Charming."

"Sorry!" Blaine says around a mouthful of peanut buttery finger. "You were late and I was hungry."

"So you decided to ransack my pantry and violate my peanut butter?" When Blaine proceeds to nod, Kurt snorts and puts the bag of Chinese takeout on the counter beside Blaine before dipping a finger into the peanut butter himself, licking his digit clean while Blaine smiles, self satisfied and giddy because Kurt is joining him in his childishness.

"We always used to do things like this when we were kids." Blaine says pointedly. Kurt hums and slips the jar out of Blaine's hands, waving to motion Blaine off of the counter. He slips down with a whine and brushes the back of his pants off, quickly turning to the Chinese food and taking out one of the boxes and a wrapped egg roll. Kurt takes his own food and they move over to the table, eating in silence for a few minutes. It's nice. Just the two of them, and even though Kurt misses Adam and he's still really hurt, having Blaine around is doing wonders for him. He'd forgotten what it was like to be around Blaine 24/7, since they hadn't been roommates since college over five years ago. It's familiar territory for them. Comfortable.

"So," Blaine says as he places his chopsticks down. He's already done eating, though Kurt isn't even halfway finished. Garbage Disposal Blaine. "About this morning..." Kurt doesn't glance up from his food, just goes suddenly still. Blaine panics. "Uh-- we don't have to talk about this right now if--"

"No." Kurt sighs, looking up at Blaine. He's shocked to find that Blaine is looking worried. "We have to talk about this. Otherwise you're going to beat yourself up about it." Kurt knows that he's right, and the sheepish grin Blaine gives him is just more confirmation. He takes a moment to drink in the sight of Blaine; he's flushed, whether from embarrassment or nervousness Kurt doesn't know, and his hair is in all sorts of disarray. He's been lying around all day, clearly. Kurt thinks about how well he knows Blaine. How much Blaine means to him. How long they've been together as best friends, and what taking this a step further will mean. It's no secret that Blaine Anderson is incredibly attractive, like God had chiselled him from the finest of marble and granite instead of flesh and bone, and it isn't like Kurt hasn't thought about it before. Logically, being with Blaine makes perfect sense. Like Blaine had said, no one knows him better other than his dad, and even then there are some things Blaine knows that Burt Hummel doesn't. And of course there's the promise and the fact that Kurt has never broken a promise to Blaine.

Blaine watches Kurt with wide, worried eyes, and his hands shake in his lap. His teeth chew at his tongue, hard enough to hurt and draw blood. He cringes but doesn't say anything. Kurt stares at him for a little while longer (that feels like forever to Blaine) before finally, finally speaking, coming back to himself from millions of miles away.

"Are you serious about this? Are you sure that this is more than just you trying to please me? Because I don't believe in divorce, Blaine." Kurt asks. Blaine doesn't miss a beat.

"Yes. I am. I know that it's kind of weird, but," he fidgets in his seat, "I don't know, it feels right? The thought of marrying you, I mean. I can't think of any other way of putting it, but you're my best friend. You're my best friend and you mean everything to me. And I know that this is partly due to some stupid promise we made when we were kids, Kurt, but god. There's nothing odd about the thought of me marrying you and spending the rest of my life with you. I know you need time, and I'd give you all the time in the world, but I'm tired of seeing you hurt." Blaine is suddenly very serious, nervousness gone so quickly that it leaves Kurt absolutely floored, floored by how raw and genuine Blaine is being. "I would never hurt you, Kurt. Not like those other guys. I'll treat you right because I know how you like to be treated, how you deserve to be treated. I know all the little things that make you tick, like how you do that thing where you scratch at your eyebrow when you're nervous."

Kurt's hand immediately falls from his eyebrow to his lap, cheeks lighting up as red as they can possibly get. Blaine smiles.

"I know that you like the crusts cut off of your sandwiches, but only on one slice of bread. I know that you love eating whipped cream straight out of the container with your finger. I know that you count to one hundred before falling asleep at night. I know that you absolutely adore the theatre, and that you always dreamed of being on Broadway when we were kids, but you never pursued it because you thought you weren't good enough, despite the fact that you're so good. You are, Kurt, don't even give me that look. I know that you love scarves, and that you hate sports, but pretend to watch the games with your dad to make him happy, even though you read Vogue in secret the entire time. I know that you auditioned for NYADA and got accepted, and you chose not to go because you got scared, but you told everyone that you'd never even gotten accepted at all. I know that you have to sleep on your stomach at night because you get uncomfortable on your sides, and that you love to cuddle, and that--"

"Okay, okay!" Kurt huffs, cutting Blaine off. But Blaine looks confident now. Kurt can't blame him. He'd never realized just how well Blaine knew him, but it's apparently a lot better than he'd anticipated. He sighs, defeated. "...I really suppose that there's no use in wasting a perfectly planned wedding."

Blaine lights up instantly, and Kurt can't figure out what's gotten into him. Blaine has always just been his friend, but it can't be denied that they do have some wicked chemistry. It's almost like they've been cut from the same cloth. What was it that Kurt had said when they were teenagers, that he wished all of the boys he dated could be like Blaine? Kurt knows that he's blushing as he goes on, but he actively chooses to ignore it and play it off.

"We'll get married." The words taste strange on his tongue when he's talking about it with Blaine like this, in this context. Then again, maybe that's just the aftertaste of the Chinese food. "But I want a rock on my finger, Blaine Anderson. I'm starting to get antsy without one. Make it big." He tries his best to keep himself serious. It hardly works.

Blaine laughs and rolls his eyes, gathering up his trash. He rises to his feet, and it’s only with one last glimpse of Kurt, smiling after him with a flush of pink in his own cheeks, that he feels a flutter in his chest. They're going to get married.

They both know that things are about to get all sorts of weird and awkward; neither of them can really bring themselves to care. It doesn't matter that they don't quite love each other in that way, because they'll work it all out. There are only two things that matter about any of this: Kurt is going to be married by thirty, and Blaine is going to see his best friend happy.