Kurt was always cold.

Ever since he was little, his mother would bundle him into jumpers, scarves, jackets, gloves. She would turn up the shower water until it was scolding; sit him by heaters or next to the oven. She'd lie awake at night, hugging him close to her chest, rubbing small circles on his back as he shivered. She'd look helplessly up at her husband standing in the door, watching her vain attempts to get her son warm. But try as she might, she would always hear the same thing, over and over: "Mommy, I'm cold. Mommy I'm so cold. Mommy it's freezing. I'm so cold." And every night, her husband would take her by the hand and put her to bed before wrapping his son in dozens of blankets, praying that nothing was wrong, and that it would all just go away. They'd been scared, his parents. They'd known something was wrong with him. If they could just get him to warm up, maybe it would go away.

It didn't. The day he first caught fire was the worst day of his life.

As Blaine stood alone in the maze garden, phone still clutched in his hand, he supposed Kurt had always been too good to be true: Good things never happened to him, so of course the one guy he'd ever fallen for had to be the one guy he could never have. His father barely even tolerated him being gay, let alone acting on it. Let alone acting on it with Kurt Hummel, Burt Hummel's teenage son. Yet everything had seemed so perfect just seconds ago; and despite the nervous twisting in his stomach, Kurt's smile remained fixed in his head with no intention of leaving anytime soon.

Does Kurt know who my father is? Was this all just some sick sort of revenge?

As quickly as the thought entered Blaine's mind he was dismissing it: No, Kurt couldn't possibly have known. The nervous energy that was Kurt Hummel still lingered over him, just as sweet and genuine as it had been their whole encounter. Either Kurt honestly hadn't known who he was, or he was a brilliant and sadistic actor. But it couldn't be long until he found out, could it? Or maybe he doesn't know about Brom Anderson at all? Blaine's optimism had kicked in. That would be nice. Blaine's father had only just announced his campaign, so perhaps Kurt didn't know about his plans to run against Mr. Hummel. Maybe he doesn't care about politics at all? What their fathers do is their business, right? It doesn't have to matter to them...

It was then that he realised he'd been standing alone for the past five minutes, and that his parents were still inside, probably waiting for him and probably irritated about it. Cursing under his breath, Blaine shoved his phone into his pocket and hurried out of the garden.

The ballroom was almost empty: only about two dozen guests remained, still chatting with one another and making their good-byes. Blaine spotted his parents immediately, standing by the doors with his father's campaign manager: Richard Smythe.

Mr. Smythe was a rather tall man – or at least he pretended to be. Nevertheless, he was always looking down on people. He was rather thickly built, but his movements were constant and agile. Even the warm smile on his face seemed ready to flicker into a smirk or a scowl. He had deep grey eyes, and silver-hair, peppered with a streak of ginger or two from his youth. Blaine had known Mr. Smythe ever since he could remember: In those days he'd simply been 'Uncle Ritch', back before Blaine was too old for his or his father's fondness. Back when they were still heroes incapable of bigotry or wrongdoing. As Brom Anderson's business partner in their law firm 'Anderson & Smythe', the two families had always been close. Some of Blaine's earliest memories were of himself sitting on Mr. Smythe's lap in their living room, playing with his tie.

Mr. Smythe and his father seemed to be talking excitedly, their heads bent towards one another, and their eyes gleaming. Blaine sighed heavily and strolled towards them, their murmurs becoming clearer as he approached: "... Yes, yes; tomorrow morning at the latest. This is the perfect opportunity; there couldn't be a better time." Mr. Smythe was saying, his voice low and excited. "It's been all over the news for the past half-hour. Apparently it's the biggest attack in Lima for over fifty years."

"Lima?" Brom repeated, his eyes flashing, "That's right in Hummel's backyard. We get the media on this and we can hammer him."

"Precisely." Nodded Smythe: "It's earlier than planned, but tomorrow's press conference couldn't be a better time to start on your campaign strategy. People fear mutants as it is, but now? They'll be looking to have those things exterminated by 2020. And they'll be looking for a leader who's willing to do that." He poked a finger at Brom's chest.

Blaine felt his stomach sink. His father was practically planning Burt Hummel's demise here, and when Kurt found out they were related he was going to hate Blaine.

"What happened in Lima?" he asked his mother, feigning an interest that wasn't there.

His mother turned to him in surprise before frowning and clicking her tongue, "Blaine! Where have you been? We've missed you all evening. Honestly, you may as well have not even come."

"Sorry," he muttered quickly, although he wasn't, "I was just in the garden. Lost track of time. What happened in Lima that's so important?"

His mother gave him a disapproving look before she answered. "Teenage mutant boy went wild and set a bunch of flesh-eating plants on people at the Lima mall this afternoon. Absolute carnage – it apparently took four police units to take the thing down. Dozens were wounded, it seems."

Blaine paled, "That's terrible." He said.

"Awful." His mother agreed, nodding. "Absolutely awful."

Blaine was no stranger to the horrors of mutant kind. He'd seen enough news headlines about their attacks, he knew of families who'd had to give their children away for showing signs of mutation. His own grandfather had been killed by a mutant: a police van thrown into the air and landing on his car, crushing him. It terrified him to think that there were such horrors roaming out there: vastly powerful beings just killing mindlessly. Fearsome creatures that passed themselves as humans, before turning on everyone around them and committing murder.

"Blaine? How nice of you to finally join us!" His father's icy voice cut into his thoughts. Startled, Blaine turned to look at his father. Brom Anderson was frowning at him, thoroughly unimpressed. "Care to explain?"

"Sorry," Blaine repeated, "I was in the garden and lost track of time." It was an innocent enough answer, but his father was already irritated and not inclined to let it go. He just sighed loudly and turned back to Mr. Smythe, who hadn't left. "See you tomorrow, Ritch." He said, and strode off towards the doors. Blaine followed along with his mother, and allowed his thoughts to drift once more to earlier in the evening. It didn't matter so much that his father was angry with him, or that mutants were out there attacking people, because by the time the Andersons were in their car and driving home, Blaine was far away from it all, back in the maze garden beside Kurt, where nothing was wrong and no one could hurt him.

The press room was filled with the clicking and flashing of cameras and the excited babble of reporters. Blaine found himself sitting in the front row before the stage, watching as his father approached the podium. The crowd was roaring with noise, and Blaine could see his father speaking, but he couldn't seem to hear the words. And yet his father's message was crystal clear in his mind, and the audience seemed to be roiling with excitement and agreement:

"We meet here today in grievous circumstances," his father called out to the press, spreading his arms wide, "I am here today to announce the death of my beloved father, at the hands of Burt Hummel! The man has killed my father, and he's going to kill us all!"

Blaine hadn't noticed Mr. Hummel until now, standing on the stage opposite his father. His face was stern angry, and the crowd was shouting and booing. "He's going to kill us all!" Blaine's father repeated, but Mr. Hummel just smiled.

"But there's nothing wrong with Ohio." The man said, gesturing around them. All of a sudden, there was a large garden of plants behind the podium and Blaine wasn't sure how they got there. They were writhing in the soil, though, and someone began to scream.

Blaine was running. They were all running. His heart was pounding with fear. His legs wouldn't move fast enough. There were leaves all over the floor. He could feel the branches and vines on his heels. There were people everywhere, dressed in their dinner things. People were screaming. He couldn't see his father anywhere. He didn't recognise anyone until –

Blaine had turned into the ballroom now, because he needed to get to the garden. Everyone was running to the garden for safety... and suddenly, Blaine glimpsed him through the crowd and time stopped: Kurt Hummel was up ahead, standing by the garden doors. He was searching through the crowd, lost, his eyes wide with fear. And a terrible feeling settled in the pit of Blaine's stomach, a foreboding so strong it almost stung behind his eyes.

"Kurt!" Blaine called, but his voice didn't seem to be working. He called again but realised, horrified, that he couldn't make a sound. He could see Kurt hesitating, turning to leave and run into the garden. Away from him. Blaine could feel the panic rising in his chest and he immediately followed.

He watched as Kurt turned and fled through the iron archway - into the maze - and Blaine was outside now, following him. The maze was empty, and everything seemed oddly bright and cold. He could see Kurt at the end of the lane, flitting around the corner and deeper into the labyrinth. Blaine knew he had to catch him; something awful would happen if he didn't. "Kurt!" He called. His voice still wasn't working and he began to run. He caught a glimpse of Kurt as the boy disappeared around another corner, further and further away from him and his eyes were stinging. He just needed to call to him, to stop him –

He turned the corner and came to the centre of the maze, the pinnacle, where all the pathways met. He almost never came here; there were always too many people, attracted by the majesty of the garden's inner sanctum. But he recognised the fountain: It was an immense gothic structure, made of stone and marble, which measured about eighteen feet in diameter. Water bubbled furiously from the carved floral centrepiece, into the basin below. It sounded like the rushing roar of a waterfall.

Kurt was there, standing on the raised edge of the fountain, facing away from him.

He was looking down into the water, and Blaine felt himself shiver. His heart was pounding and the sky was dark. "Kurt, get away from there!" He said, hurrying towards the edge. Kurt looked down at him blankly and didn't say anything. Blaine grabbed at his hand, making to pull him away, but suddenly he was being forced onto the edge too, looking down into an impossibly deep pool of water. The sky grew darker and darker, and Blaine made to pull him and Kurt away, out of the maze. But Kurt wouldn't move. The plants around them started swaying frantically, as a heavy wind began to rise. "Kurt!" Blaine called, but the boy didn't seem to hear him. The wind was howling now, leaves and debris blowing in their faces, and the branches around them began to leap and dive, like the plants in the press room. They were pulling and snaking their way towards them but Blaine couldn't move, not without Kurt.

And then he was being lurched forward, Kurt clutching his hand as they dove into the dark, churning water of the fountain. The cold water seemed to hit him like a fist, and they were immediately submerged. Everything was black and icy, the current immediately pulling them back and forth. He could see Kurt beside him, floating lifelessly in the gloom, his eyes staring listlessly around them. Blaine shut his own eyes and struggled in the surf. He began to panic. He needed to pull them to the surface, but he couldn't breath. His chest was aching and he wondered how Kurt could look so calm...

Alone in his bedroom, Blaine woke with a start, the only darkness surrounding him being the darkness of the night.

Despite his irritation at Kurt's disappearance, Burt seemed to accept the story that he'd simply been wondering around the garden and lost track of time. Of course, Kurt made no mention of Blaine and (he thought numbly) he didn't have to – who would ever suspect him of sneaking around with a boy? Because deep down, Kurt knew that he shouldn't have. He knew that the responsible thing to have done would have been to let Blaine walk away, a stranger into the night. He knew that instead he had gotten himself into a very dangerous game.

Yet at the same time, Kurt was tired. No, he was exhausted, and Finn's words were still buzzing in his head, louder than ever: You wouldn't know a loving relationship if it hit you in the face. And every time he heard it, Kurt found himself caring less and less about the risks; and more and more about Blaine. He was tired of being lonely, and he was angry at everyone and everything that had made it so. The empty feeling in his chest seemed to have erupted into flames during his fight with Finn, and Kurt couldn't control it. And then he'd met Blaine, and none of it had mattered. Suddenly every rational thought in his head was burning to a cinder, every argument that had ever told him he wasn't allowed to love. Suddenly none of it had seemed important anymore, because Blaine had appeared right there in front of him and everything had made sense. The empty feeling was gone, and Blaine had taken its place. The first thing Kurt had seen of him were his eyes, golden-hazel and bright, staring at him the way Rachel stared at Finn: like he was the greatest thing in the world. And they had sat together, and they had talked for hours, and the entire time Kurt's heart had felt like it was about to explode. It wasn't like talking to Rachel, or to Mercedes. Their conversation had felt deeper, more stimulating, and it had felt honest. Kurt knew that to an outsider it could be explained away by hormones, or lust. But it hadn't felt that way. There had been no flirting, no suggestion of anything more than the fascination of one mind for another.

And then the cold reality had hit him like gunfire: the reality that Blaine Anderson would never love him. Because the ache in Kurt's chest couldn't change what he really was, and no matter how much he could try to hide it, the truth would never change: Kurt Hummel was a monster, and no one could ever know. And he knew the charade couldn't last forever, just as much as he and Blaine couldn't. Because one day Kurt would have to stop lying, and on that day Blaine would stop loving him and he'd be as good as dead.

And as much as Kurt knew that it wouldn't last, how surely he knew that it would only lead to heartbreak, he didn't want to let Blaine go. He didn't want to face that emptiness inside of him just yet - knowing that this time it would be permanent, and there would be nobody to fill it ever again. And the saying: that 'it is better to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all' seemed to him, to make perfect sense.

Blaine shivered as his feet hit the cold tiled floors of the kitchen. The only light came from the numbers on the microwave, reflecting off the dark marble counters and stainless steel appliances. He was still shaking from his nightmare as he shuffled towards the fridge and poured himself a glass of water. He'd placed his phone upon the counter, and as he sipped he couldn't tear his eyes from it. Placing his glass in the sink, Blaine turned to pick it up. Before he could stop and think, the text had been sent and it was too late:

To: Kurt Hummel
Can I see you tomorrow?

He stood silently for a moment, listening to the whirring of the fridge and the hum of electricity, as though expecting Kurt to answer back. So when his phone buzzed in his hand, he almost had a heart attack. He unlocked his phone and stared at the reply:

From: Kurt Hummel
Meet me at the Lima Bean at 2?

Blaine could feel the warmth returning to his limbs as he read Kurt's reply. Perhaps it was the knowledge that Kurt was awake too, and maybe even thinking about him, that made him feel so much calmer all of a sudden. He tapped out his affirmative and sent it to Kurt. The darkness of the kitchen didn't seem so sinister anymore, and Blaine found himself smiling slightly as he made his way up the stairs towards his room. He was going to see Kurt tomorrow; he would tell him about his father and they could talk about it. They would fix it together, and work it all out. The anxiety in Blaine's chest had transformed into hope, and before he knew it, he was fast asleep.

It was three-thirty in the morning and Kurt couldn't sleep. His head was buzzing with white noise and guilt and Blaine. He knew he shouldn't have replied to the text, but he had anyway. It was pointless believing he wouldn't have – he was in too deep. He stared up at his ceiling: a small orange orb floated languidly above his head, the fire flickering softly and casting ever-moving shadows over the walls. It tilted and twirled, and Kurt wondered whether if he stared at it long enough, his thoughts would just melt away like burning paper and he'd fall asleep. Because if he fell asleep, maybe he wouldn't have to admit to himself that when he had held hands with Blaine Anderson, for the first time in his life he hadn't felt so cold.