"Finished!" Kurt announced, throwing his pencil down and stretching luxuriously. He looked down at his sketch pad, tilting his head as he tried to consider the work from an objective point-of-view. He thought it was pretty good. A good start, at least. It would probably be even better if he could match outfits to bodies, but until they casted Wicked, these preliminary sketches were as good as they would get.

"Finished?" Rachel peeked her head in his room from the hallway.

Kurt nodded, a lazy smile on his face. He was glad he had finished the character sketches by Friday; now he could relax, for the first weekend in months.

Rachel fully entered the room, casually sauntering over to his desk. "Who were you working on?"

"Fiyero," Kurt told her, gathering up the said sketch and tucking it into his folder. He had a feeling he knew what was coming. "And no, you can't see it."

Rachel seemed to take this in stride, a familiar fervor lighting her eyes. “Fiyero is such an important character, as the love interest. He really has to mesh perfectly with m— with Elphaba.” She paused, her eyes flicking back to the folder still in Kurt’s hand, her expression itching with unsatisfied curiosity. “Maybe I could just take a little peek at Elphaba’s—”

“No,” Kurt said firmly, laughing a bit as he pulled the folder out of Rachel’s reach and stuck it into his briefcase. “You know the rules. They’ll kill me if I show anyone any of this stuff.”

“Fine.” Rachel pouted, then jutted her jaw out obstinately. “But when I get Elphaba, you have to promise you’ll listen to my ideas. I think early Elphaba would look superb with an animal-print sweater...”

“We’ll see,” Kurt said, suppressing a smile. Some things never changed. He was glad Rachel was still her irrepressible self. She had been acting weird all week, shooting him furtive glances when she thought he wasn’t looking and refusing to explain what her phone call on Monday had been about. Kurt had bigger things to worry about, so he hadn’t spared it all too much thought, but he had to wonder what was going on. Hopefully she wasn’t pregnant or something. Rachel was crazy enough without added hormones.

“So,” Rachel began, giving him a significant look, “what are your plans for the rest of tonight?”

Kurt shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I was just going to stay home and watch a movie or something.” God, my life is pathetic. So much for his high school dreams of moving to New York and magically gaining a riveting social life. He didn’t even have any real friends other than Rachel, unless Santana counted, and she had been so busy with work that he’d hardly seen her over the past year. Maybe he should spend more time on the whole making-friends thing.

Rachel was still giving him a look, and Kurt realized she probably had something planned. “Why? Did you want to do something?”

“Well, yes,” Rachel said, biting her lip. “But not with you.”

Kurt raised his eyebrows. “Wow, okay.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that!” Rachel hurried to say. “I just meant... look, why don’t you pop into Cooper’s for awhile?”

“Because I don’t want to go to Cooper’s and because Cooper kind-of-sort-of-really hates my guts for some indiscernible reason?” Kurt looked at her like she was crazy, and really, she was. He hadn’t stepped foot into Cooper’s since the incident the year before. No way he was doing it tonight.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Rachel protested.

Kurt stared at her.

“Okay, fine,” Rachel relented. “Fine, yes, he hates you. But it’s not like he’s a waiter. He’ll be in the back. He won’t even know you’re there.”

“Why are you so intent on me going to Cooper’s?” Kurt asked suspiciously.

Rachel blushed, the color standing out vividly on her pale skin. “I wanted to invite James over.”

Kurt nodded, uncomprehending.

“Here,” Rachel stressed. “He would be coming here.”

“Right,” Kurt said, still not understanding. “And I have to go to Cooper’s because...?”

“Because— because— well, because we want you to check out the live performance!” Rachel spluttered. “I think I heard that they got a new band, and James and I want to know if they’re any good.”

“Here’s an idea,” Kurt said slowly. “Why don’t you and James go see if the band’s any good, since it’s you and James who care?”

“Oh, come on, Kurt,” Rachel pleaded. “You’re a better judge than we are. I mean, your musical taste is impeccable!”

Kurt rolled his eyes. “Yes, that’s true, but flattery is not going to work on me. And you can stop with the puppy eyes, too, I’m pretty immune to them. Just tell me why you want me out of here so badly.”

“I told you,” Rachel said, looking weary. “I’m bringing James here and we’d like some privacy.”

“I can stay in my room,” Kurt said, bewildered. “It’s not a problem, I won’t even—”

“I WANT TO HAVE SEX WITH MY BOYFRIEND!” Rachel shouted, her eyes wild.

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Oh,” Kurt finally said, his voice small.

“Yes,” Rachel breathed.

“Okay, well...” Kurt trailed off, not sure how to handle the situation. Somehow, during the past six years of living together, they had managed to avoid the awkwardness of this particular circumstance. Kurt wished the Earth would open up and swallow him down, or that he could melt like the Wicked Witch.

“So, if you could just...” Rachel muttered.

“Yeah, I— I’ll just leave for...” Kurt stammered, his words overlapping with Rachel’s.

They both stopped talking, waited for the other to speak, then laughed uncomfortably.

Kurt cleared his throat. “Just text me or call me when you’re, um, done. Or whatever.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Rachel said, refusing to meet his eyes and instead staring fixedly at Kurt’s ceiling fan.

“I should get going,” Kurt murmured. He stood up, grabbed a light sweater from his closet in case it got chilly outside, and stopped in front of Rachel on his way to the door. “Have fun,” he told her. She nodded, shifting from foot to foot. Kurt hurried out of his room. The faster he could leave the awkwardness of the apartment, the better he would feel.

“Wait!”

Kurt turned around to face Rachel halfheartedly. “Yes?”

“Where are you going to go?” Rachel asked.

“I’m not that hungry. I think I might take a walk in Central Park and pick up a hotdog or something on the way home. Don’t worry,” he added, at the panicked look Rachel wore, “I won’t come back until you tell me to.

“No,” Rachel said quickly. “You have to go to Cooper’s! Remember? We need you to scope out the band!”

“Rachel—” Kurt started to say, exasperated by her pickiness.

“You can’t just walk around Central Park for hours,” Rachel insisted.

“Hours? What are you guys doing, holding a marathon?” Kurt asked incredulously.

“Please, Kurt. I’d feel so much better knowing you were safe. At Cooper’s.”

Kurt studied her, his eyes narrowed. Something was definitely going on, and he had a feeling it had nothing to do with her boyfriend. What was she hiding? Kurt thought he had a right to be suspicious, but Rachel looked so sincere and concerned that he decided he would press her for answers later. Maybe she’d be more willing to tell the truth after loosening up a bit.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll go to Cooper’s.”

Rachel squealed, then threw her arms around Kurt. “Thank you, thank you!” She pulled back and looked at Kurt seriously, her hands on his shoulders. “You know I love you and want you to be happy, right? And that I would never do anything that I thought would hurt you?”

“Okay, crazy lady.” Kurt laughed and peeled Rachel off of him. “I’m leaving before you start singing to me. I’ll see you later tonight, okay? Please don’t forget to let me know when my home is safe to inhabit again.”

“I will!” Rachel said happily. “Have a good time, okay, Kurt?”

“Will do.” Kurt opened the front door. “Oh, and stay out of my room and the kitchen,” he added. He laughed at the indignant “Kurt!” that followed him out the door and into the evening.

The sky was beautiful, a dusky blue smeared with clouds and shot through with a lovely scarlet from the setting sun. It was the type of sunset that couples remarked on as they headed out, lost in the embrace of each other and the gentle caress of the evening breeze.

All this beauty, and no one to share it with. Kurt looked at the sky wistfully for a moment, then shook his head. He decided he would walk to Cooper's instead of taking the car. If he couldn’t share the night, he would at least enjoy it.

---

It was a Friday night, and Kurt’s world was flipped onto its side, flopping like a fish out of water as it struggled to adapt.

Because Kurt had walked into Cooper’s, and on the stage was a person he had honestly never expected to see again.

Blaine.

It took all of his willpower to keep walking, to convince his feet and brain that flight was not an option.

Kurt murmured excuses to inquiring waiters, his body on autopilot. He kept walking— no, not walking, that would imply normalcy and this was a dream, could only be a dream— he glided toward the front of the room, gravitating to the seats directly in front of the stage, where he collapsed into a chair and fixed his eyes on Blaine.

Blaine, for his part, seemed completely oblivious to Kurt’s presence. He stood on the stage, tuning his guitar like he had the last time Kurt had seen him, but he looked different. Not just the way his hair was gelled down, like it had been in high school, but the way he held himself. His back was ramrod-straight, his expression guarded. Before, when Kurt had watched him perform, Blaine had looked so alive. Now he looked like a wounded animal who had been pressed back against a corner. Kurt felt an irrational anger, a need to punish whoever had done that to Blaine.

You hardly know him, he reminded himself. He told himself to shut up, choosing instead to focus on Blaine again.

Blaine took much longer than usual to tune, and he stumbled through one of the popular songs that was currently being overplayed on the radio, but despite his imperfections— maybe because of them— he seemed so real to Kurt.

Blaine went through his set, taking longer to transition between songs and find the right key than he ever had before. He held the guitar like he was relearning it, a stark contrast to the extension of his body that it had seemed to be the year before. Yes, Blaine had changed. And Kurt believed that he himself had changed, too.

Kurt had thought about Blaine often, daily, in the days following his departure to California. Then, as time had continued to tick on, unforgiving, thoughts of Blaine had dwindled like the leaves on the trees in Central Park during October. Eventually, Blaine became a memory that resurfaced only in the drifting moments between sleep and consciousness, when his walls were down and his priorities muddled. He had thought of Blaine recently, of course, after the subject had been brought up by Rachel, but he had felt somewhat disconnected from the memory, as if it were someone else and not Kurt who had spent his birthday with Blaine.

But now, as he sat in Cooper’s, surrounded by an unfocused bumble of chatter, everything rushed back. The memory of Blaine overtook Kurt, overwhelming his senses and stealing air from his lungs. There was something powerful about being in his presence, something that triggered his memory and evoked the same feelings he had had that night.

The heady intoxication of Blaine’s breath ghosting over his lips.

Kurt didn’t care.

The upturned smile he could feel against his mouth.

Kurt had been drunk. There was no way the memory was even accurate.

The way Blaine’s eyes had glowed, like all the best of Autumn days melted into liquid fire.

No. No.

He didn’t need this. He did not need this. He didn’t need to fall back into the past. He needed to look ahead, he needed to keep going, he needed to stand up and walk out of Cooper’s without looking back.

But he didn’t do any of this. Instead, he stayed in his seat, unable to find his legs, unable to do anything but sit and watch helplessly as Blaine abandoned his guitar and walked over to the piano onstage. He slid onto the seat and touched a few keys softly with his fingers, as if he were greeting an old friend. Then, without playing any practice scales or hesitating for even a moment, Blaine launched into the opening notes of a song that sounded familiar to Kurt.

Blaine started the chorus uncertainly, his voice soft and tentative. The song seemed perfect for him, made for him, as he floated from one word to the next, his fingers running effortlessly over the ivories as they sent out a simple refrain.

Am I brave enough to cross that line
and come undone through your space and mind?

Blaine seemed to become less tense and more sure of himself as he continued the next verse and returned to the chorus. His voice was smooth, his expression light and free. This was the Blaine that Kurt remembered.

It’s not impossible to find a way
to hold and stay with gravity.

As Kurt watched him, he thought that this was perhaps the most beautiful man that he had ever seen, that he would ever see. He thought about forgetting everything, forgetting work and Rachel and obligations, and just staying in this world forever, a world in which he could sit and listen to Blaine sing and see the little things he did when he thought no one was paying attention to him— the way he’d dart his hand up during notes to scratch his nose, the way he closed his eyes on drawn-out words, the way he moved his head up and down to match the rhythm of the lyrics. Kurt wanted to be the only one to notice these things about Blaine.

And those were dangerous thoughts to have.

This was too much. He had to leave. Coming here was a stupid idea, and staying would be an even worse idea. He had to leave. Now.

Will you look inside?
Don’t wait too long,
don’t hold your breath.
Just carry on and make this world alive.

Kurt forced himself to stand up from his seat and turn away from the stage, but as soon as he rose, Blaine glanced up from the piano and straight at Kurt. His fingers slipped and he stumbled over a chord, but to his credit, he continued playing.

Kurt felt as if the world had frozen around him. He saw the diners around him eating, chatting thoughtlessly with each other, but they were nothing to him. There was only him, and Blaine, and the song, Blaine’s voice shaky as he continued it, his eyes locked on Kurt’s.

Don’t let it go, don’t lock it up.
I’m falling with your gravity.

Kurt kept staring at Blaine, rendered immobile by his gaze. There was nothing he could do. He was lost now. There would be no choices involved. He couldn’t walk away from those eyes.

Kurt sat back down because his legs were shaking. He watched mutely as Blaine finished the song and walked offstage to minimal applause. He couldn’t have been finished with his set yet, but he was gone.

Kurt considered that this may be the perfect moment to make his escape, to leave while he had a chance, to carry on. Unbidden, a line from a T.S. Eliot poem he had read years ago in college sprang to the forefront of his mind. Do I dare disturb the universe? Did he dare? He didn’t feel as if he had a choice in the matter. His universe was already in tumult.

Before he could even muster up the courage and strength of limbs to leave, Blaine reentered the dining area, sans guitar, looking pale and wary as he approached Kurt. Kurt just looked at him, but Blaine said nothing. He sat down in the chair next to Kurt, not close enough to touch him, and they both stared at the empty stage for a minute.

It was, Kurt thought, the most awkward minute of his life.

Blaine finally broke the strain. “Hi,” he said, quietly, his voice controlled as he continued to stare at the stage. It was like he didn’t trust himself to look at Kurt. Or was that how Kurt felt in regards to looking at Blaine? He didn’t know. Nothing made sense any more.

“Hi,” Kurt said, equally quiet, equally cautious. He felt they were on uncertain grounds, but he wasn’t sure why that was. “You— you remember me?”

Blaine laughed then, a low chuckle, and Kurt felt himself flush red. Obviously Blaine remembered him, he wouldn't have just come out here and sat next to him for no reason. But Blaine didn’t make fun of him, just nodded. “Oh yeah.” The way he said it made Kurt unsure if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

There was a pause, the beginning of another awkward silence that Kurt scrambled to cover with words. "So, the singing— the song— I mean, you sounded... really good."

“Thanks,” Blaine said, looking unconvinced.

“No, really!” Kurt said earnestly. “That song was perfect for your voice. Your, um... your tone. It was good.” Your tone was good? What was wrong with him?

Blaine gave a tiny smile. “Thanks,” he said again, but this time like he meant it. “I love that song. Asher Book is great.”

Kurt’s brain clicked, and he remembered where he had heard the song. “Fame, right? I’ve only seen it once, but I remember that song sticking in my mind for some reason.”

Blaine nodded. “It’s one of my favorites.”

“It’s good to see you’re still singing. It‘s been awhile since the last time I heard you,” Kurt ventured to say, easing into the first mention of anything substantial. He wanted to ask what Blaine was doing back from California, why Cooper hated Kurt so much, why Blaine had left without telling him. But he knew he would be overstepping boundaries. He felt a strange connection to Blaine, a strange pull that made him feel as if they knew each other even though they were virtually strangers, but he wasn’t sure how Blaine viewed him. At best, with friendliness. At the moment, with what seemed to be caution.

“I don’t really sing much. Not... not anymore,” Blaine said, still looking at the stage. “I don’t— my brother, he owns this restaurant? He kind of forced me to sing in return for rent, but I think I’d rather pay the rent. I shouldn’t be— I can’t be singing anymore.” He opened his mouth, closed it, then glanced at Kurt out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear this.”

“No,” Kurt said softly. “No, I do.”

Blaine pursed his lips, but didn’t say anything more. Kurt waited patiently for Blaine to continue, but he seemed unwilling or unable to.

“Why are you here?” Kurt asked him, careful to look anywhere but directly at Blaine. Now he was overstepping boundaries, because that question was more than just an inquiry as to whether he was here for personal or business reasons. That question was Why are you singing if you shouldn’t be? That question was Why are you sitting here, right now, next to me? That question was Why won’t you look at me? And, more than anything, that question was What does this mean?

Blaine didn‘t speak immediately, and Kurt worried he had said something wrong, but finally Blaine said, his voice careful, “To prove something to myself.”

“Did you?” Kurt asked, turning his head fully to look at Blaine.

Blaine looked back at him, his eyes a dark green in the darkness of the room. “I still am.”

Sitting this close together, their faces were inches apart. It was an uncomfortable talking distance, and Kurt felt as if he should move back or turn his head, but he couldn’t. For the second time that night, he was locked onto Blaine’s eyes.

He watched as if he were in a dream, watched as Blaine’s gaze languidly flicked down toward Kurt’s lips, and Kurt felt his breath hitch in his throat as Blaine moved his head infinitesimally closer...

Blaine blinked then, and the moment was lost. He abruptly stood from his chair. “I’ve got to go,” he muttered, and without even looking down at Kurt or waiting for a reply, he escaped into the kitchens, leaving a flustered and incomprehensibly disappointed Kurt behind.

---

Kurt hadn't made it home for another hour that night. Instead, he had walked to Central Park and sat on a bench, reliving what had happened, going over it multiple times in his brain, trying to make sense of everything. When Rachel had finally called him and told him he could come home, he hadn't told her anything about his night, even though he was pretty positive that she had had a large part in the entire situation. She hadn't asked him about the live performer she had wanted him to investigate so badly, and he hadn't broached the topic for two reasons. One, he felt that talking about what had happened would somehow betray whatever strange thing he had with Blaine. Two, Rachel had enough on her mind what with the Wicked auditions.

On Tuesday morning, Kurt left early to head to the theater. Rachel, as one of the candidates, wasn't expected for another couple of hours, but Kurt wasn't sure that she would last that long. When he'd left her that morning, she had been chanting lyrics under her breath and had looked as green as Elphaba.

At least she won't need any makeup done if she gets the part, Kurt thought wryly. He wasn't allowed to play favorites— he was lucky enough that he was even being allowed to sit in on the auditions— but he was rooting for Rachel, of course. After years in New York with no big break, she was running on desperation now. He hoped with all his being that she got the part, and not just because she would be inconsolable if she didn't.

Kurt kept himself busy as much as possible before the auditions started, but every moment he had a bit of downtime, images of Blaine would flit into his mind. It was quickly becoming an obsession. His problem was that he could never just fall for a guy— he always fell hard.

He was grateful when they were finally ready to begin the auditions. The song that Blaine had performed the night before was playing in a constant loop in his head, and he was eager to get it out.

They started with those auditioning for smaller parts. Person after person trailed onto the stage, all of their voices blurring in Kurt's mind. They were all good, though some were better than others. A few names stuck out in his head— Jonathan Moore, who was made to play Doctor Dillamond; Corey White, a new but talented actor who shone as Boq. He loved the people who immediately brought costume ideas into his head; they were the auditions who occupied his mind.

After hours of auditions, Kurt was beginning to feel exhausted. If one more person came out and said, "This is my dream role!" he was going to shoot himself. He could leave, he supposed, but he had promised Rachel he would watch and support her.

Just then, a harried assistant ran onstage to announce that, after a mix-up with the set audition times, Fiyero auditions would come after Glinda and Elphaba.

One less person to sit through. Kurt decided to leave after the Elphaba auditions. He didn't technically have to be there, and anyway, he was sitting in the back and could leave without disturbing anyone.

After a few blonde lookalikes with admittedly talented voices had finished auditioning for Glinda, it was finally time for Elphaba. Kurt settled back in his seat, completely focused now. He had to size up Rachel's competition.

The first girl was notable only because she was so terrible. She had stood still and stared straight at the wall as she inexplicably sang Dear Old Shiz.

After her, there were a slew of unremarkable girls. Kurt glanced at the casting director, who hadn't seemed thrilled by any of them, and felt a flutter of hope in his chest. This boded well for Rachel's chances, as long as she didn't choke. He didn't think she would, though— after all the practice she had been doing for the past couple of months, she could probably sing the song in her sleep.

At last, it was Rachel's turn. Kurt scooted up toward the edge of the seat, feeling much more nervous than she appeared to be. He hardly breathed at all while she sang, nervous that any movement on his part would somehow distract her, but her rendition of Defying Gravity was pitch-perfect. Watching her, Kurt could see how much she wanted this. She poured her essence into the performance, in typical Rachel Berry fashion. It was all Kurt could do to resist clapping wildly at the end.

After Rachel came, one final candidate for Elphaba, a Broadway veteran named Laney Anderson. Her voice was amazing, and she really owned the stage, but it was Kurt's (completely unbiased) opinion that Rachel conveyed more of Elphaba's character. Still, she and Rachel were both amazing. The casting director would have a hard time deciding.

The assistant from before scurried back onstage. "We'll conclude with the Fiyero candidates!"

Kurt grabbed his satchel from where he had placed it near his feet, then stood up and stepped into the aisle. He should go find Rachel; she was probably overanalyzing and critiquing her performance. Maybe he would take her out to eat. Anywhere but Cooper's.

Kurt was only a few steps from the exit when he heard it.

"My name is Blaine Anderson, and I'm auditioning for Fiyero."