"Dear, I still dont think hes ready for this."

Blaine moved past his mother and set down the piano bench in front of the piano. It was the last piece of his belongings from the old house, now moved into the basement-bedroom of their new one. After living just outside of Westerville for over twenty years, his parents had finally retired and moved out to Lima. For the most part it was a small town surrounded by farms, but there were a few little suburbs in the main town. His parents had picked an older house there, one that had been half the price of the others in the neighborhood.

"Mom, Ill be fine down here," Blaine said. He sat on the bench and adjusted it until he was set up perfectly. Finally, he had the piano, that his parents had bought long before his brother was born and never used, in his room. He could play at all hours of the day and night now. "I wont wake you up playing early on the weekends and it gives you all of that space upstairs."

"Come on, Cassie," his father said as he carried a tray of drinks and sandwiches down. "Thisll be great for him. Cooper never comes out to visit anyway, so this would just sit empty. Blaines almost seventeen. Another year and hell be away at school. Having him in the basement will help all of us start to adjust to that transition."

"Well," his mother frowned around the room and checked the lock on the one small window. "I have always wanted a formal sitting room. And I can use that extra room upstairs for an office."

Blaines father passed out the glasses of lemonade and sandwiches. They ate at the piano and then Blaine was left alone to start unpacking.

After six hours of putting his books and clothes away in their new places, Blaine took a shower and got ready for bed. It was unusually quiet when he stepped into his room. At their old house, his bedroom had been on the top floor across the hall from his parents. Thered always been some sort of sound – the air conditioning, water in the pipes, the television in his parents room. But down here, in this dim, cozy basement-bedroom there was only silence and his own breathing. It was a little eerie, but Blaine shrugged into his pajama top and got into bed.

As soon as he turned his bed lamp out, Blaine laid very still. It was going to take some getting used to, being down here in a cement basement all by himself. He stared up into the darkness overhead and listened. But there was still only silence. There was nothing and nobody here but himself.

Once his eyes adjusted, Blaine rolled onto his side and shut his eyes. It was no different than his room at home. Being uncomfortable was normal in a new house, a new room. He was just calming himself down enough to drift off when a key on the piano chimed faintly. His body went rigid at the sound, his breath clinging to his throat. He must be imagining things. Hed done that almost constantly as a boy. It might have even been an old key stuck. The highest C-sharp had been touchy lately.

Bing!

This time Blaine sat bolt upright in bed. A different note had chimed. It wasnt just a stuck key. Terrified, Blaine stared over at the piano, but nobody was there. Just the beautiful piano hed grown up playing on. Carefully, Blaine turned the light on and moved over towards the piano.

Bing!

No, the key wasnt stuck. He played a few chords and stared around his new room. Maybe so much loading and then unloading in the summer heat had scrambled his brains a bit. There was nobody in here but himself. But still, he had to be sure. He looked up the stairs, checked under them, all around the main room, the closet, the bathroom (even behind the shower curtain that was pulled shut), under his bed, and then the window to see that it was locked. Nothing was out of place.

Blaine climbed back into bed, turned the light out, and shut his eyes. He was being stupid. Maybe hed been playing for so long that his ears would ring with the sound for the rest of his life.

Bing!

Blaine flinched and pulled his covers up higher. It was just his imagination.

Ba-da-bing!

There was nothing weird going on. No, nothing out of place.

The piano rang out with a powerful A-chord and Blaine bolted upstairs and out of sight.

"Blaine? Dear, why are you sleeping on the couch?"

His mother was staring over him, looking concerned. Blaine blinked a few times and tried to remember where he was and what had happened.

"Blaine?"

"Oh, I was washing my bedding last night and must have fallen asleep," Blaine invented as he recalled the creepy piano. "Is it morning already?"

His mother smiled and kissed his cheek. "Its probably all wrinkled now if you left it in," she said. "Ill go–"

"No! I– I mean, Ill finish it. Ive got to know how to do this stuff soon enough, Mom," Blaine said. He folded up the blanket hed pulled from the back of the couch and pretended to duck into the laundry room. Once his mother was out of sight, he eased the door to his room open and peered down the dim stairs. Even in mid-day sunlight his room was dim.

"Hello?"

Nothing and nobody greeted him. Blaine slowly made his way downstairs and found his room just as hed left it. Still nervous, Blaine changed and went back upstairs for the rest of the day.

For the next week, Blaine slept with the lights on. He bought a padlock and fitted it to the piano key cover and only opened it for his own playing. Still, strange things happened when he was out with his friends during the day. The piano remained untouched, but the books on his desk were stacked in alphabet order when he got back from Warblers practice on Monday. Tuesday gave him a color-coded organization to his bow tie drawer. His shoes were all neatly paired up on the floor of his walk-in closet when he got in late Wednesday night, and by Saturday his entire closet was organized by colors and patterns.

It was alarming but nice, too. Hed always tried to keep his own clothing organized by color, but a week into it he always gave up and put things wherever they would fit. On Sunday, Blaine stayed in and played all day. In another week school would be starting up and he needed to be ready to play for all of his music classes and clubs.

"Blaine?" His fathers head ducked around the bend in the stairs. "Its one in the morning. Time to call it quits for the night."

"But–"

"You can play all day tomorrow, too," his father said. "Go on, bed time for both of us."

Blaine yawned as his father forced him off the bench and into bed.

"Goodnight."

"Night, Dad."

Blaine fell asleep almost immediately, only to be woken by the chime of the piano. He groaned and tried to go back to sleep. But it chimed again, several notes in a sixteenth-note rhythm. Blaine rubbed his eyes and stared over at the piano blearily. Even in the dark he could see someone sitting on the bench, but they were faint and bright. He squinted and sat up.

"Hello?"

The piano gave a horrible screech, like someone had smacked their entire arm across the keys. Even as Blaine flung his blankets off himself, the figure sped away from the piano and faded into the far wall.

"No, come back!"

But there was only silence. Blaine pressed his hands to the wall helplessly. A ghost. That was who was behind all of the strange things happening in his room. He called out to it for a long time, tried playing the piano in the dark to bring it back into the room, but nothing worked.

"Dad? Did the realtor say why our house was so much cheaper than the others?" Blaine asked at breakfast the next morning.

His dad took a sip of his coffee and frowned down at the newspaper. "Hmm?"

"The house," Blaine repeated. "Did the realtor say why it was so cheap?"

"Old structural damage," his mother said from her seat at the head of the table. "There was a fire here about a decade ago. They restructured almost the entire house, put it back on the market but nobody stayed long. Margaret didnt say why. Renters usually dont stay long, dear."

"Oh," Blaine said. He finished his oatmeal and thought over what hed heard. Was that ghost from the fire? Was it the reason people kept leaving? Surely he wasnt the only one to have encountered it since the fire a decade ago. "May I be excused?"

"Of course. More piano practice?"

Blaine nodded as he stood up. "I need to be ready for next week."

Again, Blaine played all day. He went upstairs for dinner and then a movie with his friends at the theater in town. When he got home the house was silent. He looked around the dark living room, kitchen, the dining room. Nothing had moved in here since theyd finished unpacking. His room seemed to be the only one where it was happening. He grabbed a snack and then sat outside his bedroom door to wait and listen. This ghost, whoever it was, seemed to only play in the silence of the night.

After half an hour, when Blaine was starting to fall asleep against the door frame, the piano began to play. It was slow and bumpy at first, full of mistakes and pauses, but whoever was playing had had some type of lessons. Blaine sat and listened, carefully open his door and easing down the stairs. I Giorni. That was what the ghost was playing. It was a beautiful song Blaine had learned a few years into his lessons and to this day it was still one of his favorites. Only last year hed played it at a concert for school.

He paused as the song began to even out, the notes becoming stronger and truer, more steady. Blaine peered around the bend in the stairs. The same faint person was there, only this time he, for it was a boy his age, was more solid in appearance. He was cloudy from head to toe, but little stretches of darkness and brightness gave his features and clothes definition. His hair was styled up towards the ceiling, his cheekbones were high and sharp. The sight surprised Blaine, but the boy was alarming in how natural his beauty was.

The boy continued to play, a smile blooming on his face as he slowly rediscovered his talent. When he finished, he laughed, bright and happy. Blaine was mesmerized.

"That was beautiful."

The boy flew back from the piano, his legs passing right through the bench as he headed towards that same wall.

"No, wait! Please!" Blaine called as he hurried down the stairs. "I just want to thank you and talk!"

Right at the wall, the boy paused, one hand sinking into the cement as he turned to stare anxiously at Blaine.

"My names Blaine," he said as he stopped a few feet from the ghost boy. "You play beautifully. I Giorni is one of my favorites."

"You know it?"

Blaine beamed as the boy turned and looked him over. "Yeah, I learned to play it when I was little. I started lessons when I was three because I wouldnt leave the piano alone. My parents bought it just for a show piece, but I spent all day at it, trying to figure it out."

The ghost boy nodded and floated down until his feet touched the floor. Blaine looked his clothing over and was surprised to see a very fashion-forward outfit. It certainly didnt ring of the late nineties, but it was modern.

"Are– did you live here?"

The ghost nodded again. "My parents and me. I keep thinking it was only yesterday, but my dads gone and theres been so many people coming and going."

Upstairs the floor creaked. Someone was headed to the kitchen. The ghost boy moved swiftly towards the wall. "I have to go."

"But– at least tell me your name. Or come back tomorrow night."

The boy stared at him, and Blaine swore his cloudy eyes sparkled. "Kurt. My names Kurt."

"Blaine? Are you still awake?"

The boy disappeared into the wall as his father descended the stairs. "You forgot to close the door."

"Sorry, I was– meant to go get a snack before bed," Blaine lied as he stared at the wall.

His father disappeared back upstairs and closed the door. Blaine patted the wall carefully, but it didnt yield to his touch. "Please, come back, Kurt."

It was three nights before Blaine saw Kurt again. Just as he was climbing into bed, the ghost boy floated through the wall and called to him.

"Blaine? Are you awake?"

Blaine sat up and reached for the light.

"Dont," Kurt called. "Its too bright. I dont like it."

"Okay. I didnt think youd come back."

Kurt floated down to his feet and shrugged. "Nobodys ever talked to me before. Its hard to remember how long anything is."

"Do you want to play?

Kurt beamed at him and hurried to the piano. After watching for several minutes, Blaine joined him. It was the closest hed ever been to Kurt and he was surprised to find that Kurt gave off heat instead of a chill. They played through a few songs together, surprised to see their catalogues were so similar, but by the end they were laughing and smiling at each other.

"Youre the nicest boy Ive ever met," Kurt said as Blaine shut the piano cover.

Blaine shook his head. "Im sure there were plenty of great boys when you were alive."

Kurt frowned like he was trying to remember something hed never been a part of it. "No, I dont think so. They were only mean. They set the house on fire."

"They– is that how you, um."

Kurt suddenly floated up and across the room. "My dad made it out. I remember him coming back, to find me. He got me through the window and climbed out, but thats all I remember. I must have died just as he saved me. My mother, she died of burns. I saw it in the newspaper when I woke up here. My dad only came back to help sell it the first time. He couldnt see me."

"Im so sorry, Kurt." Blaine wanted to get up and hug him, but he knew he couldnt. Hed only fall right through Kurt if he tried. "Thats horrible. Are you stuck as a ghost forever?"

"I dont know. I should go. You need to sleep."

"No, its still summer. Its fine."

But Kurt was already disappearing through the wall. In a moment, he was gone and Blaine was left alone with his thoughts.

Blaine almost asked his parents more about the fire, but changed his mind over breakfast. The more questions he asked, the more reasons theyd have to worry about him. Instead, he took his mothers car to the library and started looking for information. It took almost a week, mostly because school had started and ate up so much of his time. But he finally found articles about the fire on Northampton Avenue and how the mother and son had both died. The man, Burt Hummel, had been hospitalized for smoke-inhalation and burns, but would be fine.

After that Blaine couldnt find anything about the man. He searched all over the library and the newspapers, but nothing else ever showed up. As the weeks went by, Kurt became more friendly. As long as he didnt mention his death, then Kurt was all smiles and cheerful. He seemed so thrilled to have a friend and Blaine was glad, too. Kurt knew about ties and scarves and helped him pick out his clothes every morning. He liked things none of the other boys did and as they played their way through Blaines piano books, Kurt opened up more about his old life.

He told Blaine about going to McKinley, the local public high school, how the jocks had bullied him, and his only friend in the world had been a diva named Mercedes. There had been tea parties with his parents as a boy, trips to the park with his mother, his father teaching him all about cars at his shop.

"He had a shop in town," Kurt was saying as Blaine played through a few chord progressions. "Hummel Tire and Lube. Mom was so proud of him. I remember that. She loved how happy he was with his shop. I spent a lot of the summer there. He showed me how to change tires and oil and rebuild engines. I told him I was gay there. When I was thirteen. Ill never forget that, even if Im a ghost forever and cant remember my own name. I know, he said. Ive known since you were three. All you wanted for your birthday was a pair of sensible heels. I got them, too. They were covered in purple sparkles."

Blaine smiled and tentatively reached for Kurts hand on the piano keys. His fingers sunk right down into Kurts. The first time hed done it, hed yelped at the sudden heat around his hand, but Kurt had sighed happily. He could feel the touch, he said. It wasnt quite like it was flesh to flesh, but it was solid and real enough for him to sense.

"He sounds like an amazing dad," Blaine said as Kurt smiled over at him. "My parents, well, they werent thrilled when I told them. Theyre okay with it now, but theyre still not the best with a lot of it. My mom cried for a week when she looked at me because she thought shed never have grandkids."

Kurt shook his head. "Thats silly. You can adopt or have a woman help you and your husband someday."

"Yeah," Blaine nodded and changed the subject. "You said your dad had a shop, right? Hummel Tire and Lugs?"

"Lube," Kurt said, his cloudy cheeks going transparent. Blaine had slowly figured out that that was how he blushed. "Hummel Tire and Lube. It was down by the bank and the roller rink. Its probably gone by now. He left me here and moved somewhere else."

"If hed known, Kurt, hed never have left."

As always, Kurt shook his head. "It doesnt matter."

"It does. So do you," Blaine said. "Listen, I should get some sleep before classes. Tomorrow same time?"

Kurt agreed and they said their goodnights.

In the morning, Blaine got up early and drove down to the spot Kurt had said the shop was at. On the corner, the remains of an old sign still hung up high.

HUM EL TI E & LU E

Blaine stared up at it sadly, but stopped at the corner and got out. The shop was still a garage, but it was mostly gutted from what he could see through the dusty windows. There was a large For Rent sign hung in the shops doorway. He was really gone then. Tracking him beyond Lima would be almost impossible. Blaine jotted down the number of the For Rent sign and looked around the street. A few other little shops that werent open yet, a gas station on the next block, a bank, and a diner across the street.

It was a long shot, but Blaine hurried across the street and entered the little retro diner. There was only one customer, an old man at the counter. Blaine headed towards the counter and asked for the owner. A tall woman appeared a few minutes later.

"Hi, um, this is going to sound strange, but I was wondering if you knew the man who used to own the tire shop across the street. Burt Hummel."

The woman eyed him suspiciously and wiped her hands on her apron. "Burt? Yeah, moved away bout ten years ago. Nasty house fire. Lizzie and Kurt both gone because of it. They were always in here on Saturdays. Watched their boy grow up. Sweetest kid. Shame what happened."

"Do you know where he moved to?" Blaine asked hopefully. "Ive been trying to find him. My parents bought his old house and there was a few of his old things in the basement." It was a lie and the woman seemed to know it.

"I rented the house as a favor to him when he first left," she said, looking him over. "Funny noises down in the basement. Like someone crying."

Blaine held her gaze and finally she sighed and pulled out her notepad. "He moved west, out towards Columbus. Last address I knew was this."

She scribbled it down and handed Blaine the paper.

"Thank you," Blaine said. He pocketed it and tried not to hug her. "Thank you so much."

After school Blaine drove the two hours to Columbus and stopped outside a small house. It was a small brick cube with a yard full of trees and bushes. They were all well tended and two cars sat in the driveway. Kurts dad had to be home. If he was, if he could convince him, then maybe Kurt would move on. Hed lose his best friend, but Kurt would have peace finally.

After twenty minutes of arguing with his nerves, Blaine climbed out and knocked on the door. A stocky woman answered.

"Hi, my names Blaine Anderson. I was looking for Burt Hummel."

"Burt?" she frowned at him, but called for the man over her shoulder. "If this is about the part-time job, hes–"

"No, its not about a job, maam," Blaine assured her. "Its, well, its important and kind of secret."

A man appeared behind her then, taller and with a baseball cap on his head. His eyes were deep set, more so than Blaine thought possible and he had a thick scar on his neck. A burn scar. Blaine swallowed and addressed him.

"Sir, my names Blaine Anderson and well, my parents just bought a house on Northampton Avenue in Lima," he said as Burt frowned. "I took the bedroom in the basement and–"

"I dont have anything to do with Lima anymore," Burt said his voice raspy and harsh. Some burns were more than skin deep. "I havent been back in ten years and I never will."

He moved to close the door, but Blaine stuck his foot in the way. "Sir, please. Its about your son. Hes still there. Hes–"

"No!" Burt snapped. He slammed the door on Blaines foot until he pulled it back. Wincing and with an aching foot, Blaine stood on the doorstep and knocked again. He couldnt give up. He had to try for Kurt.

"Sir, please! I know this is crazy, but hes still there," Blaine called through the door. He racked his mind for something to pull Burt back, and found himself back in one of Kurts stories. "When he was eight, he wanted an elaborate purple tiara for his birthday and when he wore it to school some kid called Karofsky called him a fairy and gave him his first black eye! And when he was three he asked for a sensible pair of heels for his birthday and thats when–"

The door opened slowly. "When I knew he was gay." Burt pulled the door open and looked out at the street. "How did you know that?"

"Because hes still there," Blaine repeated. "Hes, like, a ghost or something. I dont know how else to explain it, but I see him every night. We talk and play my piano together and I think he just wants to see you. It might help him move on from there."

Burt yanked him inside by his jacket and finally let him go at a couch. Blaine sat and the woman who had opened the door helped Burt into a chair across from him.

She looked at him tearfully. "Are you– this cant be real."

"Hes there," Blaine insisted. "Hes been there all along. Since the day you went back and got him out of the window. I promise hes there. Hes the nicest person Ive ever met, sir."

Burt sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand as the woman grabbed a box of tissues. "And Lizzie? Is she there, too?"

"Not that Ive seen," Blaine said. "Its just Kurt. He scared me half to death that first night. But he couldnt stay away from the piano. He loves to play."

"I used to catch him at all hours of the night," Burt said as he was handed a few tissues.

Blaine stayed silent as the other two talked. He learned that Burt had remarried only last year. The woman was Carole, his wife, and she, too, had lost her son only three years ago.

"Id really like for you to come back with me and see him," Blaine said after he joined them for dinner. "I know he wants to, and maybe itll help him move on to whatevers next. Hes been so lonely down there by himself for so long."

Burt and Carole looked at each other and finally Burt spoke.

"Okay."

Burt and Carole followed him back to Lima. It was almost midnight when they pulled into the driveway and Blaine was glad to see the lights in his parents room were off. He hurried inside with Burt and Carole.

"Blaine? Is that you?"

"Yeah, I got caught in traffic. There was an accident, so I stayed with Wes for dinner," Blaine called up to them.

"Okay. Goodnight, sweetheart."

Blaine closed the door and led Burt and Carole to the door of his room. Carole had Burt around the waist and by the elbow. He was pale and trembling.

"Hes probably downstairs waiting for me," Blaine said. He opened his bedroom door and a few piano notes trickled up the stairs to them. "Ive been teaching him new songs."

He started down the stairs, but the added noise of Burt and Carole made the piano music stop.

"Kurt? Kurt, its me. Ive got someone to see you. I promise its okay."

He hurried down the last steps as Carole and Burt took their time. Kurt was halfway through the wall, peering towards him anxiously.

"Im sorry I didnt give you any warning, but I thought it would take longer."

"What?" Then Kurt caught sight of his father and Carole on the stairs. "Dad? Blaine, thats–"

"Yeah, I found your dad."

Kurt floated over towards him, his body shifting from cloudy to transparent to silvery. Burt and Carole stepped off the final stair and looked around. "Is he here?" Burt asked hopefully. "Kurt?"

"Hes– sir, hes right here," Blaine said. He looked from Kurt to his father, only standing a few feet apart. "Cant you see him?"

Both of the adults shook their heads and Kurt started to cry.

"Its just like last time," he said miserably. "He cant see me. Hell never be able to see me again."

"No, well figure it out," Blaine insisted as Kurt started to float away. "Kurt, please."

He reached for Kurts hand and to his surprise his own didnt sink into Kurts, but caught it and held it. Behind him Carole and Burt gasped. Kurt paused and as Blaine watched he glowed brighter and looked a little more solid.

"Kurt? Buddy, youre here. Youre really here."

Kurt turned and found his father staring right at him. "Daddy?"

Burt hobbled forward out of Caroles grasp. "Kurt, Im so sorry."

"No, it wasnt your fault, Dad," Kurt said. He reached for Burt and Blaine watched as their hands joined, too. "I missed you. Its been so lonely here until Blaine moved in."

"I never meant to leave you," Burt said through his tears. He choked a little. "Kurt, buddy, you can go now. Go be with your mother and someday Ill be there with you, okay?"

"Will she be with us, too?" Kurt eyed Carole uncertainly. "Did you move on?"

Burt looked at Carole and bit his lip. "This is Carole. We got married last year," he said in a rush. "I still love you and your mother, I do, but I–"

"Im happy for you," Kurt said and he beamed at them. "He forgets to change his socks in the winter because he wears them to bed," he told Carole. "And he loves chicken lasagna and going to the lake in the summer. And hes the best dad in the world if you two ever have any kids."

Carole nodded and smiled at him. "I- if you meet a tall boy about your age named Finn wherever you go from here, thats my son. Send him my love, will you?"

Kurt nodded. "I love you, Dad."

"I love you, too, bud. Go on and be at peace."

Kurt nodded as his father stepped back and released his hand. He turned to Blaine and beamed. "Thank you," he said quietly. "Youve been better than any friends I had in life." Then he leaned in and kissed Blaine on the lips. Blaine shut his eyes and when he opened them Kurt was gone.

"Thank you," Burt said through his tears. He pulled Blaine into a tight hug. Blaine only nodded as they continued to thank him and said goodbye for the day. They invited him to dinner the following week and Blaine accepted. After he saw them out, he changed and climbed into bed. His room was silent again, much like hed thought it would be that first night. Dark and silent and suddenly empty.

Blaine turned the light off and stared at the wall Kurt had always appeared through, but it remained dark and solid. He sighed and tried not to tear up as he stretched his hands towards the ceiling. But the sight of his right hand, the one that had held Kurts, startled him. His hand was glowing faintly, like there were little stars tattooed across his skin. He looked it over and traced the outline of Kurts handprint on his skin. As he touched each star they grew brighter and warmer.

Blaine smiled and pressed his hand to his chest. The stars continued to glow as the years passed, sometimes dimmer, sometimes brighter, until Blaine was old and dying. With every day that past in his eighty-seventh year, one more star flickered out every night, until finally, one was left. He went to bed in the room hed shared with his husband for four decades, and woke up to the soft tune of a piano playing.

"Are you going to sleep all night, Blaine?" Kurts bright, happy voice called. "I miss my duet partner."

He sat up and looked around. It was his old bedroom from his childhood. Kurt, solid and colorful and real was sitting at the piano in the corner, waiting for him.