“Surprise! Your dad called me from out of the blue and wanted to fly me out here, because he knows what I do: that we belong together!”  

Blaine eyed his reflection in the hotel room mirror. Even he could tell that would be too much, too soon. So what if it were true? He could barely get through the line, and he didn’t like the way the features of his face—his eyes, his damn eyebrows, his eager smile—made him look. Like he was trying too hard. Faking it. He sighed, smoothing a loose hair back into place. He wanted so much to sound normal again, to feel normal. But he knew he didn’t. Come on, Blaine Anderson. This is it.  

Straightening his posture, he took a deep breath, smiled, and tried again. “Surprise, Kurt! Your dad called me from out of the blue and told me . . .” Blaine’s voice faltered as he lost his train of thought and added lamely, “. . . that he has prostate cancer.” He stared at himself for a long moment.Disaster, he thought. This is going to be a disaster.  

Just like the last time he was in this city. 

Blaine decided to abandon the practice session for the moment. He had all day, really. Burt just left not even a half hour ago and was en route to Bushwick to surprise Kurt; he’d told Blaine to be at the nearby ice rink by 9:00 that night at the earliest, and that most likely, Kurt would be there soon after. Most likely. “I’m going to tell him that I’ll return his gift if that’s what he wants, you know,” Burt had cautioned him during the flight. “I have to give him that option—you understand?” Blaine had only nodded, because talking to Kurt’s dad leading up to and during the trip had been uncomfortable at best. And now, this entire setup of Blaine as Kurt’s actual present was making him nervous, even though he and Kurt were indeed talking again.  

Because even though they were talking, they hadn’t talked. And then Kurt had to cancel the skating not-a-date they’d planned on the Auglaize River back in Lima because NYADA tuition was so steep that he couldn’t possibly fly in for the holidays. And of course Blaine had been fine with that, he had to be, even though a needling voice in the back of his mind nagged at how terribly familiar the whole thing was.  

Blaine walked up to the windows of his room and dragged the plastic curtain wand across its track to peer out at the city. Even though it was a cloudy day, Blaine loved the view of New York from high up in a hotel like this, brick and concrete towers stacked entirely across his line of sight, their windows either reflecting light or offering glimpses into the vibrant lives that made up this place. Down below he could make out the tree-lined edges of Bryant Park, where he would meet Kurt that night. Hopefully.

Any number of things could go wrong, of course. After all, Burt had a busy day planned with his son. They were going to see the Rockettes at Radio City, just up the street from where he was holed up. They would get dinner somewhere after that, and from what he remembered Burt telling him, would head back to Kurt’s to exchange their gifts. Only after all of that—after all the walking and talking and entertainment, after eating, after Kurt’s learning of his father’s condition—only then would Blaine get his chance. 

For Blaine, it was going to be a long and lonely day. 

It was still early afternoon, so Blaine had time to do what he’d told his parents he would in return for letting him spend Christmas with his ex-boyfriend and ex-boyfriend’s father: check out the NYADA campus. Leaving the window view of the city behind him, Blaine gathered his things. He fastened the toggle buttons on his wool coat and grabbed his red scarf, then, making sure he had his room keycard before heading out, let the door click shut behind him.

As he stepped into the elevator, hands in his coat pockets, he recalled the conversation with his parents that led him here, which included a lot of his own words repeated back at him. “You’re going to New York for Christmas. With Kurt Hummel’s father—your ex-boyfriend’s father. Blaine,” they’d said. “What are you even doing?”

But they let him (of course he’d conveniently failed to mention he’d be spending most of Christmas Eve completely alone in the city), just like they let him transfer to McKinley, just like they would’ve let him transfer back to Dalton, just like they let him do most things. And when he’d mentioned NYADA, well—that was another conversation altogether, because he wasn’t sure they were ready to hear that their other son was planning to pursue a performing arts career, too. But they shouldn’t have been surprised, he thought. No, it should’ve been plain as day to them. Some things really are that obvious.

* * * 

When the cab had finally pulled him to the curb, Blaine left a generous holiday tip with the driver before exiting the car, then wrapped his scarf more tightly around him as he felt December’s cold air kiss his skin. Because it was Christmas Eve, he didn’t expect many NYADA buildings to be open today. He just wanted to get a feel for the place—the place Kurt would be in a month, where he’d finally begin living another part of his New York dream. 

Just another part that doesn’t include me, Blaine thought. He looked up at the academic building looming before him, which was unlike any structure he’d ever seen in Lima. It didn’t exactly look like any of its neighbor buildings, either; it wasn’t symmetrical in any way he could tell, for one. Covered in glass and seemingly split right up the middle so as to let light into its heart, Blaine was amazed at—well, how real it was, and yet, how impossible. Peering inside, he saw white metal latticework undulating everywhere, and a modern staircase that led up several stories to what looked like an auditorium, based on the signage he could see inside. He thought—in fact he was fairly certain—that this was the place the NYADA Winter Showcase had been held. When he tried the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. He entered without giving it a second thought. 

He felt the energy of the place immediately, the way that it was sleek and solemn and grand compared to his high school back in Lima. And even though Kurt’s new life was very, very real to Blaine—particularly Kurt’s absence—the thought of Blaine himself having a life of his own here had been, until this moment, nothing more than a phrase, a string of syllables: going off to college. But now? Now he could see this (could he really?).His life. 

He took the stairs two at a time. 

When he finally entered the open space of the auditorium, he fell in love with its curves, with its warm wood panels and intimate lighting. It was, again, nothing like what he was used to at McKinley. And Blaine had always liked that auditorium, which seemed funny to him, actually, since he’d rarely spent time on the actual stage at Dalton. The Warblers loved their impromptu performances after all. They were happy to sing among fellow classmates in the study rooms or even the hallways. But at McKinley, he’d found the auditorium to be a place of solace, where he could think and feel and breathe—sometimes barely, but still. 

As Blaine wandered close to the stage, he couldn’t stop himself from conjuring up an image in his mind, of Kurt singing “Being Alive” to a packed house, of the standing ovation Kurt said he’d received after. And he wondered about that song, a song Blaine had heard Kurt sing before. He wasn’t surprised that Kurt had been able to sing it with such apparent conviction at his audition. Kurt had Blaine to thank for that, he supposed. Was that unfortunate? Blaine didn’t know. 

He found himself nonetheless in the center of that space, ready to sing. 

But sing what? he wondered. This place had elegance, it was refined and professional in a way his high school auditorium wasn’t. It was hard to imagine singing Katy Perry here. He couldn’t even picture himself dancing—in the way that he did to, say, the Bee Gees. How would he even be received here?

He also knew something about what Kurt’s audition was like, knew that he had impressed everyone in the room by standing there—just standing—and singing. The last time Blaine did that, he thought, just stood still and sang, he was auditioning for Grease, and had eventually run off the stage in tears. As he stood now, looking out to the empty seats surrounding him, he realized it was the first time he’d ever really wondered about what he could do, and of what he was capable.

But it was Christmas Eve, so Blaine decided to sing something appropriate to the occasion—not the jazzy little number he had planned for later tonight with Kurt (if Kurt)—but something simple, and quiet, and more in keeping with this space.

He sang Silent Night, Holy Night to no one except a custodian, who, out of curiosity, peeked out from behind the door half way through the second verse. 

* * *

Blaine had been to New York before, mostly on shopping trips with his mother, who would always take them to see a Broadway show in return for his patience as they went from store to store. Since he still had time to spare after wandering around NYADA and taking a cab back to his hotel, he decided to head to Rockefeller Center to see the tree, which he thought would be a festive sight now that it was dark.

As he walked among the throng of shoppers rushing to buy their last-minute gifts (and in a flash the ring he’d made Kurt last year popped into his head, along with the realization that there would be no gift this year, or rather, he reminded himself, he was the gift—a thought which still made him a little queasy, frankly, because what kind of gift was he, anyway?), he spotted them. Kurt and his dad, walking and talking not far from Radio City Music Hall, walking and talking toward him! Blaine ducked into the closest open door he could find.

Which, ridiculously, just happened to be a Gap.

He studied the pair through the storefront window, as they made their way down the street. They looked happy, too happy, and Blaine guessed that probably, Burt hadn’t broken the news to Kurt just yet. Seeing Kurt like this, out of sight, was . . . strange. Strange because Kurt was happy—and that wasn’t how he’d looked when he saw him last, after Kurt had walked out on him after Grease. Strange because Blaine couldn’t do a thing about it, couldn’t ruin Burt’s gift for Kurt, even though he wanted to run out into the street right now and surprise them both with hugs and laughter. 

Blaine’s phone buzzed suddenly, startling him; he pulled it from his pocket to find a text waiting from Tina. Did you meet him yet? it read.  

I’m staring at him right now, Blaine typed and sent, and then added in quick succession:

He doesn’t see me.

I’m not sure about this. 

What was I thinking?

Are you still there?

Tina’s response to all of it was brief: Slow down, okay? And man up. You can do this! He sighed. He’d heard that one before. 

I’ll let you know how it turns out, he replied. And: Thanks for thinking about me.

Blaine kept watching as Kurt and his father moved past, probably heading someplace for dinner. Thinking about food made Blaine’s own stomach rumble, and he realized he should probably eat something too, so he gave up his Rockefeller tree plans and decided to head back to the hotel. And that decision, he thought, had nothing to do with the fact that he could now secretly follow Kurt, at least for a little while. 

He kept his distance as he headed down the street, and when he realized Kurt and his dad would pass where Blaine would need to turn off for the hotel, he stopped, and simply kept his eye on Kurt—or rather just the top of his perfectly-coiffed hair, since that’s all he could make out since they were already so far away—as they made their way down the street. 

Watching them grow smaller the farther away they walked from him, Blaine knew that Burt would probably tell his son about his cancer diagnosis at dinner. And now, faced with the reality of that moment, and imagining Kurt’s shocked reaction to it, Blaine understood how much Burt’s idea to fly his son’s ex-boyfriend out here on Christmas Eve carried with it a distinct sense of urgency. As shoppers moved en masse around him, rolling past him in waves, Blaine felt the weight not only of the gift Burt had given him—the chance to see Kurt—but the pressure to perform the role he was asked to, of starting the process of repair, of distracting Kurt enough to keep him grounded. His gaze still on Kurt, Blaine muttered, “Actually he told me everything, and I promise—I’ll keep an eye on him for you.”

* * *

Blaine ordered room service back at the hotel, then launched The Avengers on his laptop, mostly to have the sound of something in the background as he paced back and forth, running the words he planned to speak to Kurt tonight through his mind. His phone buzzing again interrupted him, and he swiped at the screen to find another text, this time from Burt’s dad: I told him.

So that was that. 

Blaine started his pacing and thinking again. What he really wanted was to announce to Kurt that a package had arrived, namely him, and he didn’t care how corny that was. Because that was why he was here. It was what his father wanted, and he realized now what that meant. He was other things too, but tonight, he was going to do his best to take Kurt’s mind off of his father’s news, even if his appearing before Kurt was going to bring up some other, bittersweet memories of the last time Blaine was here, full of surprises. Now more than ever, Blaine wanted Kurt to know that he’d be there for him, needed Kurt to see the ways Blaine still understood him like no other. Would the sentiment be welcome, he wondered? That’s what he was uncertain about.

Once room service arrived, Blaine distracted himself with dinner, with superheroes saving the world and each other along the way. And he found it difficult to eat because his stomach was doing flip flops while he thought about seeing Kurt—he hoped—a few hours from now. 

The logistics of later tonight were still a little fuzzy. He and Burt both had hotel rooms here, at least one of which Blaine’s father insisted on paying for. Blaine wasn’t sure if Burt would go back to Bushwick with Kurt and leave him here, or whether they all would stay here in Manhattan and head back to the loft together in the morning. The sticking point in all of this, as far as Blaine could tell, was whether or not Kurt would want Blaine spending the night in his apartment. On the plane he and Burt had briefly discussed it. “I can’t make Kurt do anything that will make him uncomfortable, son,” Burt had told him. 

“Of course not. I wouldn’t even think—”

“Let me finish. I know my son, even though I think you think you know him better. I know Kurt. And you have to trust that I . . . that I am going to protect him. That as I tell him the news I have, that I’m not going to want him upset and arguing with you about what happened between you two in the middle of the night. Not that you would argue, you know—”

“But I—”

“Okay, hold on. All I’m saying is I’m going to follow his lead on this thing. I’ve got the rooms for us both so that if he wants space he can have space. And maybe he’ll want to be away from both of us—or just one of us. You see what I’m saying?”

Of course Blaine had. He knew all he had with Kurt was the ice tonight, something to occupy them as they began their friendship. Again. A little singing would help, and Blaine was looking forward to that most of all, because if they could sing together again, and if that felt anything close to natural, then Blaine would know that he could do just about anything—even attend a school with Kurt with no idea whether they’d be truly togetheragain. 

Blaine shoved the room service cart out into the hallway, most of his food untouched. It was time to get ready, so he jumped in the shower and stood for a long while, thinking of nothing but Kurt’s head bobbing up and down along the street, dreaming of the scent of him, and he let the hot steam and the orgasm he was working himself toward clear his head, because he was done practicing. 

* * *

His legs were pretty wobbly at first, as his body adjusted to the different way it needed to balance itself while gliding across the ice. He actually laughed out loud at the effort it required, at the way it made him feel like a little kid again. It didn’t take long at all for him to remember just what to do. 

He skated and skated for what seemed like hours, until almost all the families had left the rink and mostly couples remained, circling each other further into the night. Finally, as Blaine moved smoothly along the curve of the rink for the umpteenth time, he spied Kurt—and almost took a spill as he felt his heart leap and quicken its pace. This is it, Blaine Anderson. Don’t screw this up again, for anyone. 

Suddenly he felt nervous in a way he hadn’t before around Kurt. He’d been nervous back at Dalton, on that day that changed his everything, when Kurt had asked him innocently, “Why did you pick that song to sing with me?” He supposed it was different then. There was possibility—and what seemed like endless paths to choose from, each of which were meant for he and Kurt to travel together. Now his nervousness felt like a weight, where instead of options lying in front of them like the open space of the rink, that there was only one path, one chance, and either Kurt would accept him—or he wouldn’t. 

And if Kurt wouldn't accept him, then Blaine will have failed two people tonight.

So he took a deep breath and made a beeline for Kurt across the ice, gliding until he was grasping for the rails. “Package for Kurt Hummel!” he shouted, just like he’d practiced, to get Kurt’s attention. When Kurt turned to look at Blaine, when he really looked at and registered it was him, he seemed surprised and happy, but there was a hint of something different there, too, and whether that something was because of his father or because of Blaine, only Kurt knew. Either way, Blaine was glad for the rail that separated them, because his nerves were so frazzled at that point that without it, he would have simply launched himself at Kurt to wrap him up in his arms, just to soothe away that something, whatever it was. 

Instead Blaine started talking—very, very fast. He heard himself plow though “Surprise!” and “Your dad called me from out of the blue and wanted to fly me out here, just so I could see that look on your face . . . and it’s pretty priceless.” And it was, because it was warm and happy and scary all at once. Terrifying, actually, especially since Kurt wasn’t really saying much of anything in response. 

“But the reason why I’m here,” Blaine heard himself rushing on, (is because he didn’t want you to have to deal with the news alone, he didn’t want you to think you’d ever be alone) “is because he didn’t want us to miss out on another important holiday tradition . . .”

“Our Christmas duet?” Kurt finally offered, smiling tentatively.

Pausing, Blaine tried to drum up enough courage to ask the question that he feared the most. He ventured, “You are happy to see me, right?” 

“Yeah. Yeah. Always,” Kurt replied, and really, that was all Blaine needed to hear. 

And Blaine was so thankful for the ice, for the fact that he and Kurt both had to keep moving, for the way they zigged and zagged and sang. As they rounded the corner another time, the clock edging toward midnight, Blaine caught Burt’s eye, which was filled, like Kurt’s, with a mixture of happiness and solemnity, with a hint of resignation that came from living through pain and hardship. But Blaine returned his gaze in the way that he always did, with a grin wide and joyful, because he was a gift for Kurt, and Kurt had accepted that, and Blaine had so much left to give.