Kurt had forgiven Blaine. At least in the sense that he was ready to move on and wanted his friend back. That much Blaine knew.

But they never really talked about what happened. Blaine tried to apologize once upon a time, but Kurt stopped him and said it was in the past. So they didn't talk about it. In fact, they didn't really talk at all. At least not right away.

After Kurt's first attempt at contact, they sporadically sent each other texts, emails, the occasional Facebook post, but never phone calls. So much was still unsaid, but they both feared ruining the fragile friendship they'd rebuilt.

That is, of course, until Rachel forgot to pay the cable bill.

"Oh thank god you picked up," Kurt said as Blaine put the phone to his ear.

"Hey," Blaine said, "Kurt?"

"Yes, it's Kurt. Who else would it be? Tell me you're watching Project Runway."

"I'm watching Project Runway?"

"Thank god!"

Blaine laughed. He'd forgotten how much he loved the sound of Kurt's voice, the way it pitched slightly higher when he got worked up.

"This isn't funny," Kurt scolded. "They're doing the menswear challenge and someone forgot to pay our cable bill this month."

"I said I was sorry," Rachel's voice called out from somewhere in their apartment.

"Sorry doesn't get me Project Runway," Kurt yelled back.

"Want me to Skype you?" Blaine asked.

"I wish," Kurt said. "But the cable company is also our internet provider. I feel like I'm in a Buddhist temple. Rachel's doing yoga and chanting and there's no cable, Blaine."

Blaine laughed again. He had missed Kurt's over-the-top way of expressing himself, even though he was tempted to correct the misplaced Buddhist reference. But he let it go; their friendship still felt so breakable, like it was teetering on the edge of a precipice, and Blaine didn't want to disrupt the ease of their conversation. "So, do you want me to do a live-text or–?"

"Just put me on speaker," Kurt said impatiently.

They stayed like that until Heidi announced who was out; Blaine had given Kurt his best descriptions of the contestants' designs, making Kurt laugh out loud at his explanation of the "Shifty-eyed blonde's" misguided idea of "Manhattan Chic" when she designed a bright orange jumpsuit and tried to pass it off as formal wear.

"It looks like a NASA flight suit," Blaine said.

"Stop that," Kurt laughed. "You are making that up."

"I would never joke about fashion with you," Blaine said. "Give me a little credit."

"True," Kurt replied. "You know better." He paused. "Thanks for watching with me. Or watching for me? Whatever. You know what I mean."

"I do."

A silence descended, those words hanging in the air. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and Blaine wondered if Kurt's mind had gone where his had.

"Well, I should go," Kurt said, clearing his throat and the tension. "I have to be up early for work."

"Yeah," Blaine said softly, barely a sound at all.

He wanted to say more, tell Kurt he didn't want him to go, say something like, "please, Kurt, let's talk all night like we used to." But he couldn't make his mouth form the words. Because in that moment, he was completely blindsided by the realization that it still hurt to be shoved aside for Kurt's job. The wound was more fresh than Blaine had recognized. And they didn't talk about that. Because talking about that would lead to talking about what Blaine had done. And that topic was most definitely off-limits.

It also didn't escape Blaine's attention that Kurt hadn't picked up on his shift in mood. The slight hitch in his voice on that single syllable. No, Blaine wasn't ready to bare his soul quite yet. Not if Kurt wasn't ready to face the past or see Blaine in truth.

"Goodnight, Blaine."

It seemed Kurt had gotten what he needed from Blaine for now.

"Goodnight, Kurt."

And that was it.

Blaine set his phone down and stared at it. He felt like he was willing the small device to give up some sort of deeper meaning, some sort of soul-searching revelation. It didn't. The screen remained black.

But the fact remained: Kurt had called him. Was that supposed to have some deeper meaning? He could have just called Mercedes or even someone from work. Surely he knew someone else who watched Project Runway, maybe even someone who would let him come over to watch it. He worked for Vogue for crying out loud.

Blaine refused to get his hopes up, though.

Kurt wasn't sure if calling Blaine was the best idea, but it was done. And it had gone surprisingly well. They were normal with each other, friendly even, and it was okay. The world hadn't ended.

So why did he feel so conflicted about it?

When he broke up with Michael, he knew he was still deeply in love with Blaine. No question. The love was still there. But that didn't mean he could just jump back in and forget about all their problems. No, there was still so much to work through. And Blaine had tried to apologize — again — but Kurt wouldn't let him talk about it. He couldn't face his own failure yet, let alone Blaine's.

Kurt knew it wasn't his fault Blaine had cheated. Logically, he knew the blame for that lay solely with Blaine. But he couldn't shake the feeling that his actions, his selfishness, had contributed to Blaine's loneliness. And that killed him. He should have paid better attention. He should have called more, texted more, made the time…something. He knew Blaine was lonely back in Lima, but he had been so supportive of Kurt going to New York. He thought Blaine understood. And, besides, Kurt was living his dream. Wasn't he?

Only he wasn't. Because his dreams had always included Blaine. And now they didn't. Or maybe they still did. Kurt couldn't decide.

But Blaine was still in Lima, and Kurt was still in New York. Nothing had changed, and anything they could rebuild would likely be torn to shreds again. Who's to say a second attempt would fare any better than the first? Best to stick with friendship. No need to mess it all up. So why did everything seem so familiar and still foreign at the same time?

A few weeks later, when the guilt of hiding from his problems had nearly eaten away his insides, Kurt called Blaine again.

"I dated someone," he said without preamble.

"Uh…okay," Blaine replied.

"Yeah, so…I just thought you should know," Kurt said.

"Okay…"

"We're not together anymore."

Silence.

"Well, say something," Kurt said.

"Kurt, why are you telling me this?"

Blaine sounded pained, confused. It hurt.

"I just thought you should know," he said.

"You said that," Blaine said. "But why?"

Kurt sighed heavily and took a deep breath before speaking. He needed to say this. Didn't make it any easier to do so.

"Because, if this is going to work," he said. "Us being friends again. We have to be honest with each other … don't you think?"

"Yeah…"

"I'll be coming home in a few weeks, and I'd love to see you. Is that okay?"

"I'd like that, Kurt."

Blaine wanted to be honest with Kurt. He did. But there was so much he wasn't sure he knew how to say.

And yet, when he saw Kurt at the Lima Bean two weeks later, the only thing he could think about was reaching across the table and taking Kurt's hand, even though the mere thought of seeking comfort in Kurt's touch was practically unbearable. He had no right to touch Kurt's hands, or any part of him for that matter.

The weight of his indiscretion felt like an anvil on his chest. He almost couldn't breathe from the invisible pressure of it. But he had to try – to say something.

"You look fantastic," he said, dropping a cup of coffee in front of Kurt and taking a seat.

"Thanks," Kurt said, smoothing the front of his vest and smiling. "It was a sample left over from a photo shoot. Isabelle saw me drooling over it and told me to take it. One of the few perks of my abysmally paid internship."

"Yeah, the vest is great," Blaine said, "but I meant you."

Kurt looked up at him and smiled. It wasn't quite the way he used to smile at Blaine, but he was definitely flattered, and that warmed Blaine's heart. Maybe they could recapture the magic after all. Eventually.

For now, Blaine was content to sit across from his gorgeous friend — god, they were friends again; the thought made Blaine want to turn cartwheels right there in the Lima Bean. He was elated to be able to call Kurt a friend again, to share his life and dreams with someone.

But then he got a callback for NYADA.

Once upon a time, that would have been everything he and Kurt dreamed of. But now it just made his heart ache for Kurt in a way he didn't think possible. In some ways it hurt more than cheating, because this was what had always separated them. Blaine had it easier. He knew it; Kurt knew it. Kurt had nearly voiced it once, calling him the "alpha gay." The words still felt like a spear through Blaine's heart. But he knew what Kurt meant, and he was right.

Maybe they should have talked more about it. But Blaine didn't know how. It wasn't his fault he could pass anymore than it was Kurt's fault that he couldn't. So it became yet another thing unspoken. Blaine just assumed it was because Kurt knew Blaine didn't see them that way, but he should have realized that Kurt was still pained by it.

Being different made Kurt stronger; being able to pass made Blaine feel weak. Like he had failed Kurt somehow. And yet, being able to pass made him feel safer. He couldn't deny that, even if the guilt of it sometimes made him want to curl in on himself and let it consume him.

And now Blaine felt like he was getting all the dreams that had eluded Kurt — class president, school plays, NYADA, acceptance — and he didn't want to be the one to cause him pain. Not again. Not ever.

So when the letter declaring him a finalist came that spring, he called Rachel instead of Kurt. And he asked her not to tell. He'd deal with it if he got in. It was such a big "if" that it didn't seem important. Until Kurt found out.

Kurt:
So…NYADA huh?

Blaine:
Yeah.

Kurt:
Why didn't you tell me?

Blaine:
Because…actually can I call you?

Kurt:
Sure

"Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt asked before Blaine could even say hello.

"I wanted to tell you," Blaine replied, not really answering the question, but the words needed to be said.

"Again, why didn't you?"

Blaine sighed.

"It's complicated."

"Try me," Kurt said, sounding like he was losing his patience. "I bet I can keep up."

"I feel guilty."

"That's not complicated," Kurt said.

"Right," Blaine said, realizing he was going to have to confess the whole truth, whether he wanted to or not. "I just didn't want to start a fight, I guess. We've been getting along so well, and I was worried it would bring up old issues."

"Issues?" Kurt said. "What issues?"

Blaine could hear the rising tension in Kurt's voice. This was not going well. Blaine's brain was screaming at him to fix it, but the damage had been done.

"Kurt…"

"We've barely spoken in months, Blaine," Kurt said. "And you think you still know me like you did … before?"

Before you cheated. Before you broke my heart.

Blaine heard the unspoken words. The worst part was, Kurt was right. He didn't have any right to judge Kurt, nor did he have any claim to his emotions. Not anymore. He had given up any ownership he might have had over Kurt Hummel's feelings when he had let his loneliness claim him. When he had let Eli touch him and try to fill the void Kurt had left behind. Nothing could fill that void now. Not even Kurt.

And god that made him angry. It burned him like fire, the heat of his passion for Kurt always simmering below the surface. Ready to spark at any moment and flare up to burn him.

"I don't know anything anymore, Kurt," he said, sounding only half as dejected as he felt.

"Obviously." Kurt's sneer was almost audible.

Despite the ache, Blaine felt his agitation growing. The thought of Kurt deigning to judge him made his blood boil. Each and every word Kurt spoke was like a long, spiteful finger pushing every single one of his buttons.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, voice pitching higher as his anger crested.

"I just think you're being a little selfish, Blaine."

Kurt sounded so matter-of-fact and condescending that Blaine lost all control.

"I'm selfish?" he shouted. "Look who's talking."

He knew he shouldn't be angry, knew he had no right. His actions had been selfish. But why did Kurt have to rub it in his face? As if he didn't feel guilty enough. He knew he screwed up — about so very much. And he knew he was getting all the things Kurt had wanted for himself. But it wasn't completely his fault. Blaine had let Kurt down, sure. But Kurt hadn't been perfect either. In fact, his complete preoccupation with his internship and life in New York had led to Blaine's all-consuming loneliness, and that simple fact still stung more than it should.

It wasn't Kurt's fault Blaine had cheated, but it was partly his fault that Blaine felt ignored.

"What?" Kurt said, voice low but obviously simmering with subdued rage.

Blaine still knew Kurt well enough to recognize the oncoming storm, but it didn't stop him from voicing his frustrations, addressing the tension that had spent months festering and mounting, even before they broke up.

"I'm just saying you can be pretty selfish, Kurt. I think we both know you don't always consider other people when you get caught up in something. And I knew you'd be upset about this."

"Oh my god. You think I can't be happy for you because I didn't get in? I can manage a little disappointment, Blaine. I've been doing it all my life."

This was not the conversation he wanted to have. This wasn't about Kurt's narcissism; it was supposed to be about NYADA. Or rebuilding trust…or something.

"Just calm down, please. That isn't what I meant."

He wanted to take it all back. But now it was out there, and he couldn't reel it in.

"This isn't like glee club, Blaine. You can't just pat me on the arm and make it all better. And I don't need you to keep me in line," Kurt said. "There's nothing wrong with being passionate about things. I'm allowed to be upset!"

Blaine wanted desperately to be the peacekeeper, to tell Kurt he was sorry. But the words wouldn't come because there was a part of him that knew Kurt needed to hear the harsh words. And maybe Blaine needed to hear them too.

And then Kurt hung up. No goodbye. Nothing. Just silence.

Blaine threw his phone down on his bed and grabbed his gym bag. He needed to take his frustration out on something that didn't fight back. Something that didn't make the blood course through his veins like fire and ice all at once.

The really crazy thing was, Blaine did know Kurt. After all this time, he still knew Kurt better than he knew himself. It used to be the very thing Kurt loved most about his relationship with Blaine. That without even without speaking, without thinking, Blaine could calm Kurt's excitement, soothe his anger or his resentment with a simple touch. A glance, a gesture. Even a song.

That knowledge no longer reassured him, though. Because Blaine shouldn't still have this kind of hold over him. He'd moved on; he was happy, living his life. He didn't need Blaine.

These were all half-truths, of course. Kurt was far from happy. At least not the way he had been when he was with Blaine. His happiness was tainted, colored with regret. The simple fact was that Kurt couldn't handle Blaine's criticism, true as it may be, because it reminded him of the little ways Blaine used to rein him in. The ways Blaine used to love him.

When Kurt and Blaine had been together, their relationship often revolved around Kurt's needs. Mostly because Blaine showed his love through support and reassurance, something Kurt so desperately craved. And Kurt ate it up like he was at an all-you-can-eat buffet. He glutted himself on Blaine's affection, let himself take and take and take. Of course, he hadn't realized how much damage he had done to his own psyche until he lost the support he had come to expect from Blaine. In some ways, the loss of that support system had hit him harder than the loss of his lover.

Blaine also kept him grounded, surefooted, whole. He balanced him out in a way that few people could. So many of Kurt's friends were intimidated by his icy exterior and fiery, judgmental glances. It might sound cliché to say a person could complete another person, but Kurt knew exactly how much he needed Blaine. If for no other reason than to have someone besides his dad to call him out on his bullshit. It took him nearly getting fired from Vogue a month later to remember how much.

"Kurt, do you mind running out to grab us all coffee?" Isabelle asked without looking up from her computer screen. It seemed like they had been pulling 12-hour days for two weeks straight and it was shaping up to be another late night.

Kurt mumbled something under his breath about how he didn't leave Lima just to be reduced to a glorified barista in designer boots. Unfortunately Isabelle heard him.

"Excuse me?" she said, glaring up at him over the edge of her screen.

"Nothing," Kurt said, trying to hide his shame behind a halfhearted smile. "Did you want your usual?"

He tried to keep his tone light, unaffected, but Isabelle was undeterred.

"Kurt, sit down," she said. "I think we need to talk."

He perched himself on a chair, folio in hand, trying to look alert and ready to jump if Isabelle asked.

"Chloe, will you give us a minute?" she asked. When they were alone, she turned to Kurt. "Listen, Kurt, I've been cutting you a lot of slack lately because you've obviously been going through some personal stuff, but it stops now. I can't take anymore of your self-absorbed, better-than-everyone-else attitude. We're a team around here. So if I ask you to get coffee it's because that's what the team needs from you. It's not beneath you, and if you can't handle that, there's the door. Am I clear?"

She looked stern in a way that Kurt hadn't seen before; something about her demeanor told him she meant business. He nodded slowly and stood.

As he walked the two blocks to the tiny, pretentious coffee shop Isabelle preferred over Starbucks, he considered her words. He had been self-absorbed and snobbish. Ever since he and Michael had broken up, he'd been on a good, old-fashioned, ego-fueled bender. Resorting to old habits of self-preservation, not letting people see anything but the version of Kurt Hummel who didn't need anyone's approval. The version that was better than everyone else because he had to believe it to get through the day. The version that was a total fraud.

He felt like an ass.

And god, what he'd said to Blaine.

Kurt had fallen into old habits because there was no one there to ground him, to keep him in check. He had lost his center, his other half in every sense.

He had lost Blaine.

Blaine had always been the more adaptable one; the water to Kurt's fire. Like water, Blaine was always taking the path of least-resistance but still had the power to carve a new path for himself. And always, always quenching the fire. Keeping Kurt from blazing out of control and burning too hot and too fast.

He needed something to quiet the inferno. He needed Blaine. But more importantly, Blaine needed him.

As he waited in line to order, he pulled out his phone.

Kurt:
Do you think you can do me a favor?

Rachel:
I can certainly try.

Kurt:
I need the audition schedule for the NYADA callbacks.

Kurt hadn't called Blaine in over a month, not since their fight, but he knew he didn't want to apologize over the phone. No, this was too big for that. They'd texted a few times, but the tension was still there, and Kurt couldn't stand it anymore.

He'd spent enough time mulling everything over, letting it percolate in his own head for weeks. He was ready to move on, to move forward. He didn't want to hold everything under a microscope and examine every single problem. At least not alone. He and Blaine could work through it together. They just needed time.

He hadn't seen Blaine perform in more than six months, and that had been a fateful night at Callbacks. Kurt should have been better prepared.

Blaine was a nervous wreck in the weeks leading up to his NYADA audition. He wanted to discuss his song choice with Kurt, but they hadn't spoken in weeks, so he had to go it alone.

He wanted something that showcased his range as a performer, but also something that packed an emotional punch. He needed something memorable, a signature performance.

In the end, he went with a relatively safe choice. A song that he was comfortable with, one he knew he could deliver, one that had gotten him the lead in "West Side Story" the year before. It was perfect.

He tried not to practice too much, didn't want to over prepare. He knew the song; it was his. Nothing to worry about, and he didn't want to overthink it.

The day of his audition was overcast and cold, but Blaine's mood was bright. Performing always lifted his spirits, and even a stressful audition couldn't bring him down. As he took the stage in front of Carmen Tibideaux, Blaine took a deep breath. This was his chance; whether he made it or not, he was going to wow his audience of one. For better or worse, she was never going to forget Blaine Anderson.

When the music started, he felt it thrum through his veins. He was in his element.

Could be,
Who knows?

He sang the opening verse with everything he had in him, the hope and anticipation coursing through his body in cresting waves. Tony's optimism took over and he no longer needed to concentrate on the words. He knew what it was like to hope, to feel like something was eluding him but not for much longer. His time was coming.

There's something due, any day,
I will know, right away,
Soon as it shows.

It may come cannonballing down from the sky,
Gleam in its eye, bright as a rose.
Who knows?

It could be any moment, but it was coming, and whether it smacked him in the face or whispered softly in his ear, he was ready. He could feel it just hovering in the distance — something. He smiled.

It's only just out of reach,
Down the block, on a beach,
Under a tree.

I got a feelin' there's a miracle due,
Gonna come true, comin' to me.

As he sang those words, those perfect, poignant words, Blaine nearly choked — just barely catching himself in time — because Kurt was there. Sitting in the back of the auditorium, ethereal under the glow of one of the dimmed house lights, but he was there. And in that moment, Blaine knew. This song was about Kurt. It was all about Kurt.

"Oh, there you are. I've been looking for you forever."

Could it be? Yes, it could,
Something's coming, something good,
If I can wait.

Kurt was here. Kurt. His Kurt.

With a click, with a shock,
Phone'll jingle, door'll knock,
Open the latch.
Something's coming, don't know when
But it's soon, catch the moon,
One-handed catch.

He felt as if he'd already caught the moon. Even if his audition tanked, he didn't care.

Around the corner or whistling down the river,
Come on, deliver to me.

He held out his hand, reaching for Kurt, trying to will him to feel what he felt. And when the song was over, he didn't even hear Madam Tibideaux's words — praise, criticism, he didn't care — because he couldn't find Kurt fast enough.

He must have done three laps around the school before he found Kurt in the choir room, standing with his back to the door, head cocked to one side, studying their nationals trophy.

"What are you doing here?" Blaine asked, unsure if he meant the choir room or Lima or what.

"I had to come," he said without turning around. "You always supported me. I thought I should return the favor." He turned, tears glistening in his eyes. "And you were right. I was selfish, and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Blaine said, stepping forward. "You'll never know how much."

"I think I'm starting to," Kurt said, smiling. "When you were singing just now…I had a moment, Blaine … about you."

"Kurt?"

Blaine wanted to believe that Kurt was saying what he wanted to hear, what he himself felt, but he needed Kurt to actually say it.

"You were singing, and suddenly it was like, 'Oh, there you are.' " He looked down at the floor and then back up to Blaine. "I almost forgot about that part."

Kurt stepped closer, his eyes burning and sparkling all at once. Blaine could hardly contain his heart in his chest.

"I was so proud of you," Kurt continued. "And I remembered how much I need you. How much we need each other. Nothing works anymore because I'm not with you."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" Blaine said, nearly buzzing out of his skin.

"What I'm saying is, I'm ready to try…if you are." Kurt's voice was shaky and unsure, and Blaine wanted to laugh. How could Kurt be uncertain after all this time? Blaine had loved Kurt for so long, it felt like second nature. There were no words for what he felt.

So Blaine didn't speak. Instead, he leaned in slowly and snaked a hand around Kurt's waist. He simply looked into Kurt's eyes and smiled. Blaine heard Kurt's breath stutter and start as he blinked back tears. They were close enough for him to smell Kurt's cologne, the scent overpowering him in the best way, drowning him in Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. Like finding refuge in a port after a storm, Blaine relaxed into Kurt's embrace and closed his eyes.

They held each other close for a moment, neither one uttering a word. There were things that needed to be said, promises to be made, wrongs to be righted. But for now they were content to let it be. Let the important things go unsaid.

Blaine wondered if Kurt was taken back to the same memories, to Kurt telling Blaine he was proud of him, to the two of them sharing their love, their bodies and all their wonderful firsts. He only questioned it for a moment, though, because when he opened his eyes, he knew the answer. Kurt was right there with him, held captive in that very moment.

Their first kiss had been epic. This kiss was no different. But this time there was no preamble, no warning, no big speeches. Kurt just surged forward and captured Blaine's lips in a messy, fumbling kiss.

They groped at each other's clothes, trying to get closer. As they relearned familiar lips, knocking teeth and tangling tongues, they almost forgot to breathe.

It was perfect.

And when they finally pulled away, Kurt spoke first, resting his forehead on Blaine's. He whispered softly to him like he didn't want to break the spell, but needing to get something out.

"I'm not going to lie, Blaine. We have a lot to work through. But I'm willing…if you are."

Blaine couldn't believe what he was hearing, he pulled back to take in Kurt's face. He wanted to memorize it all over again. Stunning blue-green eyes, perfectly sloped nose, full, pink lips, a small dusting of freckles across his cheeks and forehead. Blaine's smile felt like it was cracking his face.

"Oh, I'm willing, Kurt. I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you let me."

"Don't," Kurt said, lifting a finger to Blaine's lips. "I don't want groveling."

"Then what do you want?" Blaine asked.

"My best friend," Kurt said. "Eventually? A happy ending."

"You still believe we can have our happy ending?" Blaine asked with a smile.

"Of course I do, Blaine. It's just like 'When Harry Met Sally,' right?"

"I thought it was like 'The Notebook'?" Blaine said with a smirk.

"Shut up," Kurt said, wrapping his arms around Blaine's shoulders and pulling him in close. "You're ruining the moment."

"Not possible," Blaine said. "It's perfect."

"It's a start."