It’s almost summer but there is none of that sticky heat Blaine’s gotten used to. The air-conditioner runs on full blast and the room is as cold as they can stand it. The sheets are creased where Kurt had been, earlier, the bed dipping where Blaine presses down, now.

“So soon?” Blaine says, watching the smooth line of Kurt’s muscles as Kurt pulls on his shirt. He says it teasingly, but Kurt raises his head and glances at him guiltily.

“I should,” Kurt starts to say, and shifts around to fasten his jeans. “Shouldn’t I?”

Blaine watches quietly. “I think,” he says, finally, in an exhale of breath that Kurt wants to feel on his skin. “I think you need to start making up your mind.”

Kurt brushes the knees of his jeans idly, fingers catching on the denim. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You don’t have to wait.” There it is, he’s made up his mind – only, not really – and this is what Blaine’s wanted to know, if he should wait or not. “Not if you don’t want to.”

Blaine exhales. “I want to.”

Kurt’s smile is bitter, almost wistful, when he replies.

“And the world turns.”

--

When Blaine is five the moon falls into his bed and takes form of a boy of Blaine’s age. Dressed in jeans torn at the knees and a shirt too thin for this winter weather, the boy rubs his eyes with the back of his grubby fists.

He is not unlike Blaine, but yet so like Blaine. Years later Blaine will remember; quiet tears and whispered apologies and the ghost of a touch before the boy disappears. What he will forget is the naivety of a five-year-old and the belief that people don’t hurt.

Although he doesn’t realize it until much later, later when he is sixteen and life is mad, Blaine learns two things that night –

– He learns that moon isn’t really made out of green cheese, and;

– He learns that sometimes people forget how to forget.

--

“I wish you’d talk to me,” Blaine says, a little later, and Kurt turns to face him, solemn. They are sitting on Blaine’s back porch, watching absolutely nothing. They’ve both got a bottle of beer in hand, the label peeling off with condensation, but left untouched. Kurt presses his lips to the finish, curves them around the groove, but doesn’t drink.

“Don’t I?” It’s a quiet mumble against the cold glass, his fingers curling almost carelessly around the shoulder, and the bottle tips outwards, slightly.

Blaine shrugs, his shoulders heavy. He feels silly, inadequate, different. Kurt is everything he is not, lines where Blaine is curved, and quiet where Blaine is loud.

“Not about the important things.”

Kurt sighs, swallowing it so that it could’ve been a murmur, if Blaine doesn’t know better. (He does.) He sets the bottle down with a clink, twists his hands together in his lap.

They’re sitting cross-legged, their knees knocking together. Blaine’s next-door-neighbour Tom is mowing his lawn, the whirr of the motor distant, however, to their ears. Blaine closes his eyes, imagines Tom running the machine across the grass methodically the same way he cuts his steak. Tom has been over enough for Blaine to memorize the way he curls his fingers around his fork and knife and cuts the steak into exact pieces before eating them one by one. He used to find that weird, he remembers. Now he envies it. Routine, surety, security – along those lines and Kurt doesn’t live for those things, it’s all Blaine.

“What do you want to know?”

There are things Blaine could ask him – what the moon is like, what it’s like to fall asleep with the weight of the world on your shoulders, what being light – pure, pale and never blinding, quiet – feels like, what Kurt thinks about the future, if Kurt loves him as much as Blaine loves him.

He doesn’t, however. “What’s it like to forget how to breathe?” he ends up asking, because Kurt forgets to breathe sometimes, when he visits, because no one breathes on the moon and Kurt doesn’t come here often enough to remember. Kurt likes to laugh it off later, tell Blaine that he forgets how to breathe sometimes and giggles helplessly like it’s not something to worry about.

Kurt smiles. “Like dying, I think.” Logically, it should.

“What does dying feel like?”

Kurt is quiet for a moment. “I hope you never find out.”

--

When Blaine is six the moon falls again, but this time the boy is smiling almost cautiously.

“Happy birthday,” he says, handing Blaine a book. It has glossy pictures of dinosaurs on the cover, and Blaine is absolutely delighted because he’s been obsessed with dinosaurs for quite a while.

“I’m going to have to keep coming back now,” says the boy, when Blaine looks up to thank him. He’s got his hands in his pockets and he looks tired. “You touched me the first time,” he says. “That’s gone and bound me to you. I’ll have to keep coming back now.” He sighs.

“I’m sorry,” says Blaine, and the boy shakes his head.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he says. “I have a friend now.”

He leaves not much later, and Blaine gets his name from the neatly printed text on the first page –

Happy birthday.

- Kurt.

--

They make dinner in the kitchen. Blaine’s parents won’t be home until Friday, so they don’t bother keeping the mess under control. Blaine leaves the accidentally broken eggs on the counter, the whites dripping a steady beat onto the shiny linoleum.

Kurt is stirring the sauce, eyes fixed somewhere else, and Blaine wraps his arms around him from behind, resting his cheek on Kurt’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Kurt murmurs, and Blaine tilts his head a little to press a kiss to Kurt’s jaw line. “You’re quiet today,” Kurt remarks. “You aren’t usually this quiet.”

“Will I see you again?” Blaine asks, and Kurt stops stirring to turn around.

“Of course you will.”

Blaine exhales, his breath warm against Kurt’s skin. They’ve got all of the air-conditioners in the house switched on full-power, and Kurt’s skin prickles with goosebumps, but he likes the cold.

“You never stayed this long before,” Blaine points out. Kurt has been here three days – since Sunday and Blaine had skipped school today and on Monday to spend time with Kurt – and he’s never been here this long before.

Kurt looks around, anywhere but at Blaine, his hands gripping Blaine’s shoulders tightly. “I need you.”

“How long can you stay before you run out of energy?” Blaine asks. It takes energy – so much energy – for Kurt to stay on Earth with Blaine, and if he doesn’t have enough to go back he will die here. Kurt’s been able to last a day and three hours, at the very most, before he’d started to tense, his nerve endings on fire until he gave in and went back. They’d gotten better at prolonging his stay, from the fifteen minutes the first time when they were five, to the days on end, now.

Kurt shrugs. “Can’t I just stay until I die?”

Blaine tightens his grip on Kurt’s waist. “What’s going on?”

Kurt smiles, says, simply, “I’d like to die.”

--

When Blaine is seven he has his first Show and Tell and he brings a picture of him and Kurt. It’s a blurred, crooked picture, taken by Kurt a couple of months ago. The angle is odd because Kurt had to stick his arm out and shift around until they could both be in the frame, and Blaine had giggled helplessly as Kurt hit the button.

It’s not the best of photographs but Blaine takes it to school and tells people about Kurt and how they’re best friends. When he says that Kurt lives on the moon, the teacher tells them quickly that it’s impossible to live on the moon because there’s no air or food or water there.

Blaine tells her that Kurt doesn’t breathe and she tells him not to be silly.

His parents talk to him after dinner, ask him who Kurt is and ask for the truth when Blaine says Kurt is the Light of the moon.

In the end his mother says, “Alright Blaine, keep your little friend a secret then. Do you want to call him over to play? Maybe then you can introduce him to us, how does that sound?” and Blaine shakes his head because Kurt is shy.

Blaine hides the picture under his pillow, wedged between the mattress and the headboard, and doesn’t take it out for a long while.

--

Blaine stiffens immediately, eyes going wide, throat painfully dry. He swallows, and it hurts. “You – what?”

Kurt pulls away, stepping quickly out of Blaine’s arms, and he turns back to the stove, turning it down to let the sauce simmer. “I –” He pauses, turns back to face Blaine, locks their gaze together.

“I was reading at the library last week,” he says, nonchalant like he’s announcing the weather. “If I die on Earth I’ll never have to go back, ever.” He moves towards the fridge, fingers the post-it notes, bright and gaudy pinned under large fruit-shaped magnets. “Don’t you want me to stay, Blaine?”

Kurt must know he’s being selfish, he must. Blaine shakes himself out of his stupor. “But you’ll be dead.”

Kurt’s lips twist up at the corners. “Ah, yes,” he says. “That is a rather unfortunate consequence.”

“Is it that bad there?” Blaine asks. “So terribly bad that you’d want to die?”

Kurt shrugs. “It’s not unbearable,” he says. “But why should it mean that I have to bear it?”

Freedom, satisfaction, happiness – it’s a fickle thing.

--

Kurt is the Light of the moon. There’s only one person on the moon who possesses the Light, born by a comet. It’s a great honour, Kurt had told Blaine once, at sixteen, when they were tangled together and he was running out of breath, fingers trailing down Blaine’s arm and lips twisted bitterly. It’s all very romantic, born by a comet, chosen one, they paint it pretty but what is it, Blaine, the weight of the night on your shoulders – what if I fuck up, what if the world stutters to a stop and it’s all my fault?

This time there are two – Rachel is the other one who possess the Light. It’s a miracle, Kurt had said, almost sardonically, she likes to remind us that she is a miracle. Rachel is weaker than Kurt, so Kurt had been chosen as The Light instead. She’s still bitter, Kurt had noted, grinning slightly, but she is useful for covering for me when I come to visit you.

“Can you stay,” Blaine had said, pressing desperate fingers into the skin of Kurt’s inner thigh as he kissed everywhere else. “Can you stay, if Rachel takes your place?”

All his life Blaine has been taught that the moon doesn’t play much of an importance, but Kurt tells him that the moon keeps Earth anchored in place – sort of like a magnet, Kurt had said, otherwise the Earth falls out of orbit and where will you be then?

“I –“ Kurt had stuttered, gasps the pale column of his throat as Blaine sunk his head lower. “I think so.”

Kurt’s job, in theory, is simple. He sits in the centre of the moon and controls the light and the magnetism, makes sure the Earth is perfectly in orbit. In practice, it’s a delicate process, just the right levels of everything or else – the Earth will jolt and disasters will break across the globe at the slightest slip.

“Will you stay, then?” Blaine had asked, and Kurt had kept quiet for a little while.

“Maybe next time,” Kurt says, and Blaine knows that Kurt will never be able to truly leave the moon.

In the morning Blaine had woken up alone, but it had been a new record, twenty-seven hours.

--

“What are you running away from?” Blaine asks, moving towards Kurt and pinning him against the refrigerator, static electricity sparking wherever their bare skin brushes, and Kurt squirms but Blaine holds him steady. “What are you so scared of?”

“If you remember,” says Kurt, looking at a point just past Blaine’s shoulder. “There was an earthquake at the Arctic last week.”

Blaine nods. Dalton’s morning assembly had been dedicated to prayers for the wounded and the dead, the scientists at the research station who had died in the resulting aftershocks.

“That was all me,” Kurt says. “I lost concentration and that happened.”

“Oh, Kurt –” Blaine starts to say, but Kurt is pulling away. “I’m so sorry.”

Kurt shrugs it off, but his back is ramrod straight as he crosses the kitchen to dish out the spaghetti. “I screwed up, Blaine. I can’t afford to screw up again.”

“Let Rachel do it then,” Blaine says. “Tell me you love me, stay here, don’t ever go back, and let Rachel handle things.” It isn’t meant to sound like a command, but it does to both of them, and they flinch. “I didn’t mean it like that,” Blaine hastens to add. “Only – only if you want to.”

If Kurt tells Blaine he loves him, they will be bound together, and Kurt will be able to stay on Earth, significantly weaker, but he won’t lose energy by it. He might die, it’s a risky process and if their love isn’t true he will break and die, – if they are fickle and say things they don’t mean, then, then he will die – and Blaine will never love another.

--

Kurt had said once, when they were fourteen and had their hands tangled together as they sat on Blaine’s couch watching Moulin Rouge, that if they do declare their love, Blaine will never be able to love another – it will be physically impossible and he will die from grief and a broken heart if he tries.

Blaine, with the naivety of a fourteen year old ready to take on the world, had said that it would be worth it.

“Don’t ever say it,” Kurt had breathed, fingers a deadlock around Blaine’s wrist. “Don’t tell me you love me, I forbid you to.” He could die, he could die the second he turns human and Blaine would never be able to move on and which part of that is fair?

They had kissed for the first time that afternoon, soft, hesitant lips with just a hint of something more, finally, finally acknowledging the gradual shift from best friends to boyfriends before Kurt had started to tense up and Blaine had to let go.

Seventeen hours, that one had been.

--

“I can’t,” Kurt says, and maybe his resolve is broken now, because he seems so much smaller, shoulders crumbling in on themselves. “You know I can’t do that, I promised I would never be that selfish.”

“If you say you love me, you’ll have seventy years, eighty.” Blaine swallows past the lump in his throat. “If you don’t, you have – how long exactly?” He needs to know, and he knows Kurt knows.

“A week,” says Kurt, loosening the collar of his shirt. “Give or take.”

Blaine nods, his movements jerky. “Either way you die, and I die of a broken heart.”

“Not true,” Kurt says softly. “You won’t die of heartbreak if you don’t say it.”

“You don’t know that.”

And that’s true, Kurt doesn’t know that – will probably never know that Blaine is going to be heartbroken either way. Blaine loves and he does it will all of his heart and Kurt has the whole of his heart in his fist, but he doesn’t know that.

If Blaine is ever to call Kurt na�ve, he would say that Kurt is na�ve to think that he’s being entirely selfless – he would say that Kurt believes in Blaine too much and too little all at once – and that perhaps, perhaps Kurt forgets – or maybe he doesn’t know – the way the human heart works.

But Kurt is resolute and Blaine will respect that until one of them breaks.

“Okay,” he says. “We’ll make the most of a week, then, when it comes.”

Kurt blinks at him, eyes wider than Blaine is used to seeing, and this is how it’ll most probably always be, Blaine will never say no because he can’t, and Kurt will keep holding on to childish beliefs and Blaine will die of a broken heart – but only most probably.

Kurt says, “Thank you,” and Blaine kisses the inside of Kurt’s wrist, prepares himself for a goodbye. It won’t be this time – Kurt won’t die this time, but eventually he will and Blaine will have to learn to breathe again.

--

Kurt’s energy hasn’t waned yet, and he comments smilingly to Blaine that it might last quite awhile this time. They visit Burt the next morning, early at six in the morning when the sky is still dark, driving in Blaine’s sleek second-hand Mercedes, watching the highway lights blur past.

Kurt visits his dad every time he manages to leave the moon. When his mother died, his dad couldn’t stand living on the moon without her, but he’d tried, for Kurt. A massive heart attack later, Kurt, only twelve, gathered his guts and told his dad to go back to Earth. Burt’s been there ever since, in his childhood home fixing cars and waiting for Kurt to visit. It’s not ideal, but they’re dealing and Burt is healthy and that is all Kurt can, will ever, ask for.

Burt is awake and smiling when they meet him at the front door, and there is a terrible moment when Kurt imagines his dad standing over his coffin. He pulls his dad into a hug, holding on tighter than usual.

“Hey Buddy.”

Blaine feels out-of-place, awkward. He always does when it’s Burt and Kurt time. Usually he sits in Burt’s tiny living room and watches football while they catch up in the kitchen, but today it’s a little different.

“I’ll leave you two alone then,” he offers awkwardly, shuffling towards the tiny garden Burt keeps. “Just – call, whenever you need me. If you need me.”

Kurt smiles, small, and nods.

--

When Mum dies, Kurt runs away from the moon for the first time in his life. He ends up in Blaine’s bed crying his heart out and Blaine sits to the side watching him, unsure what to do.

“Will you be okay?” Blaine eventually asks, and Kurt wills the tears to stop, takes as many gulping deep breaths as he can without throwing up.

“I think, maybe someday.”

“Someday is an awfully long time,” Blaine says.

“I’ll have to keep pretending until then,” says Kurt fiercely and he’s gone by morning but the side of Blaine’s pillow where Kurt had been sleeping is still damp with tears.

--

“I was wondering when you’d come by,” his dad says, shuffling to the kitchen to fix some tea. Kurt follows him, places his hand on his dad’s elbow.

“I’ll do that,” Kurt says. “I’ve been here often enough to know where the sugar is, I think.” He smiles, and his dad relents, moving away from the counter. He sits at the breakfast table, leaning up against his elbows. Sometimes Kurt forgets that his dad knows the exact moment Kurt reaches Earth, it’s like Dad has a built-in sensor.� “I haven’t been around long.”

“I might’ve shifted things around a little,” Dad says. “Sugar’s on the top shelf.” He sighs as he watches Kurt reach for it. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Blaine.”

“I –”

“I know you guys have been... intimate. I’m not dumb, I know what’s going on.” Kurt stirs the sugar into the tea, the spoon clinking against the ceramic, refusing to look at his dad. “I just need to know if you’re being safe.”

“I – yeah.” He flushes and joins his dad at the table, sinking down into the chair and feeling eight years old all over again.

“Good,” Dad says. “I trust you. Now I need to know why you’re sad.”

Kurt buries his head in his arms, breathes in the scent of Blaine’s laundry detergent. His dad has always been ridiculously good at picking out his emotions and understanding them – this time is no different.

“Well,” Kurt says, focusing his eyes on the cartoon hearts on his mug. “I’m getting married.”

--

It’s not supposed to happen like that – Kurt is supposed to turn eighteen and get married to Blaine and they’ll live on the moon and be happy and oh there are so many other little details that hurt Kurt to think about now, but the point is that that was supposed to happen, not this.

This is the Light of the sun falling in love with Kurt and the Light has a name but Kurt doesn’t want to remember it. It happens when the sun’s Light visits, and he is stiflingly warm when he grips Kurt’s arm and says, almost petulantly, I want you. He kisses Kurt later, forcefully and entirely too warm, the acrid taste of stale coffee ingrained into the back of his probing tongue.

So that’s the moment everything falls to shit and Kurt has to get married because no one gives two fucks about mutual feelings and it’s an ancient custom that dictates that if either Light is to fall in love with the other, they are to be married, regardless of whether the feeling is mutual, or not.

Kurt wants to refuse – he sits in the centre of the moon fuming and refusing to talk to anyone, but Rachel worms her way in and sits next to him, crossing her legs and leaning forward.

“You have to,” she says, and Kurt really, honestly, does.

--

Dad, bless his soul, doesn’t get it at first. “To Blaine? Don’t you think you’re a little too young for that?”

Kurt smiles into the crook of his elbow, if not a little bitterly. “No,” he says. “To the Light of the sun.”

Dad frowns. “Karofsky? But how – what?”

“He came to visit last week,” Kurt offers. It doesn’t feel real, but it’s real, so terribly real. The world will be thrown into jeopardy if he refuses – magnetism and gravity all fucked up and running out of control just because Kurt won’t give in.

“Does Blaine know?”

Kurt inhales and exhales. “No.”

“Kurt – you can’t hide this from Blaine, you have to tell him. He deserves that much, that boy loves you and –”

Kurt cuts him off, breath hitching in his throat. “It’s not fair,” he protests, and he’s crying for the first time since all of it happened, and it’s not fair, it’s never fair – “It’s just not fair.”

Dad knocks over the tea in his haste to comfort him, wraps his arms around Kurt’s shoulders and pulls him up into a hug and things will never be alright and Kurt, for the first time in his life, can’t pretend that it will be.

--

“I wasn’t supposed to be born with emotions,” says Kurt. He’s twelve and smaller than Blaine, curled up in the corner of Blaine’s bed with the duvet pulled up over his hitched-up knees. “The Light never is. They’re sort of like monks actually, and I suppose emotions get in the way of controlling gravity and important things like that.”

Blaine stares at his toes, wiggles them about and wonders if they’re average-length. “But you have all of them, right?”

“Think so,” says Kurt. “I’m just really bad at understanding other people and how they feel, or if what I do is hurting them.”

Blaine hums. “Do you understand me, then?”

“Of course I do, you’re my best friend.”

--

When they’ve calmed down enough to talk about it, Kurt puts his hand up to prevent Dad from saying anything that will change his mind.

“I’ve read up about it. If I die here, I won’t have to get married to Karofsky and the world will keep its balance. Rachel can take over my duties as The Light, she’s good enough. I’ve decided it, the next time I come back I’m going to block my way out and I’ll die here and Blaine will be able to move on if he wishes. At worst, if Blaine does tell me he loves me, he’ll only do it if I’m dying, I know him that well, and if he does that, I’ll live, but I’ll be stuck on Earth for life – I won’t have to go back and I’ll essentially be dead to Karofsky.” Kurt pauses, pulls out a folded list from his pocket, and hands it to Dad. “Here are my funeral arrangements.”

“Kurt –”

“I’m really sorry,” Kurt says, and he’s past the point of breaking so he sits as calmly as he can, looking his dad in the eye. “I need you to do this for me.”

If Kurt is selfish then this is the only time he will be, and someday he will realize that no one can truly be selfless and that selflessness is being selfish in itself, but today is not that day.

He watches his dad slip the folded piece of paper into the pocket of his plaid shirt, and Kurt goes out to the garden to call Blaine back in.

Blaine kisses him slow up against the back wall and Kurt fists his hands in the back of Blaine’s T-shirt and knows he can’t – won’t – ever live without Blaine.

--

They stay for a day or two, Kurt makes dinner and they make small talk for a little while, and later Kurt and Blaine curl up on the couch while Burt sleeps upstairs.

It’s Thursday and Blaine has to head back home.

Kurt kisses Dad goodbye on the cheek, hugs him tight enough to hurt and Dad whispers, “Did you tell him yet?” Kurt shakes his head, and Dad says, “Kurt –” but Kurt isn’t having it.

“I’m a big boy now,” he says, pulling away, but he feels too young to feel this old, and it’s not fair but he’s realized that for awhile now and there’s nothing he can do. “I’ll figure it out.”

On the highway later Blaine pulls to the side of the road and holds Kurt’s hand as Kurt starts to fade.

--

When Blaine is sixteen and facing his midterms, Kurt comes by and kisses him senseless. He sits down quietly to watch Blaine study, later, and Blaine looks up to see Kurt sprawled on his stomach and ankles locked together, regarding him quietly.

“Hey,” Kurt says, and I love you is on the tip of Blaine’s tongue –

“I love –” Blaine starts to say, but Kurt is leaping up and clapping a hand over Blaine’s mouth, effectively stopping him. He lets go a couple of seconds later, once he’s sure Blaine won’t say it.

“Don’t say it,” Kurt says, sounding almost condescending. “At least, not yet.”

Blaine nods, feeling chastised, and Kurt kisses him better, says, “One day, and then we’ll have all the time in the world. Not now, but soon.”

--

Life goes on and Blaine doesn’t see Kurt for a while. Jeff from school likes to tease him about his ‘imaginary boyfriend’ – quotation marks included – and Blaine shushes him and promises he’ll get to meet Kurt someday.

It’s a Sunday when Kurt comes back, materializing on Blaine’s bed while Blaine is in the shower. Blaine’s parents are out at lunch with a friend from church, and he comes out of the bathroom, towelling his wet hair, and Kurt is sitting on his bed, prim and proper and slightly out of breath, and he smiles.

Blaine knows this is the last time.

He’s torn between taking it slow and hurtling through like a speed train. Kurt makes that decision for him, says, “Let’s just breathe,” and Blaine can only nod dumbly.

They go slow, at first, Kurt’s hands sneaking under the shirt and trailing up Blaine’s sides and tickling the skin there with the ghost of his touch until Blaine starts to giggle helplessly into Kurt’s mouth, and Kurt is crying but he squeezes his eyes shut and pretends he isn’t.

Gravity shifts and they’re sprawled out on Blaine’s bed and it’s hard and fast and dirty and Blaine is laid out and spread open and he claws at Kurt’s arms and whimpers please, please, please over and over against whichever part of Kurt’s skin he has his mouth resting on, and Kurt obliges him.

When it’s all over, they’re both exhausted and covered in sweat, and Blaine laces their fingers together, wonders how they went from having all the time in the world to living by a ticking time bomb.

--

His parents leave for Michigan on Sunday night, and Blaine is thankful that he will have the entire week alone to devote to Kurt. They’ve gotten much better at coinciding Kurt’s visits, but Blaine still remembers the days of being ten and hiding Kurt in his room.

They end up curled together on Blaine’s couch, talking. There’s not much to say, not anymore, but then again there is, and Blaine just wants to tell Kurt how much he loves him.

They start planning out their week, and it’s like a twisted parody of a holiday, and Kurt says, “There are so many things I want to do with you,” and Blaine has to feebly smile to hide his tears.

“I want to go to school with you tomorrow,” Kurt says, picking at the cuffs of Blaine’s sleeves. “It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah,” Blaine says, nodding. “You should.”

--

There’s this odd feeling – Blaine feels somewhat detached from himself, like he’s watching him and Kurt instead of actually being in the moment itself – that Blaine can’t seem to shake.

“Surreal,” Kurt says, when Blaine tells him this much in the morning as they dress for school, Kurt in Blaine’s clothes a size too small for him, and Blaine gets help with his tie because after three years of private school he’s never been able to do it quite right.

They eat a rushed breakfast and laugh about it because they got caught up kissing, and in the car Kurt picks at the ends of his sleeves and tugs at his tie. “This is odd,” he remarks. “Uniforms, hmm.”

“To, you know, fit in better,” says Blaine, and Kurt rolls his eyes.

“I’d be able to pick you out in a sea of five-foot-six, uniformed, curly-haired boys, I think.”

Blaine barks out a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Most definitely.”

Kurt gets to meet every one of Blaine’s friends at Dalton, and Wes frowns for a little while about Kurt sneaking in but warms up to him in the end anyway, shaking his hand and asking him about McKinley. Blaine’s cooked up a cover story about how Kurt lives in Lima and goes to McKinley – he’d Googled high schools in Lima for the authenticity – and Kurt giggled about it helplessly in the car on the way to Dalton.

(“Did you also tell them the names of my seven cats?” Kurt teases. “God, I just, Blaine,” and he giggles some more.

I love you, Blaine thinks, desperately turning it in his head over and over again.)

Jeff claps Blaine on the back later and winks at him, gives him a thumbs up that Kurt sees. The bell rings for class, and they spend English in the back of the class, passing notes. Kurt pays attention most of the time, though, listens to what Mr. Smithson is saying, clasps his hands together and looks absolutely interested.

It makes Blaine ache for days of school with Kurt, holding hands between classes and skipping lunch to fool around in empty classrooms, someone to roll his eyes when Blaine does something silly with his friends, someone to kiss good morning every morning.

Kurt turns to him, flashes him a smile and Blaine struggles to shoot him one back.

Later Kurt tangles their fingers together and kisses him slow, presses him against the wall of an empty classroom and Kurt is so warm, so real, and Blaine buries his head in the crook of Kurt’s shoulder, breathes in deeply. Kurt laughs softly, throat rumbling against Blaine’s nose, and he pets at Blaine idly.

“I quite like school,” he says. “It’s very... refreshing.”

“I don’t want you to die,” Blaine says, quiet.

Kurt sighs. “I don’t want me to die either.” He pauses, pulling away from Blaine. “But I have to.”

Blaine doesn’t know why Kurt has to die, he won’t tell Blaine why – all Kurt had said before he left the last time was trust me, Blaine, please, if you – if you love me, and Blaine does.

--

After school Blaine takes him to the park and they watch children run around. Blaine traces circles on the back of Kurt’s hand, tries to block out the ticking noise in his head.

“The world will miss you,” says Blaine, and Kurt snorts, half-derisive, half-wistful.

“The world never knew me.”

I knew you, Blaine wants to say. I know you, you’re leaving, what part of that is fair?

The rest of the day passes in a blur. They talk some, but most of the time Kurt holds on to Blaine quietly and doesn’t let go.

They end up on the road at three in the morning, in Blaine’s car counting streetlights and driving to Burt’s house to spend the rest of the week there.

Kurt says, “Did you know, when F. Scott Fitzgerald was six, he had a birthday party but no one turned up. He sat outside all day and no one turned up, so he went back inside and ate his entire birthday cake, including several candles.” Kurt taps his fingers idly on the dashboard. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Wait.”

Blaine doesn’t even need to think about it. “It’s you.”

--

Burt hugs them both when they knock on his door, and Blaine knows that Burt knows – and knows more than he does, no doubt. Blaine lingers on the front porch and Kurt turns around, halfway through the door already, to regard him curiously.

“Blaine?”

Blaine looks up, doesn’t even bother hiding his tears. “Oh, Blaine,” Kurt half-whimpers, crushing him to his chest and Blaine hides his eyes in the fabric of Kurt’s shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

This is it; this is all his life coming down to one week and why?

“Why?” Blaine mumbles, and Kurt’s fingers tense, tangled in Blaine’s shirt.

“Because I –” Kurt wants to say it, of course he does, and it’s burning at the tip of his tongue and he can’t. “I can’t, Blaine.”

“Say it,” Blaine says, broken. “Please.”

“I can’t – you know I can’t.”

Blaine makes a noise of frustration, caught between a whine and a whimper. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have asked.” He pulls away, but Kurt holds on.

“You know I do. I do, so much, and it hurts so much.”

“It’s not the same,” Blaine says miserably, and the air is cooling on their skin, almost summer but not quite yet, and Kurt says, “I know.”

--

Burt looks as sad as Blaine feels, when they finally step into the house. It’s five in the morning, nearly six, and Burt shuffles around awkwardly.

“I’ll make coffee,” he says but Kurt wants to do it instead.

Blaine and Burt end up in the garden, hands shoved deep into their pockets and walking around awkwardly. Blaine is tired, so tired, and Burt looks so much older than he is, and this is what loving someone does to you, sinks you deep into the definition of your bone. Blaine wonders if Kurt knows that.

“Look, Blaine,” Burt says. “My son loves you. He won’t tell you himself and I know it’s not the same for me to tell you this, but he loves you.” He pauses, glancing at Blaine, but Blaine has nothing to say. Realizing that, Burt continues, “I think Kurt wants me to talk to you about how to deal with death.”

Blaine remembers the card on Burt’s mantle, the one that reads heart attacks are just from loving too much, and suppresses the urge to laugh maniacally. He’s going insane, surely.

“I don’t know how to deal with it,” Blaine says. “I don’t think I’m going to deal with it.”

“You’re going to have to,” Burt says, then sighs. “To be honest, I don’t know what to tell you. What can I say? I’m almost fifty, Blaine, and my wife’s been dead almost a decade. I’m still hurting – I’m not going to lie to you, it will keep on hurting, but you get stronger.”

“If,” says Blaine, “if you hadn’t told Kurt’s mum you loved her, do you think you could’ve maybe moved on, now?”

Burt massages his temples. “It’s hard to say, honestly. You never know what could happen.”

“But?” Blaine prompts, and Burt sighs.

“No, I don’t think I would’ve. Feelings can’t be shut off, I know Kurt understands that, but he doesn’t want to.”

“He won’t tell me why,” Blaine says abruptly. “I just want to know why.”

Burt is about to say something, but stops himself at the last moment. “That’s for Kurt to tell you. He will, eventually. Blaine, I want to thank you for doing this for my son. He’s been more than lucky to find someone like you.”

“I need him,” Blaine says, breath harsh. “Somehow I don’t think that matters anymore.”

Burt hugs him briefly. “Of course it matters – you matter.”

--

Kurt is curled up on the sofa, half-hidden under the afghan, when Burt and Blaine go back inside, and for one horrible moment Blaine’s heart stutters to a stop and he thinks Kurt might be dead, but Kurt shifts a little into a seating position and smiles blearily.

“I thought you were dead,” Blaine breathes, and Kurt has to blink a couple of times before he replies.

“I’m not.” But he will be.

“Let’s not,” Blaine says, quietly when Burt leaves them alone for a moment so he can grab his coffee. “Let’s not think about the dying part, okay?”

Kurt nods, barely perceptible in the dark.

“Well then,” Blaine says, joining him on the couch. “I’m going to woo you,” he tells Kurt, lacing their fingers together and why does everything he says sound so sad?

--

Over breakfast Blaine asks him if he will go out for dinner with him tonight, and Kurt says yes.

Blaine is gone for the most of the afternoon, and Kurt doesn’t know where he is, but Dad tells him not to worry, and they sit in the living room looking through photo albums and forgotten things from a lifetime past.

There is an overly large sweater sitting in the middle of the pile, and Dad laughs when he sees it. He picks it up, holds it gingerly like it’s fragile – it is. “Your mother’s favourite sweater,” he says, at Kurt’s questioning gaze. “She loved this damn thing. I don’t think you’ve ever seen her in it before, but before you were born she used to wear it all the time. She left it in the back of my car once, before she faded, and I kept it ever since.” Dad pauses, shakes it out gently. “The day she died I left you with Carole for a little while, and I went to the edge of the moon – I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but there’s a tradition that heartbroken lovers go there to mourn the dead,” he laughs sheepishly. “Anyway, I stood at the edge of the moon and said, ‘I’m sorry you’re dead but you can’t have your sweater back.’ I think for a moment there I expected her to come back to life just to get that sweater.”

--

Blaine knocks on the door at eight sharp, dressed in a suit and bouquet in hand. He hands a surprised Kurt the flowers and tugs him out of the door.

“Take care of my son,” Burt says gruffly. “I want him home by twelve.”

“Yes sir,” Blaine says, grinning and mock-saluting, and it’s unfairly adorable that Kurt giggles into the back of his hand.

“So,” Kurt says, “where are we going?”

“I have plans,” Blaine assures him. “Your father’s not getting you back tonight.”

Kurt mock-frowns. “You should listen to him if you want to take me out again.”

Blaine laughs, presses a kiss to the back of Kurt’s hand. “Guess I’ll leave my plans for the second date, then.”

“Guess you will.”

Blaine’s booked a fancy Italian restaurant, and they giggle over the menu and point at random things that don’t seem potentially disgusting.

Dinner turns out to be delicious – although Blaine picks cautiously at the mess of sauce and something on his plate – and it’s a success.

“Wooed yet?” Blaine asks, grinning over their glasses of water. Kurt swallows his bite, considers it.

“Barely,” he says, but his eyes are twinkling.

Blaine drops him off, walks him to the front door and kisses him goodnight, hands low on Kurt’s waist and Kurt threads his fingers through Blaine’s hair.

“You let just anyone kiss you on the first date, baby?” Blaine teases when they pull away, and Kurt rolls his eyes, swatting Blaine in the chest.

“Not just anyone.”

Kurt disappears through the front door and Blaine stands on the porch with his hands in his pockets and grinning like a fool, then he slips in through the back door and tackles Kurt in their bed, muting their laughter and feeling giddy.

--

In the morning Blaine wakes up to Kurt breathing shallowly against his skin, and he panics, but Kurt lifts his head and says, “I’m not dying,” laughing as he ruts almost lazily against Blaine’s hip.

Kurt’s fingers run seamlessly against the waistband of Blaine’s pants, and a couple of minutes later he’s got his fingers gripping hard onto Blaine’s hips and his mouth low on Blaine’s erection.

Blaine holds on to Kurt’s hair, petting almost idly as nonsensical whimpers and half-moans leave his throat. Kurt hums enthusiastically, and Blaine’s orgasm washes over him like a lazy tidal wave.

Later, after a late breakfast with Burt, they drive to the nearest train station and purchase one-way tickets to nowhere in particular. Like runaway children on a freight train, they sit in seats far apart and giggle and pretend they’ve just met.

“We’re going to elope,” Kurt tells the little girl sitting next to him, her mother asleep. “See that guy over there?” He points to Blaine, who fakes a loud snore and chokes. “I met him today and we’re going to get married.”

“That’s so romantic,” the kid sighs, and really, she can’t be much more than eight years old.

Kurt giggles, discusses princesses and dresses with her until she has to get off at the next station. He slides over to Blaine once she’s left, and buries his head in the crook of Blaine’s shoulder.

“Hello there,” Blaine says, warm, and Kurt grins.

“I have hope in the future generation. Let’s get off at the fourth-next.” He sneaks his hand down to play against the curve of Blaine’s pant-covered ass to illustrate his point. “In more ways than one.”

They end up at a small town they’ve never been to before, and Blaine reads the road-signs like a maniac because he’s terrified of getting lost.

“I want to live here,” Kurt sighs happily at the sight of broken-down buildings and quiet cafes. “It’s beautiful here.”

They wander around town for hours on end, kicking at fresh rain puddles and counting things – pink cafes, children – as they take in as much as they can. They stand at the front of a graffiti-covered tattoo parlour and make bets on racing raindrops on the windowpane until someone comes out and asks them if they’d like a tattoo.

Blaine is on the verge of saying no, but Kurt, rebellious, gets the world map on the plane of his ribs. The tattoo artist inks it in and Kurt’s skin heals over immediately with every jab, and the artist blinks in surprise.

“Whoa,” he says. “Are you some sort of fairy with magic-healing skin?”

Blaine knows they probably shouldn’t have picked the guy who smelled like pot, but then again it’s sort of like a blessing in disguise, not having to answer too many questions.

“Pretty much,” Kurt says, running his fingers along the lines of his tattoo. “Yeah.”

--

On Wednesday, Burt has to work so they have the house to themselves, and they lounge around on Kurt’s bed, clothes falling off as time progresses. Blaine has his fingers tracing Kurt’s tattoo over and over again, and he slides down to trace the lines with his tongue, closing his eyes and letting years of Geography lessons kick in. He has to open them once in awhile to make sure he’s following the contours, and Kurt shudders and grips at his hair as he licks around America, then Asia, and Europe.

Kurt whimpers Blaine when Blaine swirls his tongue around Australia, and Blaine grins, eyelashes fluttering against Kurt’s skin.

It’s slow and not at all rushed, and Blaine reaches over to grab a pen.

“What are you doing?” Kurt says, but Blaine shushes him and uncaps the pen, biting his lip as he sets to work.

“Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again,” Blaine says, and Kurt is confused for a moment before he realizes he’s reciting poetry, and the scratch and drag of the pen nib as Blaine writes whatever he’s saying onto Kurt’s skin is oddly comforting.

“How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses.” He pauses to press a kiss to Kurt’s chest as he writes, the drag of the side of his palm rough and calloused on Kurt’s skin. “It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere.”

“�it's more like a song on a policeman's radio,” Blaine breathes, quieter now as he concentrates on writing, and Kurt tries not to squirm. “How we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces.”

Blaine shifts lower so he can write on Kurt’s stomach now. “Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means we're inconsolable.” He leans down, presses his lips to the jut of Kurt’s hip, pen scrawling a scribble as he loses concentration.

He rubs at it idly, and continues. “Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light.” He pauses, moving up to kiss Kurt one last time before returning his attention southwards.

Blaine tugs on the waistband of Kurt’s jeans, pushes them lower so he has more space to work on, and scrawls, “Tell me we'll never get used to it.”

Kurt sighs, broken, and grips Blaine’s hair tighter. “Blaine,” he says. “I want you.”

--

The next couple of days pass by in another blur – sex and kisses and desperately trying to forget that Kurt is going to die, and they spend it with Burt most of the time.

Kurt takes Blaine to all the important places, shows him where Burt met Elizabeth, and they spend time sitting by the brick wall at the back of Burt’s garden and carve their names into the bark of the huge tree up front.

“Something to remember us by,” Blaine says, and Kurt says, “I thought we were supposed to forget.”

They share a cigarette later, cough smoke out from their lungs and pretend to be grown up for a little while.

--

It’s Friday night – almost Saturday.

There are two boys in the sea – one is trying to forget and one is trying to remember – and they are tangled with each other, clothes heavy and wet sticking to their bodies.

Kurt says, “My expectations of romance have greatly dwindled,” and Blaine kisses him just because.

“It’s such a pity,” Kurt teases, breathy, when they pull apart. “I used to think beaches were the most romantic places on Earth.” He laughs, curls his fingers in the hair at the nape of Blaine’s neck. “I still do, actually.”

Blaine laughs and pulls him under the water. They resurface, spluttering and giggling, and soaking wet, they wade back onto shore and flop on their backs, sand sticking to every inch of their skin. They lie spread-eagled, their fingertips just barely brushing, as they attempt to catch their breath.

“You know,” says Kurt. “I think, if things were different, we probably wouldn’t have been able to have all of this.”

Above them Northern Lights glow and they watch in silence – every so often Kurt’s gaze slides down to the line of Blaine’s neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs, and the flat plane of his stomach as he breathes in and out – and after awhile Blaine turns and props himself up on his elbows, watching Kurt quietly.

“You look like a pervert,” Kurt tells him, and Blaine traces the lines of Kurt’s veins, pale blue inside his skin, illuminated by the moonlight, watches his hurricane eyes blink and wonders if he’ll ever forget them, if he’ll ever be able to forget them or if he’ll ever want to.

“Well,” Blaine says. “I think you look beautiful tonight.”

There are two boys in love – one is trying not to forget and one is trying not to remember.

--

They get back early in the morning, sand still stuck to patches of their skin, and they’re sitting on the tree in Burt’s garden, legs dangling off the branches. If Blaine reaches over he can clasp Kurt’s hand in his own, so he does, and Kurt smiles nervously up at him.

“I’m getting married,” Kurt says, finally. “He’s the Light of the sun and we have to get married because it’s fucking ancient customs because he fucking fell in love with me and the universe will be thrown into jeopardy if I don’t.”

Blaine freezes. “What?”

“On my birthday,” Kurt says, quiet. “I have to go back and get married on my eighteenth birthday.” He pulls his hand from Blaine’s. “That’s why I wanted to stay – that’s why I blocked the way back.”

“And you’re telling me this now?”

Kurt shrugs. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Fuck, Kurt, you’re going to die in a day or two.” Blaine clenches his fists, nails digging into the skin of his palms. “We could’ve – we should’ve done so much more.”

“It’s almost over,” Kurt says. “We’ve done a lot, I’d say.”

Blaine seethes. “It’s not enough, it’s never enough.” He stares at the horizon and the sunset bleeding across the sky. “You’re incredibly selfish, Kurt.”

“I –” Kurt starts to say. “I would say, I would tell you that I love –” He pauses, swallowing. “But I’m not going to bind you to me. That would be selfish.”

Blaine shakes his head. “You have no idea what selfish is.” It’s not Kurt’s fault – Kurt’s never been completely human and Blaine can’t expect, shouldn’t expect anything like this from him. He doesn’t cry, even though he feels like someone’s gone and crumpled him from the inside, but his eyes are dry, his jaw set and his resolve resolute. “Will you be alive in the morning?” He’s defeated. There’s nothing else he can do.

“I don’t know,” Kurt says, honestly. “I doubt so.”

“Well then.” Blaine fakes bravado, tugs on Kurt’s hand. “Let’s make the most of tonight.”

He’s going to watch his boyfriend die.

--

Dinner they leave almost untouched – Kurt nibbles his way through a forkful and Blaine swallows down two – and they go to bed early, just to lie tangled up together in a mess of limbs and skin impossible to tell apart.

“I should’ve done something illegal,” says Kurt. “It would make dying a little more worth it, I think.” He’s pushing Blaine’s limits and they both know it. Blaine can feel Kurt’s bated breath, taste his hesitance and nerves as he waits for a response.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll kidnap the president together,” Blaine finally says. “I’ll be dying about the same time you do, anyway.”

Kurt stiffens, pulls himself up into a sitting position. “What?”

Blaine is being petty, he knows that, but he says, “Yep. After you die, I’m going to drive off a cliff.” He hums. “Maybe I’ll load your dead body in the car, strap you in the passenger seat and we can sort-of die together.”

“You can’t –” Kurt says. “You can’t do that.”

“Can’t what, die? Sure I can. You can, easily enough.” Blaine sits up, looks at Kurt in the eye. “My boyfriend – my life – is going to die tomorrow. I’m going to watch him die. Did you think about that when you made your decision? I’m going to be holding you in my arms and watching you run out of breath and I’m going to have a dead body in my arms and what the fuck am I going to do without you?”

�“I have funeral arrangements,” Kurt says, leaning off the bed to pick his jeans up from the floor. Digging through his pockets, he locates the piece of notebook paper Blaine’s already (secretly) read and unfolds it. “Here. All my funeral arrangements. I thought everything through, it won’t get you arrested for murder or anything. My dad has the same list, he’ll know what to do.”

Blaine, very calmly, rips the paper into two, then four, then six, and lets it flutter, confetti-shreds onto the duvet.

“I’m seventeen,” Blaine announces, and then, bitterly, “and I’m going to watch my boyfriend die.”

Kurt swallows audibly. “I didn’t,” he starts to say. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” says Blaine, but all the acid has bled out of his voice. “Can you unblock your way out?”

Kurt hesitates. “I don’t know if I have enough energy,” he says, but it’s a lie. He does, just barely enough, but it is enough.

“Do it,” Blaine says, his grip tightening on Kurt’s wrist. “Now.”

“Blaine, I –”

“Goddamnit, Kurt, do it,” Blaine says, but Kurt shakes his head.

“I’m not going back there. I am not going to go and sit in the centre of the moon and fuck things up again.”

Blaine tightens his grip again and Kurt winces. “Kurt, I need you to do this for me.”

Kurt fires up, suddenly, eyes blazing as he turns on Blaine. “Stop making me!” he yells, and the volume of his voice shocks them both, but he can’t stop now, can’t calm down – “I don’t want to go back there. I’m going to get married if I go back there, okay? I have to get married and it won’t be to you and I’ll live forever and it won’t be with you and just let me stay here and die, okay?”

Blaine kisses him, surging forward and slamming their mouths together so hard they can both taste blood, copper thick on their tongues and Kurt is holding him in place and they’re still angry, rage buzzing through their veins and oh they’re going to die but oh they have nothing left to lose.

“Kurt,” Blaine breathes, pulling away to nip sharply at his earlobe. “Listen to me,” he says, and Kurt’s eyes are dark and blown wide as he nods. “I’m going to say it,” Blaine warns him. “I don’t care what happens, but in three seconds I am going to say it, and if you don’t want to hear it you should run now.”

Kurt shudders against him, tangles his hands in Blaine’s hair. “I,” Kurt says, and then, swallowing, “I love you.”

“I love you,” Blaine says, immediately, automatically, and there is something warm expanding in his chest, threatening to burst. Kurt feels it too, and it burns but it’s a good burn, slow and steady in his chest and he laces their fingers together.

His head is pounding and throbbing, a blinding pain at the back of his skull like someone is carving his brain with a fruit-knife, and Kurt knows that his only way back to the moon is being completely destroyed now, and he will never go back.

There is relief and he thinks his heart might be breaking – breaking for the people he’s left behind – but just as quickly as it shatters it’s being pieced back together again.

--

They wake up strange – and the first thing Blaine does is pin Kurt to the mattress and tell him he loves him, over and over again until his jaw starts to ache but even then he doesn’t slow down, and Kurt kisses him hard.

“I’m here,” Kurt breathes, disbelievingly, and Blaine tangles their limbs together and feels Kurt’s heartbeat over the fabric of his shirt. “We did it.”

There is a break in the clouds when they separate long enough to look at the sky, but the sun is still shining and the world seems calm. Burt’s next-door-neighbour Albert is getting his mail, scratching at his crotch idly as he reaches for his newspaper, and somehow, somehow that’s what relieves them.

They rush downstairs and Burt looks wrecked when Kurt tackles him into a hug, and he holds on to Kurt so hard Blaine fears they both might break.

“Daddy,” Kurt breathes, “I’m alive.”

fin