Kurt is the friend who is clever, talented and successful- almost two full years at NYADA, a Vogue.com apprenticeship and then later a follow up degree from Parsons when he had decided to venture down a different route- can tell anybody that.

He now spends most of his days and nights busy as head of the costume and design department for a New York based-though sometimes travelling- theater production company.

Kurt is the friend who is charming, honest and loyal. On his free days he spends the time mostly with friends who can vouch that he is a lovely, kind and caring friend to have. He's fun to be around, he's reliable and strong willed, thick skinned and he makes the best Appletini's- but that's neither here nor there.

Kurt is the single friend, the only one left out of his small gang of twenty-something year olds who is still yet to tie the knot, or have a kid, or just settle in some way.

He's independent and self efficient and he's rather proud of his quaint little Brooklyn brownstone which he keeps exceptionally clean and tidy.

But when his oldest and closest friend Mercedes's proudest moment was announcing her tour and her engagement to her tour manager on the same day, and his second dearest friend Rachel's was marrying her co-star and then giving birth to his twins, Kurt's proudest moment was baking a triple layer chocolate mousse cake which didn't deflate or flop to the side.

Or the day that he saved the show with his quick on his feet thinking and mastery sewing skills after one of the lovely but larger sized actress's accidentally-god only knows how- tried to squeeze into the most petite woman on set's leotard, needless to say there were sequins everywhere, and Kurt never had to buy a drink once that night at the after-show bar.

Kurt loves his home and his job, he's proud of where he is in his life right now and the route he has taken to get here. After dabbing a big toe in the rough waters of showbiz he had humbly decided that behind the curtain, the costumes and the occasional voice over work was best suited for him. He was still getting from it as much as he put in, he gets praise and thanks in all the right places, and his job takes him so many places in so many ways that the passion never dies.

He is lucky, in some, most, but not all cases.

Kurt loves nothing more than coming home after a long day, with the praising roar of the audience still whirling around his head and in his ears, slipping into something more comfortable, eating whatever is quickest to make or order and continuing his latest TV marathon.

He also loves meeting friends and work colleagues at a restaurant or bar, shopping and spa days, mini weekend getaways and the occasional water taxi ride out somewhere on a quiet relaxed Sunday.

However these rendezvous' are slowly becoming somewhat of a sad rarity for Kurt. It's Summer, therefore Rachel is vacationing all over Europe with her brood, Mercedes has deadlines to meet for Fall, and his other gaggle of friends come and go from New York and Kurt's life like a yo-yo, always when and if they can.

The last time that Kurt had hung out with his work friends outside of work had been Peter (one of the sound tech guy's) wedding about a month ago, and the only other social event that is scribbled down on Kurt's kitchen wall calendar is Elle's (set dresser) engagement party in a few weeks time.

All of these cards are constantly coming his way, tied and taped up to his mirrors, the cork notice board, the marker board in his office (shoe box-spare bedroom) all shapes and sizes, plush and thick and cream and ivory with pastel ribbons, with paper invites buried deep inside. Invitations to weddings, engagements, civil partnerships, anniversary parties, baby showers, christenings, naming ceremonies, first birthday parties with bouncy castles in white picket fenced yards, the list is endless. All occasions in which Kurt attends alone, arms full of gifts and cards signed with just his name, he can't count on his fingers how many times he's signed up to multiple gift registries in umpteen stores throughout the city.

So yes Kurt is the single friend, the friend who is still looking, the friend who is still waiting, but he's not lonely, he's not sad, he's just…hopeless, he guesses. Unlucky. He's resigned to not having what everybody else around him seems to have, he's accepted that maybe it's just not for him, not any more. It's more of a choice than anything, he chooses to be single, he chooses to not rely on anybody to get through his life, he chooses to have fun and party it up, or at least he did, in his somewhat younger years.

Kurt had his first short high school relationship with a boy he'd met in a record shop, it lasted for about two weeks before Kurt realised that the boy was a little insane and jealous and that Kurt could do so much better and had some growing up to do. Then there was the gay bar one night stand during college (the first time), the Christmas fling, the summer break heart throb, the string of dates and then finally the boyfriend.

In Kurt's eyes he was the one, the first one he'd uttered those three careful words to, the one who had taken full residency in Kurt's heart, the one Kurt had chosen to trust and dedicate himself to. They met during junior year of Kurt's second try at College, he was a senior and Kurt fell for him wholly and hopelessly, a fast whirlwind romance.

Kurt gave him his all and his everything, for three years, on their way towards a future together, until the asshole threw it all back in Kurt's face with just one careless, thoughtless action-fucking the neighbour in the parking garage of their (pretty much shared) apartment.

It was a weekend, it was late at night, Kurt could smell the alcohol on his breath but couldn't see any regret in his eyes, or humiliation, just the look of flailing shock on the other guys flushed cheeks. There wasn't even any grovelling, barely any shame, but what's done was done, no going back.

It's fairly safe to say that no matter how broken Kurt had been left, no matter how hurt and shattered and torn he had been when he came away from that relationship, it was undoubtedly for the best. Giving up that jerk and getting away from him, though heart rendering at the time, and with a lot of days afterwards to heal, had changed Kurt's life, it made him stronger and more confident, more willing to try and fight for what he wants, and actually know what he wants, not just assume, not just settle for the first thing that falls at his feet.

Now Kurt flaunts and flirts like it's nobody business, he goes to bars when his friends are available to escort him, he gives out his number (sometimes the right digits) he accepts drinks and dances, cheesy pick up lines and chaste cheek kisses, sometimes tempting with a suck or nibble of the lip and he loves it. He enjoys the looks and stares, the glances and the sometimes cheeky passing gropes, the whistles and murmurs of appreciation. He preens, ruffles his peacock feathers and thinks ‘fuck you' to all of those high school assholes, to the asshole that thought it was ok to go behind his back, because look at him now, so successful, so handsome, so wanted, but that's where it ends.

And so Kurt is the friend who lets the boys look, lets the boys want and some come close, sometimes too close and sometimes they take but they can never truly have him, because Kurt Hummel will never let himself fall like that, in love, again.

And then there is Blaine.

*

Blaine Anderson is the guy who Kurt had met during his second stab at high school, the first friend he had made after transferring to an all-boys prep school, his first out and proud gay friend. A friend who had made him feel safe and comfortable and happy. They'd go and see movies and concerts together, do homework and watch re-runs, go to dinner and hang out at the mall, the park, the local coffee shop, anywhere and everywhere. They danced and sang and Blaine was the first person who made Kurt think differently, more enthusiastically about other boys, about relationships and about love and even sex.

Moments of ignoring their unknown shared feelings, pretending and playing had turned into missed and forgotten ones and before things between them could try to develop, before they had even began Kurt was told he could transfer back to his old school after whatever issues he'd had there beforehand had been cleared.

After a few months of texting and IM'ing each other, the occasional call and meet up at some place, Blaine eventually faded out of Kurt's life, sadly but surely.

Kurt had rarely admitted to anyone other than a handful of Glee Club friends that his feelings towards his ‘Dalton friend' were just a little more than platonic. He'd tried once to imply this and the results weren't exactly what he had hoped for, therefore he never tried again.

The love and desire in his heart that Kurt had amounted and wanted to extend to somebody that he thought could reciprocate it, he bottled it up and saved it, saved it for another time, another person.

Apart from the odd face book recognition or an old name thrown into a high school conversation, Kurt had never heard from or seen Blaine again.  

Until around three months ago.

Kurt had been back in Lima visiting with his family for the weekend and had randomly bumped into a dark, handsome but not too tall stranger. No, not a stranger, Blaine.

It was a Friday afternoon, and at the same coffee house that they used to hang out in together when they were high school students. There was no denying the delight in each of their faces when realizing who each other were, the simmering signs of recognition in their eyes.

They went on to take turns in buying coffee (remembering each others orders right down to the sugar quantity), found a quiet table to occupy for the rest of the afternoon, shared some biscotti and caught up on what they had missed out on, in the last eight or so years of each other's lives.

The conversation was basic and generic. ‘Are you dating? Are you working? What have I missed? Did you see Beyonce at the Super bowl?'

Later that evening after Kurt had called his dad to tell him he was meeting up with an old friend instead of eating with him and his step-mom at home. He and Blaine ate at the same Italian hangout they loved so much all of those years ago, eating and sharing the same food, laughing and talking like old times. It was so automatic, like nothing had to be talked about or discussed, just caught up on, like the years gone by was just one big ‘pause' and now they were continuing.

The next night they arranged to meet at a bar just outside of town, both dressed impeccably, they greeted each other with coy-too long hugs and shining eyes. They shared bar snacks whilst huddled close in a tiny booth of the dim lit club, danced and drank cocktails and downed bottles of beer after beer until Kurt finally found himself stumbling out of the back exit of the bar at god knows what time and into Blaine's arms. Their lips and teeth clashed together hungrily, wet and noisy and so hot as they made their way through the parking lot to the taxi rank, yanking open the back door of the first available cab and giving the driver directions to Blaine's place.

Buzzed enough not to care, though not enough to not care.

This was safe, this was good, this was two old friends, clearly attracted to each other, catching up and having some fun while they can, just a one time thing. Hopefully Kurt wouldn't regret it too much in the morning after a couple aspirin.   

Kurt flew back to New York the next day with a sore head, (admittedly a sore ass), delicious aches and marks all over actually, covering his well clothed body, a new number added to his cell phone address book, and an undeniable smile on his face.

*

However Kurt had then went on to spend the next week trudging through his days, pouring himself into his work, snapping unfairly at the poor unsuspecting PA's and stagehands and ultimately ignoring every text and missed voice messages from one Blaine Anderson.

This is what Kurt does now, this is how he deals. He gives himself over, he lets the sinful delight of alcohol seep into his thoughts and his head and his heart, and he gives, he gives in to temptation and mutes the little voice in his head telling him to be careful. He endures and enjoys a night of passion and lust and undeniable fun, and then he spends the next day talking himself out of the fact that he liked it, that he feels like he wants and needs more, like he's allowing himself to hope.

When Kurt finally texts Blaine back- because he feels like he should, and honestly he does kind of want to, call it curiosity- it's Friday night a little after eight, and it's been a whole week since their reunion. He's just settled into his favourite spot on the couch, his hands curled around a small tub of Ben & Jerry's and his Netflix account up on the TV offering him some suggestions for the night.

To Blaine A:

Hey. Sorry it's been such ‘a week'. How are you? I'm just curled up on the couch : ) K x

He rereads his message over and over little while before shoving his phone down into the couch cushions and settles in, pointing the remote the TV screen. Blaine probably won't even text back, not now, Kurt's probably blown it. Well that's fine, Kurt's not ready to let somebody in to his life just yet, not fully, not in the way other people want to. Besides, how could something even work between them, with Blaine living back in Ohio. Or maybe that's the beauty of it, maybe that's how it can work, because Blaine is so far away, and Kurt can allow himself to want from afar without the fear of getting too close, without the fear of getting hurt.

His phone buzzes just as the opening credits are starting to roll for whatever movie he finally decided on.

From Blaine A:

Hey stranger ; ) glad to hear from you, don't be sorry, it's fine, you're a hard working New Yorker now- I get it. I'm good thank you. Sounds nice, are you on your own? B x

Although he hates to admit it, his stomach flutters excitedly, and Blaine even gets the privilege of Kurt putting the tub down so that he can text back with two thumbs.  

They're currently hours away from each other, it won't hurt just a little harmless flirting, just a little back and forth texting to get him through his Friday night.

To Blaine A:

Yeah. Well no…there is Ben and also Jerry ; )

From Blaine A:

I'm jealous… of you, not them ;)

Kurt snorts, Blaine was always a charmer, he always found a way to make him smile and laugh and vice versa.

From Blaine A:

Would you like some company, maybe?

This makes Kurt furrow his brow, he's not really down for Skype-ing or anything, not yet, and certainly not what he thinks Blaine might want to do.

To Blaine A:

Do you have a teleport?

From Blaine A:

Sadly not : ( But I have legs and the ability to walk and catch a cab or hop on a subway. I also have access to another tub of ice cream, don't tell me…Cookie Dough for you right?

To Blaine A:

Won't the ice cream have melted by the time you get to Brooklyn from Ohio??

From Blaine A:

Yes I'm sure it would do. You're in Brooklyn? Good job I am too then huh?

To Blaine A:

What?

From Blaine A:

I'm at home in Brooklyn. I live in Brooklyn too, guess we never covered where we ‘actually lived' huh?

To Blaine A:

No I guess we didn't, but if you live here, then where were we back in Ohio? You know, when we um…??

From Blaine:

Can't stop thinking about that night either huh?; ) We were at my place that I sublet…obviously it's tenant free at the moment : )

Oh. Well this really throws a spanner into the works then doesn't it? He knew Blaine was a Performing Art's Teacher and part time musician who helped out at a community theater occasionally. They had discussed it and how much Blaine loves his job and teaching kids and working with people who are also talented and passionate about music and performing, but he never asked where, just never thought that Blaine could have been visiting Ohio the same as he had been.

Now that he thinks about it Kurt had been rather vague about his own life and current residency, he had just told Blaine simply New York, and Blaine had just nodded in return. But that's just Kurt, never wanting to give too much away, even if the other person is the dream boat Kurt had always pined for back in high school.

They had clearly been too busy thinking about other things then actually getting down to real facts and basics, it's rather humorous actually. 

Kurt bites his lip and pauses the movie, the opening soundtrack becoming too distracting. He passes his phone between both hands whilst he tries to rally his thoughts, what would be so bad about Blaine coming over? What would it mean? He liked Blaine, he enjoyed seeing him again and catching up, and liked the way it felt to be completely comfortable in somebody's presence again. What would be the harm in just being, or turning their one night thing into a two night thing, or maybe a weekender? Weekends are for fun right?

He'd be kidding himself if he said that it wasn't the best sex he'd ever had and although admittedly had been trying to play it cool and ignore Blaine's attempts at contact, he still couldn't forget the way that it felt that night with Blaine. How his skin shivered, sweat slick and hot as he wrapped his legs around Blaine's waist, clawed at his neck and shoulders whilst Blaine pounded him into the mattress, pumping Kurt's body with what felt like years of pent up feelings, missed moments and unfinished business.

His phone buzzes in his hand, causing him to startle from his thoughts and almost drop the thing down into his lap.

From Blaine A:

Have I stunned you to silence? I guess we didn't really cover ‘everything' huh? Look, honestly I just enjoyed seeing you again Kurt, and I had the most fun that I've had in a long time. I'm not going to beg you into seeing me again, but if you'd like to, it would be cool to just like hang out, like old time's you know?? : )

Well fuck. Kurt inhales sharp and quick and blows it out slowly, chest pounding and stomach fluttering whilst his eyes skim over the message again and again. He taps a thumb against the edge of the phone and a finger tip from his other hand up to his chin.

Again he questions ‘what would be the harm?' What if he just lets himself have this? No obligations, no worries, hopefully no more broken hearts. Blaine won't break his heart, he won't let him.

Just him and Blaine, like the old days, the good days, before life and love got in the way and complicated things and narrowed Kurt's mind and played with his feelings and frightened his heart.

His fingers start working, tapping over the small screen before he has a chance to try and talk himself out of anything, he deserves this, he's allowed to have fun and to want things, he knows not to want more than that.

To Blaine A:

Karamel Sutra.

From Blaine A:

Excuse me?

To Blaine A:

The ice cream, make it two tubs ; )  x

*

Blaine stays with Kurt for almost the whole of the weekend, after turning up on Kurt's front stoop -complete with a dazzling smile and a paper brown bag- a short while after their texting conversation.  It turns out that they actually only live a handful of blocks away from each other, in and around the Borough area- what are the chances huh?

They text and tease about this surprising fact for the whole time it takes Blaine to get there, Blaine sends him a running commentary throughout his journey, including the conversation he'd had with the sweet store clerk in the freezer department of the corner store whilst looking for Kurt's preferred flavour.

When Kurt invites Blaine inside, they exchange pleasantries, grab spoons and the settle together on the couch, knees bending and legs flopping casually. It's nice, if not just a little awkward at first, but it was never not going to be. They manage to get through two and a half tubs, sharing with separate spoons though Kurt happily accepts the spoonful of whole chocolate chunks that Blaine had dug out for him, and afterwards they wind up with just the one spoon.

The conversation and laughter just keeps coming, and soon they're tucked up close scouring through Kurt's old memory box, looking for pictures of them in their uniforms and pre-teen hair. Blaine was right, it is cool to hang out, it's more than cool, it's lovely and Kurt soon forgets to feel apprehensive around Blaine. When he looks over at him in the dim light of his lounge lamps, all he sees is the boy who sang to him in high school, the boy who filled his dull days with smiles and laughter, handsome as ever, not somebody to worry about.  

They marathon an old block buster trilogy and by the time they're half way through the second movie-the hours ticking by without either of them noticing- Kurt excuses himself to slip into the kitchen, coming back with two large glasses of wine and a mischievous grin.

They don't watch much of the third movie, and it's quite hard to even hear it over the sounds of soft gasps, moans and panting breaths. They don't even make it to the bedroom that night-or early morning, and when Kurt wakes later that morning he's surrounded by empty wine bottles and Blaine, draped over his bare body, half on the couch, half almost on the carpeted floor.

Saturday is spent walking the streets of New York, shaking off their bad heads, fingers brushing teasingly against bare arms. This years Summer is rather lovely so far, warm enough to wear cut off pants and sleeveless tee's but not unpleasantly so, enough to wear revealing clothes without igniting too much of a reaction.

Kurt had thrown Blaine a clean pair of his own underwear and laughed at his dishevelled but still gorgeous state, and after deciding on separate showers-it's for the best- they found themselves up and ready and out in a small bistro down the street with coffee and bagels.        

Blaine takes Kurt to the nearest Brook's Brothers store and models some shirts and ties that'd he been browsing online, Kurt is only too happy to give his advice and wouldn't say no to watching Blaine parade around the store in well form fitting clothes.  

Blaine buys dinner at a sushi bar, and Kurt buys Cronuts and Frappe's afterwards whilst they weave in and out of the busy Saturday crowd. It's easy and nice and fun and Kurt constantly has to push away the one, small, four lettered word which keeps occupying most of his mind space, filling him with an unexplainable dread.

This is not a date. This is not a date.

It's not. They hooked up, more than once-which was amazing no doubt about that- and now they're just hanging out, friends rediscovering each other, enjoying their lives and their time, in their city.

But when they're stood at a stop light waiting for the road to clear and safe to cross, Blaine steps up close, brushing his fingers against Kurt's in the midst of the busy waiting crowd and then tangles their fingers together, as the green man starts walking and they're pushed together across the road to the other side.

Is that something that happens when you're not on a date?

Kurt lies awake that night in Blaine's arms, eyes wide and hearts beating with their bodies strewn and stretched across the mattress, sweaty and sated. They don't talk much, if at all, just the odd pleasant mumble or a groan of pure bliss as one of them stretches and moves in closer. The dark and quiet room is filled with empty questions, thick with raw tension and undeniable want.

A little later the next day after Blaine has made French toast for them both and looked too damn good dancing around Kurt's kitchen wearing nothing but Kurt's white flannel robe, Blaine kisses Kurt soundly again and again until he backs down the steps of the front stoop and Kurt has to tear his eyes away from watching him walk down the street, locking himself back inside the safety of his home, his own little bubble.

He drags himself back in to the front room, falls down on to the couch with a heavy sigh and just breathes for a few silent moments, eyes clenched shut. With his body aching in all of the best ways, his heart beating a little too fast and his grin not willing to budge in the slightest, Kurt knows that he's in deep shit. He knows this feeling, what it is and what it means and he hopes to god that it's just a phase.

It will back off eventually, Blaine will back off eventually. But Kurt can't deny that for the first time in a long time, he feels happy, comfortable and ultimately frightened.

His phone lights up from the floor over where its plugged in at the wall, charging. Kurt heaves himself off of the couch, crawls over to the floor, and unlocks the screen.

Blaine:

I didn't mean to stay the whole weekend, hell I didn't even mean to stay Friday night, sorry, but thank you, for you know, everything! I loved every minute : )

Kurt leaves his phone plugged in and the message window left open on the screen as he crawls back over to the couch and buries himself underneath a pile of cushions and covers. The throw cover still smells like Blaine's aftershave and Kurt forces himself not to pull it over and wrap himself in it.

Yep, he's definitely in deep shit alright.

*

Kurt doesn't reply to Blaine's message that night or even the next day, but during lunch break the day after that, he finds himself idly thumbing through his phone contacts whilst he stands in line at his favourite deli, looking up at the menu half heartedly-even though he already knows what he's getting anyway.

His thumb hovers and eyes waver over Blaine's name as he looks up and steps forward, yes he feels bad about not responding straight away, but this is ok, distance of some form, of any form is good, for him anyway. The girl from behind the counter calls him forward and asks what he'd like to order, he's just about to respond automatically when a hand gently drops to his shoulder and a familiar voice starts speaking quietly in his ear.

“Let me guess, whole wheat Panini wrap, chicken salad, a dollop of light mayo, no tomato.” Blaine steps to the side grinning, letting Kurt see his face, letting him take him in with his adorable grey slacks, a white shirt and sky blue bow tie with little musical notes dotted all over it.

“Am I right?” Blaine says, still smiling and nodding over to the girl behind the counter with a nose stud and holding her pad of paper and pen up, waiting a little impatiently.

Of course he's here. What are the chances? Too good, the chances are too good.

“Is that times two then?” The girl asks, her face switching from bored to slightly amused to bordering on irritated as they both wait for Kurt to say something.

Finally Kurt nods and smiles, “Yeah make it two, to go, please. Give me his cucumber and him my tomato.” He turns to Blaine, cheeks slightly flushed.

“Of course you're right.” And Blaine nods once, proudly and beaming.

They eat their sandwiches out on the plaza outside of the deli, not far from Kurt's office. Blaine explains where the school is that he works at and that he'd just recently discovered this deli wasn't far from it. The early afternoon sun beams down on them as they sit side by side on a wooden bench, other people around them going about their days, eating lunch and making and taking phone calls.

Kurt wraps up his leftovers in its paper bag and pitches the crumpled ball into a nearby trash can.

“Good shot.” Blaine says, smiling and watching him, then going on to do the same.

When Blaine's trash makes it safely inside they knock their plastic fruit smoothie cups together in triumph and grin bashfully. It's silly and lame but also cute and Kurt can't help but enjoy it, enjoy being with Blaine, as much as he's mentally kicking himself for it.

“I-I'm sorry I never replied to your-I was going to-” Kurt starts unable to meet Blaine eyes' fully. Blaine spins on the bench so that they're fully facing each other, his face open and warm and soft.

Kurt looses himself for a moment in those eyes, swirls of honey and forest green and chocolate, enhanced by the bright burning sunlight. It's always been the same, the first time their eyes met on the stair case, at the football game, the charity night, the list is endless, of times when Kurt found himself breathless because of the way Blaine looks at him, but he learnt that it's just the way Blaine looks, it's just him, not them.

“Hey its fine, honestly, I understand.” Blaine smiles bright and infectious and gently prods Kurt in the shoulder playfully. Kurt feels his cheeks flush, his lips pressed tightly together. Blaine can see something shift in Kurt's eyes, can somehow feel the twist in his stomach.

“Hey,” Blaine starts again. “Let me just, can we um,” He rubs at the back of his neck and bites his lips, eyes shining. Kurt is stuck between wanting to run away and hop right into Blaine's lap and never let him go, it all suddenly feels too much. “Can I take you out?”

“Like on a date?” Kurt squeaks, then looks around worrying about the unnecessary pitch and volume he just used. Blaine nods, chuckles a bit.

“Well yeah, I guess that was the aim, but if you don't- I mean we can just”

“Blaine-” Kurt holds a finger up to his lips, shushing him effectively, feeling his own cheeks heat. That was a little too presumptuous, a little too flirty, for Kurt, for something that shouldn't matter, for something that's nothing. “We can-I mean yes, I would like to go out with you,”

Kurt has genuinely missed Blaine, missed the fun and the escapades that the two would share one time, when they were their younger, their well dressed blazer-selves with high hopes and naïve, innocent minds.

“But?” Blaine prompts in a shy quiet voice, that just isn't Blaine. He clearly knows Kurt too well, he clearly knows that Kurt isn't finished.

Kurt smiles. “But, can we maybe not-”

“Call it a date?” Blaine finishes for him, his eyes locking on to Kurt's, but they're not filled with hurt or disappointment. They're still filled with hope, sparkling with the stuff actually and Kurt doesn't know if he should feel unnerved by it.

“Yes, exactly. I um, I-”

“It's ok.” Blaine says, patting Kurt's hand gently, skin on skin, nice and warm mixing with the subtle cool breeze. It's comforting, it's not too much, but still too much. Enough to make Kurt's inside rush and flutter but not enough for him to ask Blaine to stop, to pull away and retreat like he has so many times before, when he's felt things are going too fast, too far.

This is Blaine. Blaine could never be too anything.

“It's ok.” Blaine says again, emphasizing each word carefully nodding his head, leaning inwards ever so slightly, his eyes pools so deep and haunting and his smile so easy, and just so, Blaine. He knows, he just does.

And Kurt knows that it is, that it will be ok, somehow.

*

“I don't know, it was good, just not as good as the rave reviews it has received, in my personal opinion.” Kurt grins, knowing that Blaine will be able to somehow see his smile on the other end of the phone anyway.

“You're hard to impress Mr Hummel.” Blaine says sternly, clucking his tongue, but Kurt can hear his mock tone, he can imagine the glimmer in his eyes.

To be honest Kurt can't remember much of the movie they'd went to see the night before, he firmly believes that he would have paid more attention if he was with anyone else but Blaine.

Blaine who would always catch eyes with him in the dark room, over the plastic safety cover and bendy straw of their shared soda. Blaine who just so happened to dip his fingers into the popcorn carton at the exact same time, every time that Kurt chose to. Blaine who tangled their fingers together lazily as they walked home, laughing at random sights on their journey.

Blaine who kissed Kurt goodnight, so soft, so tender and then whispered “Remember this wasn't a date.” teasingly against his lips.    

“Hmm.” Kurt hums into the phone, smile still intact. He gets to his building and sighs lightly as he peers into the clear glass window of the front door, wiggling his fingers in greeting to Courtney on reception who is peering out at him. “I'm at work now, I'll call you at lunch?”

“You better.” They hang up and Kurt goes about his morning, with a spring in his step, pointedly ignoring all looks and comments of curiosity. It's nothing to do with anybody else, he's just happy at the moment.

At a little after one in the afternoon, Kurt pushes through the front door with his shoulder, his phone pinned to his ear as he waits for Blaine to pick up on the other end of the line, but before he gets to three rings he hangs up.

Blaine is standing on the other side of the street, looking gorgeous as he looks upwards, watching white fluffy clouds make shapes in the blanket of blue sky. He's wearing tanned chinos, a shirt with a light vest over the top, and Kurt finds himself feeling jealous of a bunch of kids. He notices the white paper bag in Blaine's hands and Kurt can just make out the familiar logo of his preferred French bakery printed on the front.

Kurt could get used to this, he could get more than used to this, and the thought scares him shitless.

*

They spend spare days and nights walking, eating and drinking, laughing, holding hands, nudging and brushing and grinning like crazy people. They huddle over an antique section at a flea market, bickering and teasing and when a sweet middle-aged lady asks them how long they've been together, Kurt blushes and chokes on air, pointedly ignoring Blaine who just smiles kindly and ushers Kurt away from the stall.  

They don't talk about that again, but later when they're both licking enthusiastically at their frozen yoghurts whilst lounging in a grassy park, Blaine drips a tiny drop of cool strawberry cream on to his forearm and Kurt wastes no time in brushing it off with a finger tip and sucking it into his mouth. They share a look, and they both know what each other is thinking without having to utter a word. They don't talk about that again either.

They visit museums, and exhibits, libraries and book and record stores, vintage boutiques and ethnic food stalls, constantly comparing, and compromising, sharing and offering and for two people who aren't anything, or who aren't on a constant string of dates, they sure do have a strange way of showing it.

One night after bowling and a greasy dinner they walk home a different route and Kurt walks Blaine to his door first, their fingers tease and tangle and play and Kurt leans in, almost pushing Blaine up against the wall, pressing a firm kiss to his cheek, his jaw, chin and lastly his lips.

“Remember-” He starts lowly, eyes dancing under the street lamps.

“I know,” Blaine kisses him back, eyes focused on Kurt's pink, wet lips and then taking them between his teeth. “I know, its ok.”

*    

From Blaine A:

What time can you get off work tomorrow night? You think you could be ready for me to pick you up at 6.30pm? B x

Kurt's currently enjoying a long soak in the tub as he reads the message, work has been a whole load of hell today, with deadline dates for a new production starting to over run and people who should be doing their job, just not doing their job. He knew he'd get in late tonight and Blaine had already said he was teaching out of hours, so his plan for the night consists of bath, reheated pizza, a small drop of sauvignon blanc  and then bed, hopefully all in that order. 

He knows that tomorrow will be calmer, less harassed and unorganized, he flicks a foot outwards, sloshing bubbles and warm water over the tiled side, as he rests his head further back against the inflatable rest and types a reply.

To Blaine A:

I think I could, yes ; ) ready to take me where though? K x

From Blaine A:

That's for me to know and for you to find out ;p B x

Kurt hurries through his work load a little excitedly and a little more nervously the next day. He doesn't like it when Blaine does this, it makes him feel nervous, he doesn't like the unexpected, he doesn't like the feeling of being surprised and unable to hide or control his feelings, it makes him feel vulnerable and a wide open target.

However he trusts Blaine, he trusts that Blaine knows how he is, how he feels and what he can and can't cope with, and with that in mind he clocks out at five o'clock and heads home to get showered and ready, pushing other doubts aside.

Blaine texts him an appropriate attire suggestion for the night ahead which Kurt appreciates immensely, and is able to co-ordinate his shoes and style his hair just right with a few moments to spare, not too much time to flail about it. When Blaine arrives on his doorstep at Six-Thirty on the dot, looking gorgeous in a dark red button down, jeans and a smart/casual jacket Kurt preens out how well matched they are, dressed that is, how well dressed to match they are, not matched themselves-oh whatever.

Blaine leads him down the block in the direction of his own apartment and although he hasn't been inside yet Kurt knows exactly where it is. It's not that he hasn't been invited inside, not verbally, but Kurt knows that the invite is, has always been there.

But Kurt also knows that Blaine is a complete gentleman, and more than that he is his friend, they are friends, a mix of old and new, seeking each other out again, learning and growing, once more.

Ever since Blaine asked to take him out on a date that wasn't a date, and after they have shared many more since, many embraces and fleeting touches, lingering kisses which taste of desperation and want and more, more, more- they haven't been quite so intimate again. Enjoying each other's time and company anywhere but in each other's homes or anywhere with access to a bed, or a couch and a wall and lockable door, or anywhere remotely out of view of everyone and everything in their way.

It's careful and deliberate but it's necessary, because as much as Kurt can trust Blaine, he's beginning to not trust the ‘trust' that he has in himself. This is better, this is doable, there is no risk of more, no risk of heart break when it can't go further than a just ‘spending time together'.

If only Kurt would believe his own words as much as he's desperately trying to, no matter how many times he chants them silently like a mantra.

*

“I can't believe you did that, for me.” Kurt says, eyes alight, his grin all teeth and dimples, hands gesturing wildly as Blaine escorts him out of the theatre along with the excited hustle of the crowd. They pile out on to the sidewalk and start towards the direction of a line of bars and restaurants, Kurt links his arm alongside Blaine's elbow and smiles with his eyes at him.

“What?” Blaine tries innocently, and shrugs his shoulders, as he looks across the road for a safe clearing to cross. Kurt can feel the rumble of his laugh as he giggles along lightly with him.

So the show was just an amateur production at the community theater which Blaine some times helps out at, but hell it was the best amateur production Kurt had ever seen, he's even jealous that his own company hadn't come up with this one. And ‘Cats', no matter how old or dated it is, will always be one of Kurt's favourite musicals, the music and lyrics so beautiful and meaningful and haunting, the costumes so exquisite

And Blaine knew, he remembers, Blaine knows how much Kurt loves the show and how much it appeals to him. Kurt has probably seen close to almost every stage show under the sun and Blaine could have taken him to any one of them without putting much thought into the idea, but this he knew, this he knew was the hook.

They're seated at a small booth in a cosy yet trendy bar which has a piano player in the corner belting out show tunes, they order beers at first but swiftly switch to cocktails after perusing the menu-working with hangovers is not beneath them, and tonight just seems like the night for it. They share cute little bowls of chips and dip, nuts and olives whilst they talk about the show and Kurt expresses his love for it over and over while Blaine watches and listens in awe.

A little later when a few more tables around them are filled with friends and dates and people enjoying the night and life, much like themselves, the piano player starts offering people the chance to come up and sing something. It only takes Kurt three and half cocktails until he's up there singing his best version of ‘Memory' and definitely out singing the very talented kid that gave it their all up on the small stage earlier that night.

It's late but not too late when they make it back out onto the side walk and head for home, it's not cold enough to hail a cab and there are plenty of people still milling around. They join in the small herd of pedestrian traffic, shoulders bumping, thighs brushing and fingers curling against each others.

Blaine's is closest on the route home and when they get there, and talk and giggle and make out a little bit, before Blaine can pull away from Kurt's grasp after planting one big last firm kiss on him before he drags himself up and in, and no doubt into a cold shower- Kurt is fingering his shirt collar, lips between his teeth and looking at him through his eye lashes. A silent question, that doesn't need confirmed or answered.

The trip from Blaine's front door to his bedroom is a short one, quick and ruthless, with an almost stumble into the door frame but other than that fairly successful. They're both stripped to their underwear by the time they bounce back and down on to the bed. Blaine's body covering Kurt's below, hands searching, exploring, wanting and taking, with Kurt already trying to pull Blaine's boxers down over his hips, whilst Blaine reaches down between the mattress and the bed frame-obviously searching for something specific.

“Kurt, Kurt-” Blaine pants deep and breathy, between kisses all tongue and teeth as Kurt finally manages to peel off both of their underwear and fling them over to the floor. “God I've missed this, I've missed you.” He says, grinding down against Kurt, hips thrusting, cocks hard and flushed and so so ready.

What were they thinking trying to avoid this, of course they need this, they need each other.

Kurt cries out, his body thrumming with pleasure, sticky and sweet. Blaine slows down a little, evens out his movement and tries to look at Kurt deeply through the blur and the haze. “Hearing you sing tonight Kurt, watching you up there, it was-”

Blaine's eyes are blown, pupils dilated and his expression is purely one of awe and fascination, like he's just realized something, and Kurt doesn't dare try to evaluate it any further. 

“Sshh,” Kurt hisses as kindly as he can, flexing his hips up, knees bending and parting to accommodate Blaine's body. “Shh, just please, please-” Kurt can't hear it, can't hear Blaine talk like that, not tonight, not now during this, it's too much, it's too good, too perfect.

He twines his fingers around Blaine's neck, into his curls and pulls him down, their mouths meeting hard and fast, breathing harsh and hot.

“Ride me.” He says against Blaine's jaw, peppering kisses all over. “Ride me, please, god, want to feel you around me, want to be inside of you.”

They work Blaine open together, fingers slick with lubricant, hurried and frantic but fucking fantastic, mouths and lips chasing, anywhere, everywhere. Blaine uses more teeth than fingers to rip open the condom packet and slides it onto Kurt with more teasing grip than needed, making Kurt groan and growl and pump his hips up between Blaine's thighs.

When Blaine finally sinks down on top of him, taking Kurt in all the way, the room goes still and silent, just the sounds of shared laboured breaths between them, hot and ragged. Blaine braces his palms, warm and wide on Kurt's chest and gently moves his hips in slow tiny circles, grinding, pushing and pushing.

Kurt moans deep in his throat, digs his fingers into Blaine's sides and tries to pull him up. “Move,” He grits out, eyes lashes fluttering, sweat building on his forehead. “Fuck, move Blaine, please, fuck me.”

And fuck him he does. Blaine fucks him down into the mattress hard, fast and relentless, their thighs and bodies connecting and colliding, slapping together deliciously, only stopping now and then to reposition himself, crying out wildly when he gets Kurt's cock pressing up against his prostate just right.

Kurt somehow finds the strength to flip them over, breaking the connection with mutual whines and whimpers, before sliding back in swiftly, hitching up Blaine's leg over his shoulder and pound, pound, pounding in to him. He grabs hold of Blaine's hands and entwines their fingers together by his head, looking down on him, watching as those dark long lashes join closed together with each thrust, pulling at his lips with his teeth. Kurt just wants to devour him.    

It's quick and both intense and frenzied and over before either of them would have preferred but it's no surprise, they were on a mission tonight, no stopping, no mercies.

Blaine palms his own cock and starts pumping hard, the sight spurs Kurt on and they both come as Kurt starts thrusting out of rhythm, grunting with exertion, as Blaine clenches wonderfully around him, whining and cussing calling out each other's names in unison.

“Fuck Kurt, yes, yes, yes.”

“Oh god, oh god, Blaine, shit-”

The come down is quiet and blissful, Kurt collapses on to Blaine, only grumbling slightly about the mess and breathes into his neck, smacking his lips together. Blaine holds him, rubbing his hands up and down Kurt's broad shoulder's as Kurt slowly starts to pull out, tugging off the condom, tying up the end and throwing it somewhere that probably wasn't the wastepaper basket.

“You've changed.” Blaine says not unkindly, his voice gravelled, rumbling under Kurt's chest. Kurt hums, only slightly lifting his head, nuzzling his face with Blaine's. Blaine tightens his hold, and Kurt can feel him trace the definition of his shoulders and the muscles in his back, he smiles into his skin knowingly. “I knew, you still had some growing left to do, growing into you're skin, I mean we all do. But now, you, you look-it suits you, you look amazing, but then again you always did, to me.” Blaine continues as he pinches Kurt's shoulder blade with a grin and Kurt yelps.

Kurt lifts up, smiling and trying not to blush too much and not directly reply to what Blaine had just admitted, he digs his fingers into Blaine's hair and ruffles his curls. “I like your hair like this, it's different.”

“Sex hair?” Blaine asks with a smirk.

“No. Well yes, but you don't wear as much gel now, I'm proud of you.” Blaine chuckles and lifts his head, Kurt meets him halfway and they kiss and kiss, slow and lazy and nice.

Eventually Blaine slides out and up from underneath Kurt, gets a cloth from the bathroom and cleans them both up, when he returns with a glass of water Kurt has slid his boxers back on and has rolled to the other side of the bed.

Blaine does the same, obviously being the only one naked may be slightly awkward and climbs in after Kurt after setting the glass down on the night stand.

“Are you staying tonight?” He mouths into Kurt's shoulder as he curls up close. They both have work tomorrow and he knows the answer before he even asks, but he still needs to ask anyway, he wants to.

“Would you mind if I did?” Kurt says quietly after a beat, talking up into the dark emptiness rather than turning to face Blaine. He can't see Blaine's beaming face, but he hears his soft surprised gasp.

“What do you think?” Blaine teases, turning and tugging him close. They lay like that for a little while, quiet and close and comfortable.

“Thank you.” Kurt says suddenly, like he's been waiting for the words to just spring out of him. Blaine presses his lips to Kurt's arm and squeezes their thighs up and against each others, a little suggestively.

“You're welcome.” Kurt laughs and swats at him sideways.

“Not for, you know…that…although that was awesome.”

“It was awesome, more than awesome, it's all been awesome.” Blaine agrees, nodding, very matter of fact. Kurt lets him ramble and trails a finger lightly over his stomach, lulling him to silence.

“But you know, thanks for tonight, for the show tickets, for everything really.” Kurt grows quiet as he trails off. Blaine digs his arm under Kurt's neck and scoops him in and close, ducks his head to whisper in his ear.

“You have nothing to thank me for.” He kisses the spot just below Kurt's ear and feels him shudder against him. “Because remember, it's not a-”

Kurt snorts a laugh, and flops over fully onto Blaine's chest, kissing smiles all over his face. “I know. Jack-ass.”

Though neither of them, for having acting degrees, sound very believable.

*

“So it's just sex?” Mercedes asks, sounding half scandalized and half elated as she sips from her straw.

“What, ssshh, Cedes. No.” Kurt hisses looking around the bar, to make sure nobody caught that part of their conversation. Mercedes rolls her eyes at him and crosses her legs. She looks casual in a pair of jeans, a loose blouse and blazer, but beautiful all the same and that rock glimmering on her left hand certainly sets everything off. Kurt just feels happy and lucky that she was able to slip away from the studio for an hour or so, to spend time with him, and hopefully talk him out of the mess in his head.

“So let me get this straight. This is Blaine, your drop dead gorgeous best buddy from Dalton, the guy you used to doodle and day dream about, he's back in your life and you're best friends again and you're-” She lowers her voice and leans in over their small, raised table. “And you're sleeping together, and all of this time has gone by, but you're not actually together?”

Kurt blinks and gulps, picks up his drink and tries to hide behind the glass as he nods demurely.

“Boy, what is wrong with you?” Mercedes calls out a little too loudly over the house music filtering through the surround speakers, Kurt tries to avoid her hard stare.

“Kurt are you trying to tell me that you're still protecting your heart? You're still wanting to play the young, free and single game even though this is Blaine, Blaine who you hoped you could give your heart to the first time round?”

Kurt sighs, rubs his fingers along the rim of his glass. “It's too late now Mercedes.”

She leans in further, and touches his hand, ducking until they finally lock eyes.

“Hey it's not too late, it's just late that's all, and it's nobody's fault, it's just life.” He looks at her, with eyes clear and round and full. “Don't you think this means something Kurt? That's he's here, you're both living in the same state, you're both single and he doesn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon?”

Kurt wishes he could say ‘yes, of course I know, I know exactly what it means, but my head and my heart wont co-operate together on this.' But he just can't, nobody gets it, nobody understands.

“Kurt?” Mercedes says, her voice quiet and easy, one finger soothing over the back of his hand. She's looking at him with those deep dark eyes, so soft and caring like how a mother would look at her child, or any two people with a relationship so caring, so close. She's always been great to talk to, she just has that way. “Do you want it to be just sex?”

Kurt blinks, just blinks, and Mercedes smirks. “Does Blaine want it to be just sex?”

He slowly starts to shake his head, his eyes falling to the table, a little ashamedly. “I don't think he does.”

His voice is so small, almost unheard with the dull beat of the background club music. “But he won't say otherwise, he's too nice, he's too honourable.” He stops himself before he starts saying too much.

Mercedes reaches out and tips his chin back up with a finger so that their eyes are on level again. “Do you remember what you used to say, about being afraid to fall?”

He didn't used to, he still does, he still tries to.

Kurt bites his lip, he knows where this is going and he's not ready to hear it, not ready to admit that his walls inside are crumbling. Mercedes slides off of her stool and stands right in front of him, her hands on his knees, looking up at him with such a kind, sincere face.

“I think that you think that Blaine is you're safety net,” Despite himself he allows himself to smile, watery with unshed tears gathering in his eyes. “And I think that you're right.” She finishes, reaching up to kiss him on the cheek whilst she tugs playfully on his folded hands.

“So fall Kurt, fall.”

*

They're lying on the couch at Blaine's- ever since that night after the club, they split their time between both of their homes-, Blaine propped up against the arm rest and Kurt leaning back against his chest between his legs.

Some old re-run marathon is playing to nobody on the TV in the background, and Kurt's holding up a magazine whilst they both read it, scanning the pictures and eyeing the captions and recommendations. Half empty beer bottles are sitting on coasters on Blaine's glass coffee table and the Chinese takeout has already been ordered.

It's one of those quiet nights, relaxed and easy, without a lot of words spoken or fuss made, a night that doesn't require much thought, just them with each other, comfortable and happy.

Kurt sighs and shakes his head at a particular outrageous comment before flicking over the page-Blaine had already tapped him on the shoulder to indicate that he was finished reading that particular page.

Blaine kisses the top of Kurt's head a couple of times, a huff of contentment brushing past the hairs, he folds his arms around and over Kurt's belly just below where Kurt is holding the magazine and drums his fingertips in small delicate patterns across Kurt's waist, whilst he starts reading the new page. Occasionally allowing his fingers to walk their way up Kurt's arm, brush and rest against his hand and then back again and repeat.

Drum, walk, brush, linger, repeat. And all the while his nose gently nuzzles against Kurt's temple, inhaling him, seeking him, wanting and having him all at the same time.   

It's a gesture so simple, so small, so unbelievably soft and sure and Blaine probably hadn't even thought twice about doing it, maybe not even aware of it at all. It's nothing that they haven't really done before, they're always touching and teasing in some way, there's always some notification of each other's presence.

However Kurt tenses, his skin prickling, he feels his arms going rigid, the glossy pages crinkling in the firm hold of his stiff fingers. Blaine feels it, Kurt knows he does because behind him Blaine's chest puffs up and out and his heart begins to beat harder and his finger pattern stops abruptly.

Kurt hadn't not liked what Blaine was doing, he did like it, it was soothing and lovely, Blaine's touch so caressing against his skin, lulling him into a feeling that felt so comfortable and normal yet still so alien. He liked it too much, he liked it so much that he almost asked Blaine never to stop, and that was the problem. He doesn't know what it is, maybe it's the conversation he'd had with Mercedes recently still rolling around his head like scattered marbles. 

“What is it?” Blaine asks, his words almost hoarse, though his tone is not questionable, it's almost like he already knows. Blaine tips his head to the side hoping that Kurt will do the same and meet him half way. But Kurt doesn't move, he can't, he doesn't know what to say, or how to answer Blaine's question. He doesn't know what it is.

“Did you not want me to do that? Kiss you like that, or touch you, or hold you like this?” Blaine says quietly, his words whisper soft, sweeping past Kurt's hair and into his ears.

Answer him Kurt, talk to him, you owe him that much.

But then another voice speaks up, a voice which he hasn't heard for a while, the voice that had seen him through many a trip to his favourite gay bar out in the village, the one that had told him it was time to leave after he'd fooled around with that jogger he'd met in the park. The voice that rings out loud and clear whenever Kurt's feels his heart shift in his chest, trying to regain it's strength, it's position, it's throne in Kurt's body.

No you don't owe him anything. You don't owe anybody anything. You don't need him, or anybody else.

But Blaine is not just anybody, he never has been and he never will be, and that's why Kurt can't hurt him the way he has so many other hopeful guys. He can't just kick him to the curb with total disregard of his feelings, or run away and pretend like nothing happened. He can't ignore Blaine's call and messages, not anymore, he can't tell him that his great, great uncle Marv has died for like the 6th time, Blaine deserves more, he deserves better.

Kurt slowly rises, swinging his legs over the side of the couch, dropping the magazine to the couch beside him and propping his elbows up on his knees, face in his hands whilst he waits for Blaine to settle beside him.

“It's not that I don't want you to do it, those things-”

“You don't need it?”

“What, no, I-”

“You just want sex?” Kurt lifts his face from his hands and turns to Blaine immediately.

“What? Blaine, no it's-”

“It's ok, I get it.” Blaine stands, hands pinned to his hips, facing away from Kurt. Kurt watches the careful rise and fall of his shoulders from behind. Eventually Kurt stands up, rubs at his face and steps forward reaching for Blaine.

“Blaine, come on, no, there is nothing to get, I thought that we were, I thought that you understood-” God this was becoming such a mess, it's becoming exactly what Kurt had hoped it wouldn't.

Blaine turns around and backs away, he manages a small smile, but it's not right, it's not normal, it's not Blaine.

“You're right I do understand, we're not dating right, so why don't you call me next time you need me, or sex, not me though, not anything else that I could possibly want to give you.”

Kurt feels his cheeks heat, the back of his neck itching and start to sweat, alarm bells going off in his head, telling him to get out, get out, get out. But what did Blaine just say? What did he mean?

“Blaine?” He tries again, his words feeling stuck in his throat, but Blaine is already walking away from him, down the hallway, no doubt to his bedroom, waving his arm behind him to the direction of the front door.

“You can see yourself out right? Bye Kurt, talk to you soon, I guess, or whatever, just when you want.”

Blaine's bedroom door slams closed behind him and it takes Kurt all of his strength to keep himself upright, take his jacket from the back of the couch and see him self out like Blaine had instructed him to do.

*

When he hears the front door close, Blaine exits his bedroom heading straight for both beer bottles over on the coffee table and finishing them off in a few deep swallows. He takes the empties into the kitchen, putting them down on the counter top with a clink, and already turning for the direction of the refrigerator to get another when he hears his front door bell sound through the small electronic speaker box located in the hallway.

Food.

With his head a little fuzzy due to the rush of cold bitter fizz he digs his wallet out of his pocket and makes his way to the door, he's in no mood to eat now, but the food will keep until tomorrow.

Cracking open the door, he fishes a twenty dollar bill out of the depths of his old worn leather wallet and sticks it out whilst pocketing his wallet again.

“What, you're paying me for sex now?” Blaine's head snaps up to find Kurt standing on his door step, holding a plastic bag in his arms with a pair of chopsticks sticking out of the opening at the top.

Blaine's eyes drop to the bag and then back to Kurt, mouth parting a little in shock, with his cheeks flushed from the night air and a little from downing the beer.

“Oh,” Kurt catches on to Blaine's line of sight, “I um, I saw the delivery guy on my way out, thought I'd pay and bring it to you, it's um, well I guess it's the least I can do.” He shrugs and looks too down trodden and too adorable all at the same time, holding out the bag for Blaine to take but not making any move himself.

Blaine leans against his door jamb, unable to hide his incredulous smirk or stifle his giggle and reaches out, taking the bag with one hand and Kurt's coat sleeve with his other hand, tugging him forward.

“Seriously, you're not gonna come in here and eat it with me, after all of that?”

Kurt smiles shyly down at the ground and allows himself to be pulled back into the warmth and safety of Blaine's home. Kurt can immediately feel the difference, the heat on his skin and the warm tingle rushing through and out of him, and he knows that it's not just because of the temperature change.

They eat silently, if you can cal it eating, sitting opposite each other on the floor, on either end of the coffee table. Between tentative nibbles and helpings from each of the cartons they take turns to look up at each other, eyes catching over the rim of the paperboard boxes. Kurt swallows, eyes searching the coffee table.

“You drank my beer?” Blaine grins up at him coyly, nodding and shrugging apologetically. He rises to his feet and gestures to the kitchen, turning on his heel and disappearing within seconds.

Kurt follows him instantly, standing in the doorway, so that when Blaine shuts the refrigerator door, Kurt is there, waiting patiently, something he never imagined himself doing, not for somebody else, not again.

Kurt tries to hide his little grin when Blaine obviously gets a fright from seeing Kurt standing there suddenly, and clings on to the two new glass bottles in his hands.

Kurt steps forward, takes the bottles from Blaine and puts them down on the counter.

“This is silly Blaine, I'm back, I'm here now so let's do this, let's talk.” Blaine nods, eyes wide and dark in the dim light of his overhead kitchen lamp.

“What do you want to give me?” Kurt says rather boldly, “You said that I don't need anything that you want to give me, what is that?”

Blaine rubs the sole of his socked foot against the kitchen floor tile, his head ducking down slightly but his eyes unable to wander far from Kurt's. “I um, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that-”

“Don't be sorry. You didn't mean it? Or you didn't mean to admit it?”

“The second one,” Blaine says, more rubbing against the tile. Kurt moves closer.

“Admit what?”

“That I wish I was your first, I wish I was the first person to give you what you need, I want to give you what you're supposed to want, what you're allowed to want, I wanted that to be me.”

Kurt can hardly breathe. Blaine tries to rub again at the tile and Kurt steps closer, nudging his foot to stay still, there is almost no space between them now.

“If I was the first person to take your love, and the first person to give you mine, I wouldn't have let you fall, you wouldn't be like you are now, so scared and hurt.”

“And what now?” Kurt says on an exhale, hands reaching out to cling on to Blaine's shoulders for purchase, Blaine grips his hips and keeps him steady. “What now, now that I'm broken?”

“And now, if you fell, I would catch you, I would always catch you, and I'd fix you, fix you so that it'd be impossible for you to break again.”

Blaine's fingers flex against Kurt's hip bones, just the barest of movements but it still sends Kurt stumbling forward into Blaine's waiting arms. Kurt's arms drape over Blaine's shoulders and around his neck, their foreheads pressing together, sharing breath and space and almost heartbeats.

“Let me catch you Kurt.”

Kurt smiles in to the kiss, so heated, so promising.

He smiles because he knows that from the first moment their eyes found each others in the line at their old favourite hangout, the moment their fingers brushed over the polystyrene cup he was teleported back to all of those years ago, and he knew, deep down, all along, that he had already been caught.

“By all means, please do.” Please and don't ever let go. Both the voice in his head says loud and clear, and the voice of his heart.

“Hey Kurt, was this a date?”