November 2012

"I love you, too." The words, a fragile treasure, nestle at the base of Blaines throat long after he puts down the phone. Even through the performance and Marleys fainting, the chaos in the choir room, the news that they had lost to The Warblers, the words linger beneath Blaines skin, slipping to settle warm behind his breastbone on the drive back home. He missed them.

Its late on Thanksgiving when he comes into the house through the garage, down the short hall, past the laundry room, and into the kitchen. His mother sits at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee and her laptop. Her hair and makeup are still done for guests and diamond solitaires glint at her ears, but shes wearing yoga pants, slippers, and a purple velvet hoodie. She doesnt look up as he comes in. "Howd it go?" she asks.

The kitchen still smells of sage and thyme and roast turkey. Blaines heart beats with the memory of Kurts voice: "I miss you like crazy." But his stomach growls with hunger; he pulls his bag off over his head and drops it into a vacant chair. "We, um. We were disqualified," Blaine says. "We didnt finish our set."

"Oh, what happened?" she asks, her expression falls into disappointment and her attention comes up from her screen. Then she says, "Theres a plate for you in the oven, dear. The cranberry sauce is in the fridge."

Blaine gets the plate from the oven (smiles at the extra large helping of corn pudding his mother has given him) and the cranberry sauce from the refrigerator; he sits at the table opposite her, and tells her about Marley fainting, the ensuing panic, the Warblers win. She listens with a sympathetic frown, and then, when Blaines cleaned his plate, gets herself another cup of coffee and a slice of pie for them each. He tells her, too, that Kurt called, to wish him good luck. That makes her smile. The details of their break-up hes left vague, but she knows hes missed Kurt.

"How is he?" she asks.

"We didnt talk long, but good, I think?" Its hard to restrain his smile. "Youre still my best friend."

In his left front trouser pocket, his phone is a too still presence, contrasting with Blaines ache for it to buzz again with Kurts name lighting up the screen. The weight of it is a reminder of a connection restored.

He helps his mother unload the dishwasher, checks in with his Dad, and then goes upstairs. While he showers he leaves his phone on the vanity with the volume turned up. The phone doesnt ring. As he towels off, Blaine considers it. Its not like he expects another call or text tonight; he doesnt know what Kurts doing with his Thanksgiving in New York. Maybe its too soon for communication to normalize between them. But... "I cant stand not talking to you..."

Blaine dresses in his pajamas and dressing gown and sits cross-legged on his bed, holding his phone in his hand. Hes sent so many unanswered texts, placed so many unanswered calls, left so many ignored voice messages—does he dare?

His fingers decide before his head has, tapping through to his contacts and finding Kurts name. No breath leaves Blaines lungs while he holds the phone to his ear and listens for the ring and waits.

On the fourth ring, he begins to despair. Kurts phone goes to voicemail after five. Hes lowering it from his ear when the fifth ring halts and he hears Kurts voice, clipped with breathlessness. "Hi."

"Um, hi?" Blaine says. "Am I interrupting anything?"

"Oh, no. Everyones gone now. I was just in the shower. Can you give me a second?"

"Sure, yes, of course," Blaine says.

The loud static of Kurts breath rushes in Blaines ear, and then muffled thumps and rustling, and he hears Kurt tell Rachel, "Its Blaine. Ill be a little while."

There are more indistinct sounds of movement and the murmur of Rachels voice. Blaine sits quietly, doesnt fidget, and he waits. Apprehension curls in his stomach as he realizes he should have a plan for this conversation. Its too soon for all the things he wants to ask Kurt—and Kurt did say they would talk at Christmas—but its hard to stop the yearning for answers from creeping up the base of his tongue. He tries to swallow them down. Tries to reorient himself in feelings of friendship and an appreciation for the delicacy and newness of this reconnection. Makes sure hes grateful for Kurt having answered the phone at all, grateful for Kurts reaching back finally. He wont ask for too much, just—

"Hey!" Kurts voice is sudden and loud in his ear. "Sorry, I just wanted to get dressed. Its too cold to air dry in my robe."

"Oh, its fine," Blaine says. Smiles at the humor in Kurts voice. "I wasnt sure if I should call so late. You said you had... people there?"

"Yeah," Kurt says. "It was a sort of surprise orphans Thanksgiving with Isabelle and a dozen or so of her friends. Oh my god, Blaine, it was insane, and so much fun. You have no idea."

In the face of Kurts exuberance (oh, hes missed it), its all Blaine can do to keep his voice steady enough to ask, "Will you tell me about it?"

Blaine closes his eyes and listens to Kurt narrate the tale of his evening, about Brody and Rachel molesting the turkey, about the glamorous drag queens, about a night he expected to be lonely abruptly filled with music and joy.

"You know what?" Kurt asks.

Its rhetorical, but Blaine offers up an encouraging, "What?" in response.

"I think tonight was the first time Ive really felt like I belonged here, in New York. Does that make sense?"

It hurts a little bit, strangely: a harsh sharpening of the distance between them, not just geographically, but... "You sound happy, Kurt."

"Happy?" Kurt says as if hes skeptical of the concept. "It was a good night," he says. "You wouldve loved it."

Blaine presses his lips closed around a smile and the emotion rising thick in his throat. Its not quite, I wish youd been here, but its something good. A tentative wish for time spent together, he hopes. He wants to say something meaningful and heartfelt, but hes pulsing with words that are too much for now, or, its too soon to say them again: I love you, Im sorry, I miss you, its so good to hear your voice, please dont ever stop talking to me again, do you think we can be boyfriends again one day?

"Yeah," Blaine says lamely. "It sounds like I wouldve."

Theres an awkward silence that draws into several heartbeats.

"Thank you for answering your phone," Blaine says at the same time Kurt asks, "So tell me about Sectionals?"

"Oh, I, um. Yeah. Its..." Kurt fumbles.

"Sorry," Blaine says.

"No, no. I just realized, thats... why you called, right? Did you win?"

Its harder telling Kurt than it was telling his mother. "No."

"No?" Incredulous. "Did The Warblers—?"

"Yeah, but its a long story," Blaine says. "I dont want to keep you—"

"No, please, you can tell me," Kurt says. "Oh, god, Im so sorry, Blaine. Is everyone— Are you okay?"

"I-Im fine," Blaine says, and really lets himself feel it. Losing the chance at Nationals this year is a blow, one that doesnt feel as if its fallen yet. Its hard to feel anything worse than fine with Kurt at the other end of the line, listening. Blaine takes a breath, unfolds his legs, and leans back against his pillows, tucking the phone between his head and the pillow. "Im good, actually. Its weird, but, right now?" Talking to you, hearing your voice. "Im okay."

"So The Warblers, huh?" Kurt asks. "How did that happen?"

Blaine tells him. They stay on the phone for nearly an hour longer, and it gets easier to talk, to laugh, to fill the silences. They dont talk about them, but they talk, and by the time Kurt groans and says, "Im sorry, but I really need to go help Rachel with the clean up," its painlessly easy for Blaine to say, "All right," and "Enjoy yourself."

At that, Kurt snorts a chuckle into the phone. "Ill try," he says sarcastically, and then, after a moment, he adds softly and sincerely, "Hey, uh, thanks for calling. Its really..." Kurt trails off with a hitch of his breath, and he starts again. "Its so good to talk to you again, Blaine."

"It is," Blaine agrees.

He holds his phone in his hand for a while after they hang up. The words gather in his throat again, and he whispers them into the silence of his room. "I love you, too."