Prologue - 1985

Lizzie doesn't really want to go through her father's things. Her father had respected her own privacy so much throughout her childhood, to violate his now seems like backstabbing. He never looked in her underwear drawer (where he would have found a sole condom among the frills she had stashed there at age 15 and didn't really have use for until age 19), or asked questions about the call logs that came with the monthly phone bill (most of them were to her best friend Becky, but one or two were to a boy named Chad). He knew everything because she told him because she loved him. He was her best friend. It seems impossible to fathom that he's gone, that one moment he was sipping sweet tea in her backyard and now he is buried in a churchyard.
She stands at the door to his room with her hand on the doorknob, unsure of whether she can turn it. She's afraid of the man she might find in there. She said goodbye to her Daddy, the man who adopted her at six months old, the man who picked her up from a party in the tenth grade when she got overwhelmed by everyone drinking rum and coke, the man who walked her down the aisle when she got married. She's not sure who this man behind the door is. Is he Kurt Hummel, contributing Vogue editor since 1957? Is he Kurt Hummel, part-time fashion designer? Is he Kurt Hummel, the man who quietly died sitting on his front porch at age 75? She's not sure who he is any more, not sure who she's going to be once she finds out- but she knows she has to open the door. She has to clear out the apartment, has to have the estate sale.
She steels herself and turns the knob, opens the door. Her breath hitches. It's exactly how he left it. Sticky note on the phone, stack of playbills in the top left drawer, a photo of them at her wedding four years earlier. It's not as overwhelming as she imagined it would be. She works methodically through his things, sorting what to keep, what to sell and what to throw away. She finishes his desk and moves to the bookshelf, pulling volumes off the shelves, copies of Vogue he loves (his favourite was the October 1967 issue of British Vogue with Twiggy on the cover, her lips in a smirk and her eyes shrouded in blue eyeshadow. "Darling, I have to be honest with you, Twiggy was so popular even I had Twiggy's haircut when I was sixteen," he would say with a laugh).
She pulls a stack of books off the shelf and places them in a box, turns back to face the shelf and she is startled to see a wooden box. It's not very big, it reminds her of something out of a museum: BEHOLD AN UNTOUCHED BOX FROM THE SECOND WORLD WAR. It had to be from the war. She sits down on the floor with the box in front of her, wondering whether or not she should open it, wondering if this is how her father felt standing in front of her underwear drawer. She sets her hands on top of the cool tin, her fingers leaving prints in the dust.
She opens it.
A shoebrush.
A baseball card. The Toledo Mud Hens. Uncle Finn.
There are two empty glass bottles that, as old as they look, still carry the burning smell of alcohol.
A leather bound book full of poetry.

A woman's face with nature's own hand painted,
Hast thou, the master mistress of my passion;
A woman's gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false women's fashion:
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all 'hues' in his controlling,
Much steals men's eyes and women's souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick'd thee out for women's pleasure,
Mine be thy love and thy love's use their treasure

A book on music theory (for a moment she wonders how much she could sell it for to a collector, but she stops herself. Her father kept everything in this box for a reason).
And letters. Letters from her father. A letter from her grandfather. One letter is on thick card stock, from a man named Blaine. She opens that one first, it's a wedding invitation. Her heart leaps to her throat.

Blaine Anderson and Quinn Fabray
will celebrate their marriage the 26th day of May, 1929 at the Fellowship in Christ Church, Westerville, OH.
Use the enclosed card to respond.

And in a man's handwriting: Please, Kurt. - B
And in her father's own hand, unsigned: I'm sorry.

She closes her eyes and remembers a man who smelled like peppermint and Brylcreem who used to hold her sometimes and bring her clay whistles and visit with her Daddy. She thinks that if she could hold a love story in her hands it would feel like this, and she opens the first letter and starts to read.


1942

Sam has a twin named Evan. Evan looks exactly like Sam, which is what Sam likes best about Evan. Sam has blonde hair and so does Evan. Evan's lips are puffy and so are Sam's. If Sam sits out in the sun long enough, his hair becomes bleached with highlights and vibrant colours just like Evan. Evan is Sam's best friend, even if they had only met last year.
Sam likes it here fine. He likes that he gets to spend lots of time with Evan, even if other people here don't like Evan much. Sam's favourite things about staying here are the big wide windows and the garden and his roommate Blaine. Blaine has nice big curly hair and if Evan is with Sam, Blaine will talk to Evan. Sam can't remember why Blaine was here, but he knows Blaine doesn't have a twin like Sam does.
Sometimes a pretty girl comes to visit Blaine. She sits quietly with him in the garden and holds his hand. Sam knows they are married. Sometimes the pretty girl will kiss Blaine softly before she leaves. Sam doesn't like the girl much, but Evan likes her fine. Evan always wants to talk to her but Blaine explained to Evan that Quinn (the girl) does not like talking to people like Evan much and would rather only speak to Blaine. It's hard for Evan to understand but Sam helped him through it and now Evan settles on watching Blaine and Quinn hold hands in the garden through the big wide windows.
Today, Sam is having a good day. He woke up early and Sheila brought him his pills and Sam and Blaine sat together at breakfast and Blaine told Sam a good story about when Blaine used to work in a men's shop and Herbert Hoover came in to be fitted for a suit. After breakfast Blaine, Sam, David and Quiet David played a few hands of gin rummy. Sam asked Evan if he wanted to join in, but Evan politely declined. He's been declining to come out of his room more often lately, which makes Sam nervous. Evan is his brother, he worries about Evan.
They're playing Old Maid now, at Quiet David's request and Sam is winning. Sam looks up and he sees Sheila walking towards their table followed by a young man. Sam's breath catches in his throat. The man is clearly in the service. He's in an airforce uniform. The man is pale, pale, pale with chestnut brown hair. The man is like a walking painting. Sam is jealous of the man, and Evan is jealous too. They both tried to enlist but were rejected. The man and Sheila come over to the table. Sam notices that Blaine's face is frozen. Sometimes Blaine's mood gets very dark and he doesn't want to talk to Sam or Evan or even Sheila for a few days. Sam can see the darkness coming in behind Blaine's eyes. It makes him nervous. Sheila gently touches Blaine on the shoulder.

Blaine,
I'm on leave for about 30 days. I will come see you if I can. I can't really say much more for security reasons, but I am safe. And I miss you very much.

Your friend,
Kurt


"Hi Blaine," she smiles. "You have a visitor."
Blaine just nods.
"Would you like to go out to the garden? I can bring you some tea?" Sheila is smiling very strangely, Sam thinks.
"You're not supposed to give us special treatment," Blaine says softly.
The man just stands quietly behind Sheila.
"It's alright Blaine," Sheila says.
"Thank you, Sheila. That sounds lovely," Blaine smiles, but Sam sees the darkness settle softly behind his eyes. "Excuse me gentlemen," Blaine says and stands up from the table. Sheila leads Blaine and the man away from the table and out of the room.
"Well," David says. "There goes our game.
"We can play a few rounds of Go Fish," Sam suggests. "I'll ask Evan to play and we can make it a foursome."
Quiet David nods.


1930

Quinn hasn't been so nervous in all her life. She stands in the bathroom, pinching her cheeks, trying to look flushed and beautiful. She must be warm for her husband. She must be attentive and lovely. There's a gentle knock at the door, and Quinn jumps.
"Quinn? Are you alright?"
She takes a deep breath, smooths out her negligee and opens the door. "I'm fine," she smiles, and Blaine smiles back.
The wedding had been perfect. Quinn couldn't remember when she'd smiled or laughed more than at the reception. She'd never felt so happy in her entire life. She belonged to someone now. She had a partner she could spend the rest of her life with. She felt relieved and excited and lucky. She loved her husband. She loved Blaine. She loved being Mrs. Blaine Anderson. She loved everything.
Blaine gently holds her waist and kisses her. His lips are soft and gentle, his hands feel so strong. She sighs into the kiss, and Blaine pulls away gently.
"Are you nervous?" he asks her.
"No," she says, looking into his eyes. "I'm so excited to belong to you."
He laughs as she begins to unbutton his pajama top, sliding it down his arms, hungrily feeling his chest. His hands move up to cup her breasts and she hums happily. How wonderful that she has someone to love her forever. "Let's go to bed," she whispers. Blaine takes her by the hand and leads her to the bed. She sits on the edge and puts her arms up, and Blaine pulls her negligee over her head. She's naked in front of him, but she's not scared. He slips out of his pants, and she sees him for the first time, and that's when she gets really nervous. It's sort of big and large - He pushes her back on the bed, her hair spills out behind her and he chuckles lightly. And she wonders how on earth it's going to fit in there. She reaches her hands up and around his shoulders. He kisses her mouth, her neck, moves towards her breasts.
When she had talked to Rachel before about...it...about everything...Rachel had said that it would become sort of...firm. But Blaine's looked soft. Quinn tries to calm the panic rising in her stomach. Blaine is hovering over her, kissing one of her nipples and she can feel it brushing against her and it feels firmer. She feels breathless, her whole body feels like it's on fire. She just wants to get it over with.
"Could..you..." she squeaks out.
Blaine freezes. "Am I doing it wrong?"
"No...I just wonder if you'd...like to start?"
"Isn't that what...I -?"
"Nonononno I just meant if you'd like to..."
"Yes of course. I can, if you'd like."
"I'd like that very much."


Dear Kurt,
I'm sorry you couldn't make it. It really was beautiful.


All my love,
Blaine

When it's all said and done, Quinn feels rather strange. She's not sure what all the fuss was about in the first place. It was rather fast, and it hurt a little. It was not as passionate as Rachel had described it would be. It was...well...sort of wet and unpleasant if she was being perfectly honest. She's curled around Blaine now, he's lying on his back with his arm around her. She wonders what he is thinking. In a room full of people, Blaine is so charming and charismatic. It's why she was attracted to him in the first place. But when they're alone, he's unusually silent, reserved. He rarely speaks his mind, he lets her make all the decisions for the pair of them. She's sure he's said, "Whatever you like is fine, darling" more than he's ever said, "I love you."
He's her partner, her lover, her friend, and she knows so little about him that sometimes it terrifies her. She knows Blaine is a nice man and a kind man, but she wonders about Blaine in high school. They rarely travelled in the same circles - he was President of the student council and captain of the glee club, she was a cheerleader. She saw him alone once at the movies and asked if he wanted to sit with her and...well now they were married. And she still has no idea what's going on in that head of his. She wants to ask him, it's been nagging at her since she saw him looking melancholy at the reception staring into his piece of cake. His eyes, so lively and vibrant moments before seemed quiet now, almost dead. And it made her want to know if he was - but then Rachel dragged her on the dance floor to Jitterbug and when she looked for him again he was there to take her into his arms. And just a moment ago, when they were, well, you know...he was wonderful and making lovely sounds. Quinn just didn't feel as thrilled as he seemed...and now he's so silent, Quinn can't hold it in anymore she has to ask.
"Can I ask you a question?" her voice cuts through the silence like a knife.
"You just did," he replies softly. He's not malicious, he's playful. He tightens his arm around her.
"Are you happy?"
"That's a strange thing to ask," he says.
"What's so strange about it?" she wonders, trailing her hand across his chest.
"Why wouldn't I be happy?"
"I don't know you just...I saw you today, and you looked...distant. I don't want you to be unhappy. I want you to be happy, I want to make you happy -"
"Alright," he says, silencing her. "I'm happy. I love you. You're wonderful. I can't wait to be with you for the rest of my life."
"Really?"
He kisses the top of her head. "Really and truly, my love"
She just doesn't know if she believes him.

September 4, 1934, 12:37am

The front of the Plymouth is smoking, the leaves from the tree are kissing his forehead. He feels like throwing up. His throat is burning from the whiskey, his eyes heavy, his neck sore. He wonders how much this is going to cost. He's not sure he even cares about the cost. He runs his fingers through his hair. His forehead is drenched in sweat and tears.
He feels numb. He feels like throwing up. Then he does, all over himself. He starts to cry and throws up until there is nothing left inside his stomach to throw up. His thoughts are QuinnQuinnQuinnQuinnQuinn and he wishes that he could run away and be someone else, anyone else and not feel like his heart was breaking all the time.
He knows he should be back at the hospital with Quinn, but he can't bring himself to put the car in reverse and drive away from the accident. He wants to sit here for awhile and revel in the chaos and confusion of his life, maybe he will feel something.
It had taken them so long but they had finally gotten it right. A baby. It was his chance - he could have been a father, they could have been a real family. But now the baby is gone and he isn't sure if he can face the strange half-life he's been living since he married the beautiful and icy Quinn Fabray. The endless string of garden parties, of ice cream socials, of church picnics and family dinners week after week. He hates holding her hand, the way her ribs feel as he grips her during sex. He hates waking up every morning next to a woman, knowing that he could be waking up to the right person only nine hours away. He's tired of feeling wrong, he wants to feel right.
He wonders if it's Quinn's fault that they lost the baby. He wonders if it would be plausible to blame her for what feels like the end of his dreams. Sitting in his own vomit, tears still running down his face he doesn't want to go to the hospital. He wants to feel whole and wanted and not so alone. He puts the smoking Plymouth in gear and starts to drive.
He knows seeing Kurt again is going to damage him. Leaving Kurt damages him more and more each time. The last time they saw each other was the night before Blaine's wedding, at a bar in Lima. Blaine's older brother, Cooper had taken Blaine out for a drink and became distracted talking to a girl at the bar about his acting career. As Blaine sped further and further down the highway he allowed himself to remember. It was one of the best nights of his life, and one of the worse.


"You know, I was an extra in Gold Diggers of Broadway," Cooper bragged as Blaine stared into his drink.
"Wow," the blonde at the bar said, leaning closer to Cooper.
Blaine sighed and stared into his drink. He had had a small bachelor party at his house with some of his school friends earlier in the week. It hadn't been particularly eventful or rowdy, so Cooper had insisted taking Blaine out on the town for one last night as a free man.
Blaine stood up and walked out of the bar. He knew Cooper would be awhile, and he was desperate to get out of the bar and into an open space. He was about to mail away his life forever, he was so tired of feeling like he was suffocating all the time. He stood outside the bar and smoked a cigarette, because he needed to have something in his hands. He felt the weight of his choices, the weight of his life on his shoulders. His future, stretched out like a highway before him that he could neither fathom nor accept. Spend the rest of your life married to a girl you do not love, touching the small of her back at garden parties and making frantic love to her before his erection gets too soft. He closed his eyes and thought about who he was. Maybe he could learn to love Quinn. There were some things he did love about her - her eyes, her smile, the way she smirked when she said something clever or naughty. But he did not love her sex, and that made him hate himself.
"Blaine?"
A voice snapped Blaine out of his reverie. He turned and saw Kurt standing only a few feet from him.
"I - I thought you couldn't make it?" Blaine breathed. He cursed himself for uptalking like an idiot.
"I couldn't - I can't..." Kurt trailed off. "But I wanted to come and wish you well. I wanted to say goodbye."
"You could have written a letter, you didn't have to-"
"I have a hotel room."
The air was suddenly thick. This was territory they had never entered. They had kissed, and spoken of their love for one another, but they had never acted on it. But Blaine had thought about it. And apparently, Kurt had thought about it too. Blaine wanted to. Blaine wanted to lose his virginity to Kurt, wanted to spend the rest of his life sleeping with a woman but wanted his first time to be with a man, this man. The man he had loved since they had met on the staircase at Dalton. Kurt took a step towards Blaine as Blaine finished off his cigarette. He thought about his life until this moment, and he thought about tomorrow morning, and honour, and being fair to Quinn and his head spoke before his heart could tell him not to say anything.
"Cooper is...he's waiting for me. I can't."
At first, Kurt looked disappointed, but then he said so softly, and with such resolve, "I don't care."
And suddenly Blaine didn't care either. He put out his cigarette and walked beside Kurt to his car. Kurt got in the driver's side and Blaine got in the passenger's seat and they drove away and didn't look back.
When they got to Kurt's hotel room, there was little talking. Kurt unlocked the door in a gentlemanly manner. They walked in the room like two old friends who were about to share a night-cap. The door closed, and Kurt stepped towards Blaine and their lips collided and Blaine remembered why he was alive.
They found each other in the dark, and they found each other again and again. Blaine thought he would lose Kurt without the lights but he didn't. Blaine was naked in front of someone for the first time in his adult life and he wasn't ashamed. He felt like he was going to explode from all the love inside of him, all the love he was giving Kurt. It was soft and hard and wet and dry and Blaine felt raw and exhausted but they kept going and when they were done they curled around each other and slept for an hour or so before Blaine realized he had to get back home because he was getting married in the morning.
Before he left he told Kurt, "I am going to love you for the rest of my life."
And Kurt kissed him softly and said, "I know. I am going to love you forever."

Blaine wondered if deciding to drive his damaged Plymouth all the way to New York in one night was a smart idea. When he had first set out, pulling away from the tree a few hours ago, he thought his idea was brilliant and romantic and impulsive in a way that was so unlike himself it felt good to be in another human's skin. He wanted to disappear, he didn't want to drive through the night.

Dear Blaine,
I want you to know that I can never see you again. You are my best friend, you will always be my best friend, but after last night we can never be together again. You are married now and I have to respect that, no matter how badly I feel about it.
I love you with all my heart.

I don't regret a single moment of it.

All my love, forever and ever,

Kurt xx

He imagined driving and driving until he reached a portal. And the portal took him to another place and another time where his wife was still pregnant and he desired her all the time, the way that Finn desired Rachel, the way that Blaine desired Kurt. Everything felt like too much, his desire, his grief, his guilt. He pulled over and cried. He cried because he was a bad husband and he cried because he had an erection from remembering the night before his wedding. And he cried as he carried himself to orgasm by the side of the road, spilling all over himself because his desire for men had always been greater than his love for his wife. And suddenly Blaine knew what it was like to be a failure and what it was to be a horrible human and he thought about taking his own life.

And everything was black for awhile.

December 26, 1941

Burt is really not interested in going to Blaine Anderson and Quinn Fabray's house. Burt has better things to do. But Kurt's letter was very clear.

Dear Papa,
I wanted to tell you that this morning I went down and enlisted to fight for our freedom against Japan. I'm sorry you had to find out by letter - I am simply too nervous and anxious to call you. But after what happened in Hawaii, I cannot sit by and watch the people of our country die needlessly. I will call you before I ship out.
Please do me a favour and take the other letter in this envelope to Blaine Anderson. He is my best friend and I just wanted to say these things to him before I go.

I love you,

Kurt

Burt had not read the letter Kurt had written to Blaine. Burt wondered why Blaine hadn't enlisted himself. No matter how strangely he felt about the whole thing, Burt found himself standing on Blaine Anderson's porch, knocking a gentle rhythm on the door. Burt waits for what feels like an eternity. He's already decided he's not going to go inside, no matter how polite the invitation is. He's going to keep it strictly business. He's going to say, "Got a letter for you Blaine, from Kurt. Wanted me to hand deliver it. Hope you're doing well, all things considered..."
He thinks about saying that at least, he's not sure he should mention...the breakdown. In a small town like Lima gossip travels fast, but Burt had never seen anything spread as quickly as the story of Quinn Anderson's miscarriage and her husband's complete and total mental breakdown. He went missing after their baby was pronounced dead, and police found him almost 100 miles outside of town sleeping naked in his car. Quinn's mother had to bail him out of jail before he could go back to the hospital and see his wife. After the incident, Blaine and Quinn kept to themselves. Blaine continued working as a music teacher at the high school in Westerville, although parents were wary of him now. Quinn didn't return to work on the church council, which put her out of favour with most of the women in town, except, of course, Rachel Hudson who spent as much time as she could with Quinn, helping her cope with the death of her unborn child and the death of her marriage.
Burt still isn't sure what he is going to say, but he didn't have another moment to decide because suddenly Quinn Anderson herself is opening the door, and she's got a rather confused look on her face.
"Mr. Hummel," she says. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Mrs. Anderson," he says gruffly.
"Would you like to come in and sit?" Quinn says. She's smiling pleasantly now, but her eyes confirm to Burt that she's still not sure why he's on her porch.
"I have a letter...for Blaine. From my son."
"From Kurt?" Something happens behind Quinn's eyes - her face becomes a little colder, she understands something that Burt does not.
"Well, I've only got the one son, so..."
"Of course, silly me. You'd better come in Mr. Hummel," Quinn says, and gestures for him to come in the house.
"I'd rather just give Blaine the letter if that's - "
"Blaine isn't home," Quinn says rather firmly. "I'd really appreciate it if you could come in, Mr. Hummel, and then I can explain everything."
Burt decides to cut his losses and walk in the door. The house is dark, but well decorated. It's clean and put together in the way a room should look in a catalogue. Quinn disappears into the kitchen and reappears with two cups of coffee. She sets them down on the coffee table and says, "Have a seat."
Burt perches awkwardly on the loveseat. He suddenly wonders why the house is so empty the day after Christmas.
Quinn takes a small sip of her coffee and then says, "Blaine is in a sanatorium at the moment.
Burt felt like his whole body was frozen. "He has...consumption?"
"No," Quinn says softly. "He's in for some psychiatric treatment."
"Because of what hap - "
"Not because of what happened that night. Because, one day, a few months ago he was acting so strange and he...confessed some things to me and I decided it was best if he was in treatment for awhile."
"I don't understand."
"I'm not really required to say any more, Mr. Hummel. Most people in town believe Blaine has gone overseas to help with the war effort. This is not the case, because he is not psychiatrically fit."
"I'm sorry I still don't - "
"Mr. Hummel, I am only going to tell you this because you are the father of Blaine's best friend. Kurt and Blaine were so close in high school, I just...I think you deserve to know, if at least to tell Kurt. Please...I can't...Blaine is going to get better, I can't have rumors around town..."
"I won't say anything," Burt confirms. "You have my word." And she did.
"Blaine told me one night a few weeks ago that he was not interested in women as most men naturally are. Blaine told me his tendencies were...unnatural."
Burt feels speechless.
Quinn takes another sip of her coffee. "Blaine and I thought it would be best if he received treatment for his illness."
"I'm sorry," Burt manages to say. "I had no idea."
"Neither did I," Quinn says wistfully. "I can take him the letter."
"I would rather...is there an address I can reach him at? I would like to offer him...some comfort, some words of encouragement."
"He's at Hawthornden State Hospital," Quinn tells him. "You can reach Blaine there. Keep in mind that mail is opened for the safety of the patients."
Burt stands up to leave. "I'm sorry," he says again.
"It's quite alright," Quinn says. "These things are wont to happen."
"You're putting on a brave face," Burt says, forgetting protocol for a moment. "But I hope you're not forgetting it's alright to feel pain, alright to cry."
Quinn gives him a tight-lipped smile. "Crying is for the weak. Thank you for the visit, Mr. Hummel, I trust you will keep the contents of our conversation today private."
Burt doesn't wait for Quinn to see him out, he just walks out the door and shuts it behind him. He walks back to the tire shop in the cold, wondering what he should do, what he should say, if he should tell Kurt. If Kurt knows already, if Kurt always knew. If Kurt -
And then something occurs to Burt that has only occurred to him once before. Once, a few nights before graduation, Blaine was over and the two of them, Kurt and Blaine, that is, were in Kurt's room with the door shut listening to records. Burt had walked by the closed door, on his way to the kitchen, or the bathroom, he didn't remember...but he did remember what he had heard on the other side of the door.
"I love you," his son said.
"I love you too. I'm going to love you forever," Blaine said.
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
Burt's blood had gone cold, his mind began to race. His own son...like that? But Burt had somehow convinced himself that the boys were going to make love confessions at graduation or at the dance, and that they were just practising, as boys that age would. And for the next ten years he went about his business like nothing was strange about his son reaching thirty and still not having a wife.
Now, standing on a cold street corner the day after Christmas, with his son halfway around the world, it is occurring to Burt Hummel that his son might be a homosexual. He lets it sink in for a moment, he thinks about it.
His son likes to kiss other men.
His son looks at other men in the way that Burt Hummel looks at women.
When his son was seventeen years old he told Blaine Anderson that he loved him.
His son doesn't want to make love to women, his son wants to make love to men.
And suddenly it occurs to Burt Hummel that his son is fighting for his country, that his son is doing the right thing. That his son does the right thing. It is occurring to Burt Hummel that his son might be just as unnatural as Blaine Anderson, but Burt Hummel knows his son is a good man. Burt Hummel knows his son is a homosexual, and Burt walks to his garage, takes out a piece of letterhead and writes a letter to his son's lover and Burt Hummel feels fantastic about it.

Dear Blaine,
I'm not sure how to start a letter like this. I guess I will start by saying that Quinn told me where you were, and why you were there. I promise I will not tell anyone, I promise I will only tell Kurt.
I know it has been a few years since I've seen you last - almost five, if my math is right. But I thought I would write to you because I know who you are. I knew you before you got married, before your episode. I knew you when you were Kurt's best friend, and that has always meant the world to me.
Kurt never fit in growing up. He was too creative and smart to fit in with other kids. When Kurt moved to Dalton it was for academic reasons, but I hoped he would find friends, too. And then he met you and the Warblers, and I saw him grow and change in a way that as a father, I could have only imagined before you came along. Kurt's schoolwork improved, he was happy in passionate in a way that I have never seen. I think that was due to your friendship, Blaine.
No matter what anyone tells you, Blaine, I want you to know that you are a good man. However natural or unnatural you are, you matter. You matter to me, and you matter to my son. He wrote you a letter right after he enlisted, and asked me to deliver it to you. I promise I will tell him to come visit you.

Thank you for all you've done,

Burt Hummel


December 31, 1942

It's breakfast and Sam loves breakfast because there's always a seat saved next to him for Evan. Sam loves the way Evan's face lights up when Evan realizes he gets to sit beside Sam. Sam loves breakfast because that's when Sam and Evan get their mail. Sometimes their mom will send them a letter each, sometimes just one for Sam. Sam's mother send him long letters about the farm, and the football team and Sam sometimes wishes that he could be with his family but he knows that Evan is holding him back. No matter what, though, Sam knows he has to stick with Evan until Evan is ready to leave.
Today it is New Year's Eve, and everyone gets an extra slice of toast at breakfast. Sam and Evan's roommate, Blaine is eating breakfast with them for the first time today.
"What a perfect day to have breakfast," Evan tells Blaine.
"I guess so. Are you Sam or Evan?" Blaine wonders.
"I'm Evan," says Evan. He points to Sam. "That's Sam."
Blaine just smiles and nods. Sam is relieved to see Blaine smile. He was worried that Blaine would be sombre and unfeeling like so many of the other people that live here. So far Blaine still has a twinkle in his eye. Sam hopes it stays. A nurse comes by and drops off mail. There is a letter for Sam, a letter for Evan, and a letter for Blaine.
"Congratulations!" Sam says, grinning. "You got some mail!"
"Thanks, Evan," Blaine says, staring down at the envelope.
"I'm Sam," Sam explains. "That's Evan."
Blaine just smiles and nods.
Blaine opens his letter and Sam watches him read.
Blaine finishes the letter and starts again.
Finishes and starts again.
There is a second page of the letter, but Blaine cannot get past the first page.
He breaks down in front of Sam and Evan.
He cries big, fat, wet tears like a little baby. He makes strange choking sounds. Sam isn't sure what to do so he gives Evan a small glance before he reaches across the breakfast table and holds Blaine's hand. Blaine grips it so tightly, Evan is worried that the circulation in Sam's hand will be cut off.
"You'll be alright," Evan says.
"I'm sorry," Blaine says. "I'msorryI'msosorry"
A nurse comes and takes Blaine away. Someone tells Evan he can eat Blaine's toast. Sam and Evan decide that today is going to be a good day, mostly because of the extra toast.

1957, New York City

Kurt has his hands full. Lizzie is two years old and she's got a toothache, or something. She won't stop crying. Kurt feels like crying. When Kurt had gone down to the orphanage two years ago, he really was expecting it to be like something out of A Little Princess.
Kurt was well-off. He had been designing for Brooks Brothers steadily since the end of the war. The boat had dropped him off in New York and he had taken a cab straight to Madison Avenue and applied for a job on the spot. They gave him the job, not because he was qualified, but because he was a veteran. He had started in the mailroom, to put it metaphorically and worked his way to the top. He loved his job, and he had saved until he had enough money to adopt a little girl. No one questioned him because of his wealth - it made perfect sense for a man of his stature to want to give back. He had adopted Elizabeth as his ward, and had cared for her since she was about six months old.
Today, he was regretting this particular decision. He knew he had to take Lizzie to the doctor, and he was trying to find some way to calm her before they had to leave, since the doctor's office was on the other side of the island. There was a knock at the door and Kurt wondered if it was the doorman. He shook a rattle at Lizzie, who was whining in her high chair, and walked over to the door to open it. He kept his eyes on Lizzie, unlocking the door behind his back and pulling it open carefully.
"Is there a package for me from the office, Stamford?"
"Stamford?"
Kurt dropped the rattle. His whole body felt cold. He wasn't sure he wanted to turn around.
"It's not."
"Turn around."
Kurt turned around slowly and Blaine was standing there like a statue. As perfectly carved as anything by Bernini, crafted with such reverence and care.
"Blaine."
"Hi, Kurt!"
Kurt threw his arms around his friend. It had been years. They had seen each other once since the hospital, and it had been awkward and strange. They had had lunch together for a few hours before Blaine had to catch a train back to Ohio. They didn't make love or kiss or touch - Blaine had been so fragile. But today he looked healthy and alive. And Kurt still loved him, even after all this time.
"It sounds like you're busy, and I have a piano lesson in an hour across town so I can't stay -"
"You're living in the city now?" Kurt exclaimed. "What about Quinn?"
"We divorced very quietly. She's out in San Francisco painting murals now," Blaine explained, reaching for something in the hallway. "I just moved in yesterday and I wanted to bring you this."
"What...?" Kurt breathed. It was a magnificent wooden box. He took the box in his hands and felt the weight of it in his hands.
"I kept everything," Blaine said simply. "I have to go now. My phone number is in there. You can call me when you're free." Then Blaine turns around to make sure the door is shut and plants and gentle kiss on Kurt's cheek. "So much of my life has been sad," Blaine whispers, his lips on the shell of Kurt's ear. "This box, and this day, are the happiest moments of my life."
"I love you," Kurt says.
Blaine pulls back to Kurt can see him smile. "I love you too."
Kurt takes Lizzie to the doctor and brings her home for a nap and settles down in his living room with the box and he opens it and examines every artefact that Blaine has kept.
Blaine's pocket watch from high school.
A shoebrush from their days as Warblers. A Warbler never leaves the house without clean shoes.
Two glass bottles they drank whiskey from the night of graduation.
Finn's Toledo Mud Hens rookie card.
A music theory book from their classes at Dalton. A book of Shakespeare's sonnets.
And letters.

Kurt,
This box is for you. I think if I had to measure my life, it would be in the moments that I got to spend with you. I love you. I never stopped loving you.

- Blaine

Epilogue - 1985

Lizzie is speechless. She remembers her Uncle Blaine, the holidays that he would take with her and her father, the songs he would play on the piano at Christmastime. And she remembers the way he died, quietly one summer ten years ago from cancer. She presses the letters close to her heart, precious treasures that they are. And she is holding a love story in her hands and she can close the door of her father's study knowing that his life was full of love.