An old, tired-looking man with curly gray hair and hunched back was sitting on a white bench in the back yard of the small nursing home. The wind was gentle that day and the sunshine warm enough to heat the skin the gusts of wind threatened to cool down. He had been sitting there every warm enough day for as long as anyone could remember, ever since he got to the place. Today, he was holding a framed photograph of two middle aged men and a young girl, all three of them smiling widely. The photograph was obviously old and faded in a way that suggested it had been exposed to the sunlight for years. In the picture, one of the men had then-much-wilder, black curls and he was wearing a checkered vest and a bowtie. The other man had short, black hair and a much clearer half-asian complexion, but asian descent was there in both of their features. The girl on the other hand had blonde hair and a killer smile. This picture was of him and his late husband and their adopted daughter, who recently got her third child and lived a little too far to visit often.

"You still dress the same," a voice behind him commented. He turned to meet the eyes of the smiling nurse and returned his bright smile. His shoulders may have hunched and his hair may have grayed and thinned but his smile was as wonderful as ever.

"That look fits your current age much better though.. What with the vests and bowties and all." she continued, laughing.

"Yes, well, I have always been an old soul," he joked back.

The nurse laughed loudly and said "Who are you kidding? Your outfit is still the only part of you that is adult. You may be 89 but you still speak and act like a ten year old sometimes."

He smiled affectionately, then looked back to his precious photograph again. "He was handsome, wasn't he?" he asked the nurse, not looking up from the photo, a small smile hovering on his lips.

"Indeed he was. Was he your soulmate?" Her tone was gentle.

"No, he wasn't. But we were happy together. We were so much in love. There was nothing missing."

"It has been long, though, hasn't it? Since he left? Do you ever feel lonely?"

"It has. But I have our daughter and her family and forty years’ worth of memories."

The nurse hummed, lost in thought for a while, before continuing. "Do you ever wonder, though? About your soulmate?"

The old man brushed the faint, almost unreadable name on his palm absentmindedly with a finger. He didn't look sad, just thoughtful. He read the name for what had to be the millionth time and just wondered.

"Yes, of course I do. For the longest time that name was always on the top of my mind. I looked for him everywhere, waited and hoped for him to be there behind every next corner. Then I found Mark, my husband, and we were simply good together, so we settled to wait for our soulmates together… Until we didn't wait anymore and just were. Together. He never found his soulmate either. We didn't really need to, in the end, our life was wonderful as it was. But of course we wondered. I wondered. Who is this man? Where is he? Is he gone? Did he have as good a life as I did? Did he hurt because he didn't find me?" His voice had grown weaker towards the end of his questions. Suddenly a lone tear fell down his withered cheek and his eyes had old sadness in them. "I really hope he had a wonderful life. I always hoped to find out but we've run out of time." The man sighed and wiped the tear away. It glistened on his wrinkled finger. It made the nurse think of her soulmate, who was waiting at home for her shift to end, with a movie and dinner like they planned. So many people never found that, always left to imagine the face behind the name. The world was big, one person so small. She felt so thankful, and she wished she could say something to ease this old man’s pain. But, of course, there was really nothing she could do.

"I think I'm going inside now. I feel a bit tired." She nodded, helped him up and started to walk him slowly towards the glass doors. She thought how this man had started to feel tired so much faster every day lately, and felt it wouldn’t be long before the tiredness would win. She walked him to his door and wished him a good day. He replied with a quiet "Thank you, dear." The nurse left and he settled down on the bed and closed his eyes.

............

Next morning there was a new kind of buzz in the dining hall. He chuckled to himself, slightly amused. The place really felt like high school all over again, all gangs and designated tables and juicy rumors. Even romance. Just less running around and jumping on furniture and more illnesses and the unknown future of high school kids changed into lived past of these weather-worn people.

"What's all this chatter about?" He sat down next to another old man, who he knew was always aware of everything that was going on. Puck - who had shaved a mohawk a year or so ago, to reminisce his youth, he said - was the one who came up with wheel chair races and always had a new pickup like for the nurses. Puck didn't dissapoint him this time either, and promptly told him there was a new occupant in the room on the second floor, that had been empty for a while after the famous Broadway star of good old times, Rachel Berry, had passed away. It had been in the magazines; people always remembered the forgotten legends when they died, and for a few days or weeks it seemed as if everyone had loved them all this time and the shine of the bright star had never faded. Until someone else died and the last star was truly dead. But there was no need to pity Rachel, in her life she had always made sure she was not forgotten by those whom she really wanted to be remembered by.

He was woken up from his thoughts by Noah (who insisted being called Puck as he was really not old enough to be biblical) laughing at one of his own jokes. Oh well, newcomers were always interesting. After all, what more was there for them now, when new stories were hardly ever made, than to share other people's past and remember their own?

..............

He didn't meet the new guy until that afternoon, when he went to his bench on the yard again, this time with a book and his glasses, prepared to read. He still had some names left on his must-read list made so many years ago and updated regularly when life was too busy to sit down and follow someone else's fate.

He was quite near to the bench already when he noticed that it was not empty like usual. There was another man and as he saw that it was not someone he had met before, he knew it must be the new “kid”.

"Hello," he said, but the other man did not seem to hear. He stood there behind this newcomer for a while, then, just taking in his appearance and trying to figure him out, guessing his life. He loved watching people and he was usually quite good at it, having spent most of his life as a journalist. This man was definitely near his own age, he was thin and his hair was gray too. What was different about him wasn't his hair colour but the way he had styled it, as perfectly as any fashionable, self-concious young man would, not a hair out of place. His outfit was impeccable too, no wrinkles to be seen, all matching up and expensive looking brands. He smiled to himself, amused and a bit in awe. Not many people cared about their appearance at this age, when there was not much to achieve with it and only the faded memories of their once young bodies left to dress. But this man obviously knew that looks are for yourself, not for others. And that's when people dress the best.

He aproached the bench slowly, leaning on his cane, and circled around the bench. The other man was sitting there with his eyes closed, possibly asleep, afternoon sun dancing on his eyelids. He had a remarkable face, even when distorted by age and what the years had brought with them. He was still quite handsome. The man was wondering what his eyes looked like, what colour they might be, when the said eyes suddenly opened. And the world tilted and turned in a funny way.

............

An overwhelming feeling of connection and belonging and homeness hit him suddenly, when the blue eyes opened up and fixed on him. He almost fell backwards and he had to lean heavily on his cane to remain standing. Similar feelings were dancing across those blue eyes watching him. Surprise and confusion and awe. Hugeness of the moment. This was something out of stories. This was new in this ancient world of his. This was his soulmate.

"Kurt?" he asked weakly.

........

They had a day. A beautiful day, too, birds singing in the late spring haste of building a nest and grass smelling wonderful after the morning's rain. There was a lot to tell, a lot to hear. Two lifetimes of happenings and choises that had been made, two people with personalities and favourites and likes, two lifetimes worth of sitting on the bed late at night, looking at their palms and reading over and over again the name of this other person finally sitting next to you.

There were a few stories that had been so very near to become one story, like the time they had almost competed against each other’s show choirs in high school, or the time they had been in the same pride parade. Especially the one time, when Kurt had worked part time in the wedding parlour that he and his husband had gotten married in. There was so much to say. But they got weary of talking, eventually, even though not nearly everything was said. After the words had faded away, they held hands and looked at the birds in the tree and their own names on someone else’s hands. He was feeling so tired. After a while, the nurse from yesterday came to help them in. She saw their faces, asked and cried at their story. He smiled to his Kurt and Kurt's face was so beautiful. But he needed to lie down now. Kurt walked with him to his room, helping him when his feet seemed to tire halfway. The two old men laid down on the bed and the nurse had opened the window, so they could still hear the birds sing. The wind was picking up, waving the curtains a bit.

His eyes seemed to be quite heavy so he closed them. Kurt was there. He wanted to say something but he couldn't quite figure out what or find good enough words to express whatever it was, so he stayed silent. Kurt sang something, his voice high but weakened with age. The sound was like the birds outside, carried with wings and with newfound love. His soulmate, at last, after all this time. He felt full, like there was nothing much to add to the pages of his life anymore. He missed his husband. Maybe he'd call his daughter tomorrow. Now he needed to rest. The birds were still singing and their voices seemed to work well with Kurt's melodies. Somebody closed the door. He was so tired.

"Goodbye, Blaine Anderson." he heard Kurt say. What an odd way to wish good night, he thought.

"Kurt Hummel." he answered. Then he fell asleep.