Blaine would say that he woke up having a heart attack, but that would mean that he’d been asleep in the first place. It would also imply he knew what a heart attack felt like, and he knew he didn’t. And that this wasn’t one. More like his heart wanting to escape his chest.

A glance at the clock reminded him that Kurt would be living in the same state as him for another four hours. Then he and Burt would be driving to New York. Bags packed meticulously. His few possessions in neat, labeled boxes. Prom photo not among them. And he knew all that. He’d helped Kurt make decisions on what stays and what goes. Vetoed clothing choices and accompanied the shopping trip for new items.

It was all amicable and friendly and just like he’d wanted. They’d been reasonable and acknowledged their youth and inexperience and that while waiting seemed romantic it wasn’t practical. It was Blaine’s senior year and he needed to live it fully. And Kurt would be in New York City. Really what more need be said about that? Burt and Carole had nodded and kept respectfully solemn expressions and said that whatever they decided was right. Compared to the clusterfuck that was Finn and Rachel, nobody doubted their maturity.

Three hours and fifty-five minutes.

He pushed his hand against his chest as if to keep the pounding organ inside. Could you live without a heart?

It wasn’t until he was brushing his teeth that the adrenaline set in, pushing through his veins like a derailed locomotive, the screech of grinding metal rushing blood into his ears. His parents were asleep but they wouldn’t care. His father wouldn’t care if Kurt fell off the Earth and floated into space and his mother only squeezed his shoulder once when he told her that Kurt was moving away. Then she’d moved onto gossip about their neighbors.

The drive to Kurt’s house normally took two hours.

He pulled up in an hour and a half and stopped and sat and stared at the lit house. They were up. They were maybe having breakfast. Getting ready.

Drawing in a sharp breath Blaine remembered that he’d already said some version of goodbye the day before.

I’m never saying goodbye to you.

Kurt said they’d always be friends. There was no need for goodbye. But then why did he feel like he was hovering over a bottomless cavern? Maybe because goodbye was nothing compared to this. It was a salutation not all that different from ‘hello’ and ‘how ya doing’. Automatic and meaningless. It didn’t mean this. Oh, god, Blaine couldn’t do this.

He didn’t know he was pounding on the door until it swung open to Burt’s shocked expression.

“Blaine?”

But Blaine didn’t see him as anything other than a body in the way of what he needed. He was running up the stairs shouting Kurt’s name, except it wasn’t really sound … you needed air for that and he’d stopped breathing some time back.

“Kurt!”

It wasn’t an embrace as much as a slam. Arms surrounded him instantly and it had been so long that he’d almost forgotten how strong they were. How they swallowed him up and kept him safe and made him whole. There was no way. This couldn’t happen.

He sank wetly into Kurt’s neck, gulping in the smell of his body wash and heat and they were both shaking or maybe it was only him. Clutching tightly, he spun them in a slow circle, vibrating like clothes in a washer, a final spin cycle that would wrench all that he was and fling it afar.

“Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me. Please … please don’t leave me.”

Lips grazed his temple. “Blaine. God, don’t do this. You know I have to—“

“No – not that. I mean me. Don’t leave me.” He pulled back a little and met bright glassy eyes. “I can never not love you.”

“You said … “

“Kiss me before I die.”

And, yeah, it was dramatic and young and the whole ‘lets be friends’ was his moronic idea because he wanted to be fair and reasonable and grown up and one more second without—

This. Lips and tongue and breaths mixing and it had been weeks. So long without drowning in the person he adored. Hands grabbing and holding and reaching and clutching and caressing. Wet, hot, licks up against his ear, down his jaw line and latching onto his neck.

“I love you, too. I don’t know how not to love you.”

And Kurt tasted salty and desperate, like licking your lips on the hottest summer day, parched and pleading small moans of sheer want. Hips surged mindlessly forward, pushing closer and pressing hard thrusts that couldn’t get close enough, never close enough. They were hard and panting and biting and one lifted leg later Blaine was shoved against the door and Kurt huffed into his neck in tiny curses and thumping heaves until until until …

“More, yes, like that, fuck yes.”

Tight flush of white heat snaking down his spine reaching and pulling and finally shattering.

They slid down the door together never letting go.

And Kurt giggled shyly like he always did after coming and Blaine thought it wasn’t possible to love anyone more than he did this boy right now.

“I guess we wasted all that time,” Kurt said softly, regret lacing his soft tones.

But Blaine knew better. “No. Because we have time now.”

Kurt’s brow rose. “I have to clean up. Dad and I are leaving soon.”

“But we have time now.” He willed Kurt to understand. To agree. He didn’t think he’d make it if Kurt didn’t—

“Kurt … “ Blaine made his final plea. “I can’t be your friend. I can’t stop loving you. I don’t want to be open to other people. I’ll die if you find someone else. Please.”

“Oh, sweetie. I was always going to wait for you.” At Blaine’s shocked look, Kurt continued. “I know what we said. But, I guess, I hoped that you’d do the same.”

He cupped Kurt’s face with both hands and brought his lips back for a soft kiss. “I love you so much.”

Kurt kissed him back slow and sure and tender. The words weren’t necessary but his heart skipped merrily when they were uttered. “I love you, too.”

Rising slowly, Kurt extracted himself, looking down with a small frown at the stain on his pants. He reached into his drawer for clean sweats to give to Blaine and dug into his closet for jeans for himself. Nothing too tight as it was a long ride. They washed up quickly and quietly, and if they got interrupted by catching each other’s eyes in the bathroom mirror a time or twenty …

Well, Burt could wait.

Downstairs, Blaine accepted the coffee Carole gave him and smiled a thanks at her.

“Everything okay now?” Burt asked with his characteristic no-nonsense tone.

“We’re together again,” Kurt answered simply.

Burt nodded. “You know we have to leave in a half hour, right?”

“Yes. I know,” Blaine replied, because Burt had been staring right at him when he said that. He put down the coffee after taking a last sip. “I’ll let Kurt finish getting ready.”

After a lingering appraising look and a glance at his wife, Burt said, “Come to dinner Friday if you like. Carole’s making meatloaf.”

Eyes watering instantly, Blaine forced down a swallow and nodded that he’d be there.

At the door he thought about what to say. Because he felt like someone had just taken a paddle to his chest and upped the charge to high. Holding on to Kurt’s hips he pressed their foreheads together. “Thanks for giving my heart a home again.”

He lifted Kurt’s hand and pressed it over his own chest in a mirror of a familiar gesture.

“Like the song?” Kurt asked with a smile that was at once sad and wonderful and everything. And Blaine realized he’d never be able to say goodbye to this boy any more than he could slip out of his own skin.

Returning the smile with a watery one of his own, he squeezed Kurt’s hand harder against his chest. “Like the song.”

fin