Blaine is a mess.

He'd love to find a better word. Confused. Upset. Jumbled. Except, then he'd be lying. Again. And that's the one thing he has to stop because the lying and the hiding and the goddamn pretending can't be sustained. He's going to lose it. He's going to lose him. And he can't … he can't …

“Hey,” a groggy voice says near his ear. A hand clasps his shoulder and Blaine senses Kurt growing more alert, throat clearing, body tensing slightly. “You okay?”

No. No, I'm not. I said okay when you said it can't happen. That you will always love me. But I don't believe it. It's like I can't believe it and what does that say about me? What does that even mean?

“Yeah.”

The sheets flutter and he's pulled toward Kurt's chest. His hard as nails, chiseled, fucking perfect chest. He remembers when it was slighter, softer, when Kurt was gentler, awkward, shy. God, what is wrong with him? Can he really be wanting his boyfriend … his fianc� … to revert to a timid teenager?

“Blaine … Please talk to me. We won't … it's the only way. What's going on in your head right now?”

I believe you love me. I do. But do you need me? Even a little? Even a quarter as much as I need you?

“I'm sorry I woke you. It's still early. You can sleep more.”

Kurt's muscles clench and he shifts to lie on his back, arm unwrapping from Blaine and landing across Kurt's flat stomach. Blaine hears Kurt breathing deeply like he does when he's trying to unwind. It must be torturous to have Blaine around. No wonder Kurt didn't want him living here. It's quiet for a long moment and Blaine wonders if Kurt will fall back to sleep. He's startled when Kurt starts to speak, voice low and a little thick.

“When we met, I was a mess.” Blaine jolts a little at the shock of hearing that word and instinctively rises on one elbow to catch Kurt's eyes, but they are closed and his face is inscrutable in the dim early morning light. “Every bone ached from the constant locker shoves. I'd taken to changing clothes in the dark so I wouldn't have to see the bruises. Like if I didn't see them, they wouldn't be real.”

Blaine is staring now at the cut glass outline of Kurt's jaw, his sculptured cheekbone, the sharp swoop of his nose. He juxtaposes over this the fuzzy edges of the boy who stopped him on the stairs at Dalton, baby-fat roundness and tentative gray eyes. Blaine stays quiet and waits to see if Kurt has more to say.

“Dalton was like a fairy tale. It was magic, Blaine. Boys who were kind and respectful and singing like the world held no evil.” Kurt suddenly opens his eyes and Blaine is trapped in a deep blue pool of intensity. “And then, there you were. I literally had to pinch myself to believe you were real.”

Blaine is crying again before he can stop it and he swipes ineffectually at his betraying eyes because how much more weakness can Kurt possibly stand? The tears well despite himself because those precious moments when he thought he'd been able to help the ethereal boy that headed toward him like a vision on those steps are among the most treasured memories he has. For those few days, he mattered. He wasn't the not-good-enough little brother or the if-only-he-could-be-straight disappointment of a son.

“Blaine … “ He's being crushed into Kurt's shoulder.

“I'm sorry,” he hiccups.

“You don't have to be sorry.” Kurt rubs the back of his head, fingers threading his curls. “When I said ‘equal' before I didn't mean every minute. I didn't mean either one of us couldn't need the other ever. You were there for me. Let me be there for you.”

“You are,” Blaine says muffled. He swipes at his runny nose so he doesn't get snot on Kurt's shoulder.

“Then tell me what you need, how I can help.”

I need to not be me. I need to be more like you. I need to feel like I matter.

“I don't know,” he answers. Kurt pulls back and holds his gaze. Blaine swallows back the fear, the ever-present dread of losing this. Losing him. “The only thing I know is that I love you.”

Kurt smiles weakly and reminds him, “You told me that's all you need once. Remember?”

Blaine takes Kurt's hand and brushes the ring that Kurt's never taken off. Their eyes lock again and Kurt's narrow slightly. “You're right that I've changed. Physically, and emotionally, too. It's part of growing up. I can't … I won't ever be that trapped little boy again. I got out. And it's not just living in New York. I let myself out, Blaine. Being strong isn't just about growing some muscle. It's waking up knowing who you are. It's a journey … and you're on it. You're in the center so it's hard to see, but, honey, you've changed, too.”

Intellectually, Blaine knows this is true. Of course it is, nobody stays the same, it's impossible. Life alters you, every day makes you someone new. But that's not … the fear doesn't go away acknowledging that. Because what if Kurt doesn't want whatever it is Blaine ultimately becomes?

“There's a moment,” Kurt begins and Blaine blinks because … what? “There's a moment when one says, ‘Oh, there you are, I've been looking for you all my life'.” Kurt pauses as Blaine's lips start to tilt up in a smile of recognition. He cups Blaine's cheek and Blaine leans into it, seeking the warmth. “It's not just one moment, Blaine. It happens over and over again.”

“Yes,” Blaine says. And then again, louder, “God, yes.” Because that's so true. He's looked at Kurt so many times and felt the shudder of recognition course through his body. You. Always, always, you.

“Don't fear change. Think of it as a series of beginnings.”

“Is that what you do?”

Kurt bites his lower lip and tilts his forehead until it's touching Blaine's. “It's what I try to do. I'm not perfect. I get insecure, too. I … blow up and walk away before hearing you out … But we have to try.”

“And if I … fail?” Blaine's voice is so weak that he hardly recognizes himself.

“Then we talk. And we try again.”

God, could it really be that simple? He wants to turn off the voice that says there's a limit, a time clock, and then Kurt's patience will run out.

As if Kurt read his mind he suddenly sighs and tilts Blaine's face up to meet his slightly exasperated stare. “Blaine, my perfectionist fianc� … you are eighteen. You don't have to have all the answers to life, the universe, and every unanswered question under the sun today.”

Blaine chuckles at the unexpected fervor and Kurt smiles, his eyes sparkle and his cheekbones rise and in an odd shimmer of light Blaine sees all the boys Kurt has been before, merging with the incredible man he's become.

He will try as Kurt has said because there is nothing else he can do but that. One day, maybe, Kurt will be able to look at Blaine and see a transition. Kurt swings his legs off the bed. “How about an egg white omelet?”

Blaine has poured orange juice and is generously peppering the bland eggs. He interprets Kurt's quiet attempts to help Blaine eat healthier as a sign of love and it warms him. Staring at the swirling pulp in his glass he takes stock of himself. It helped to talk, to listen, to feel Kurt wrapped around him, caring.

“Thanks,” he tells Kurt, whose eyes open up at the comment. “For what you said. I feel better. I like what you said about it being a journey.” He puts down the pepper, stares at the black speckles adding pattern to the previous quiet white, looks back up. “Which we take alone but not always by ourselves.”

He doesn't know if that made sense outside of his own mind but Kurt, gorgeous, brave, smart, Kurt … gets it. “I made the eggs. You added the spice.”

Blaine springs up in his seat because how perfect is his fianc�? The smile cracking his lips feels bone deep. He leans his cheek into his hand, propped by his elbow on the table and just lets himself look. “I love you,” he utters softly as Kurt is sipping his coffee like it's ambrosia from the gods.

Kurt takes an achingly familiar choked swallow. “I love you, too.”

fin

“Every day is a journey, and the journey itself is home.”
-- Matsuo Basho