"What wrong? You've been quiet all night, Kurt."

"...It's nothing, sorry."

Kurt slid further into the couch and nested his head into the crook of Blaine's neck. They'd made weekly night movie nights a tradition ever since Kurt transferred back to McKinley to rejoin the New Directions last year. Tonight, they watched Breakfast at Tiffany's for the millionth time as they snuggled in Kurt's basement.

His eyes were still slightly swollen from crying with Rachel after going to the NYADA mixer. While they'd decided not to let Harmony's killer mashup of "Anything Goes" and "Anything You Can Do" get to them, now, Kurt's mind wandered back to the feeling of defeat he'd felt at the smug grins of the other kids there, younger than both him and Rachel, and yet seemingly much more accomplished and confident.

Kurt and Blaine sat there in silence. Of course Blaine knew it wasn't "nothing," but he also knew better than to press for details when Kurt was in one of his moods.

"It's just," Kurt's voice cracked slightly, "I mean, what if I really am stuck here forever? All those kids at mixer were so... What if I was never meant to get out of Lima. If all this time I've been fooling myself."

"Kurt." Blaine slumped down to bring himself eye-level with Kurt. He cupped Kurt's cheek in his hand, "Kurt, of course you'll get out of here. You were meant for great things- you are meant for great things. You're too special to stay here forever."

Tears swelled in Kurt's eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. He did his best to collect himself before speaking again, "I just. I don't know. I mean, how can you be so sure. Maybe I'm meant to rot here, serving coffee at the Lima bean or waiting tables at Breadst--"

"Kurt." Blaine interrupted, as Kurt worked himself into a tearful panic. He rested his forehead against his boyfriend's, letting out a quiet sigh. It was almost inaudible, but Kurt could feel it against his lips and leaned in to close the gap between them. Before he could, Blaine pulled away, "Let's get out of here. Just for tonight. Breakfast at Tiffany's can wait, I want to show you something."

--

It had been about an hour before Blaine killed the engine on Kurt's car.

"Where are we?" Kurt asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Blaine didn't answer, slowly unbuckling his seatbelt before releasing Kurt's. He climbed out of the car and walked around to open Kurt's door, offering his hand for Kurt to take. Confused and tired, Kurt accepted Blaine's outstretched hand and pulled himself up.

--

The cold fall air was silent and still, yet not stifling in the least. Kurt took a moment to close his eyes and just breathe, to listen to his heartbeat and the faint sound of air escaping his lungs. He was brought back by the light thud of the passenger door shutting.

"Kurt."

Kurt loved how Blaine said his name. Although he heard it every day, there was something novel about how Blaine said it that made Kurt's heart skip a beat every time his name passed those full lips. It sounded so affectionate, so gentle- the way he stopped lightly, effortlessly, on the "t" made Kurt's heart flutter.

Kurt turned to face those sparkling hazel eyes, the flecks of gold almost reflecting the stars back into his own. They stood there for a few moments, locked in each other's gaze. Blaine was the first to break the silence.

"Look," he said, placing a tender hand on Kurt's shoulder, turning him towards the faint glow on the horizon, "There it is. Lima. That's all of it, the garage, McKinley, Breadstix, all in that little cluster of lights."

It looked so small, Kurt thought.

"For some of us, that's enough. For some of us, that's all we'll ever know. But for others- for you, Kurt- it's too small, too safe. You don't belong there. You belong in New York. On stage. So everyone can see how beautiful you are. How talented you are. You're just too big for those little lights freckling the horizon. And when you're tired, when you need the comfort of home, it'll still be there, just the same, waiting for you. Burt, Carole. Me. We'll all still be there, waiting for you."

Kurt remained silent, eyes fixed on the dim lights in the distance.

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt and pressed a slow kiss to the back of his neck. They lingered in each other's warmth, dreaming. Listening to the slight rustle of a blade of grass, the crinkling of a brown leaf falling to the ground, the air pushed out from beneath a moth's wings, the slow, synchronized breaths they shared. They drew in the musky scent of autumn, the smell of sweet cinnamon and chamomile. And a little too much raspberry hair gel.

"I love you."

For the first time since he took that initial breath of fresh air, Kurt spoke. It was soft, almost a whisper. Blaine didn't reply, he didn't have to. He just tightened his arms around Kurt.

"But you're wrong. You'll get out too. I know it. And two years from now, you'll join me. And we won't have any regrets, Blaine. It'll just be you and me. In New York."

"And Rachel."

A chuckle escaped Kurt's lips, "And Rachel."

Blaine shifted, resting his chin on Kurt's shoulder. They let the feeling of hope and young love cascade over them. And for a while longer, they stayed still, as if the slightest movement would scare away their dreams.