It started out like any other day.

Kurt woke early to shower before his two roommates could hog the bathroom, carefully considered his clothing choices until he settled on a casual yet stylish outfit, headed out to the little coffee shop he'd discovered two weeks into his stay at New York to buy his daily mocha and then walked to the subway to catch a train to NYADA. (He went to NYADA earlier than Rachel to practise before class. He had joined later than the rest of his class and had a lot to catch up on after all, something a few of his cattier classmates never let him forget, even though his victory at the Midnight Madness diva-off had earned him the respect of most of his fellow pupils).

It sometimes still filled him with wonder that this was his daily routine. He was living here. He was in New York. He was studying at the best performing arts school in the country and pursuing his dreams. His mundane now had been something he could only desperately dream of and yearn for just a few years ago. He should be the happiest man alive.

Sometimes he almost convinced himself he was truly happy. Almost. 

Adam dropped in midway through his pre-class practice session, as he usually did, to give Kurt a smile and a flirty hello. Kurt smiled back and let him take his hand, ignoring the voice at the back of his head that kept up a littany of too big, not warm enough, too broad, not perfect. He'd gotten better at quelling that voice. It was nice to hold hands with a boy. It was nice to feel wanted. Nice was all he could handle right now.

He wondered if there'd ever come a time when he could handle more with boys who weren't Blaine.

It had been over seven months. He should be moving on. And it wasn't for lack of trying. Or for lack of hopeful attention. He'd seen the way Adam looked at him. He could see that Adam wanted to put a proper label on them, for them to be boyfriends. For there to be a definite, conclusive them. And it wasn't like Kurt didn't like him. Adam was nice. But to be his boyfriend, to be exclusively completely his…

Just the thought turned Kurt's stomach. And the fact that it still felt wrong infuriated and frustrated him. And made him wish he actually could believe in the sphagetti monster in the sky, just so he'd have someone to curse at for his fucked up life.

When it was time for class and Adam walked Kurt to his first period, gave him a careful peck on the cheek and a smile before walking away. Kurt watched him go, waiting for the flutter of his stomach that never came. When Blaine had walked him to classes his mind had clouded with love, when Blaine had pecked him on the cheek or lips, quick and soft, his stomach had burst into a thousand butterflies, in spite of the few Neanderthals glaring at them; his heart had soared for the rest of the day.

Kurt shook himself out of it. He wasn't being fair to Adam. What he had had with Blaine had been love. (“True love”, that voice in the back of his head chimed in annoyingly). It was why it had hurt so much when Blaine had broken it, when Blaine had broken his trust and his love and the future Kurt had put so much faith in (though time and hindsight had started to show him that perhaps they'd been crumbling before Blaine had done the final push that sent it all crashing down). They'd been in love, they'd been soulmates, it was why it still hurt like a dull throb when he saw couples hand-in-hand on the streets of New York, why he still felt spikes of irrational jealousy when he logged into facebook and saw Blaine hugging Sam or Ryder or Jake, why he would never get rid of that gum-wrapper bowtie ring stashed in a secret cubicle, a promise of so much he'd taken for granted would be his, so much that was still his to take if he wanted. So much he was rightful to reject and would be better off without, as Rachel kept telling him, which he had tried not to want, but yearned to have again anyway. Kurt was tired of trying. 

He had never been good at not going after what he wanted. And in spite of all the hurt and pain and tears, he still wanted Blaine. He had already acknowledged that he would always want him; Thanksgiving and Christmas and Mr.Schue's bomb of a wedding had all made it clear to him that he could never not want Blaine. But lately, for the first time since that horrible night at Battery Park, desperately wanting Blaine didn't feel like an unwanted burden he wanted to lose. Desperately wanting Blaine felt like something he should nurture and pursue. 

With a sigh, Kurt went into the classroom and attempted to clear his conflicted thoughts.

Yes, it was just like any other day.

***

When Kurt got home that evening, the loft was empty. He vaguely remembered Rachel telling him about managing to track down some insider on the auditions for Funny Girl  who had agreed (and probably been bullied) into giving her some helpful intel and that she'd be home late after having dinner with them. There was no word from Santana but that wasn't exactly unusual. She came and went as she pleased and though Kurt was usually snappish with her, in her he recognized a kindred spirit. She was family to him as much as he was to her. He was thankful for her presence, though he would never admit it even under the pain of death.

After heating up some leftovers from the night before, he settled down on the comfortable couch with his food, checking his phone for messages. One text from Adam and one missed call from Blaine. He opened up the text from Adam first, about how he had finished his assignment earlier than he thought he would, and was looking forward to a unharried free evening. It was a blatant hint that he would like to spend the evening with Kurt. Kurt briefly considered calling him over for the evening, but then dismissed it. He didn't feel like trying to watch another sappy romantic movie, trying to pretend it was his and Adam's, when his brain invariably kept casting Blaine as the lover opposite him, no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

No, tonight he'd rather be alone.

That decided, he sent a quick text to Adam about tiredness and catching up on sleep and bid him a goodnight, before hovering over Blaine's number. The timing of the call was strange, Blaine must have been in Glee at that time and he knew Kurt had class. But maybe they'd just finished early today and he'd wanted to share something that had happened. He and Blaine talked semi-regularly, though they were still nowhere near the easy comfort they used to share before. They'd been getting there, but being with Blaine on Valentine's Day had opened old wants and phantom hurts, had made Kurt want to try to distance himself a little again, protect himself and live fully in his New York life. Blaine had quietly complied to his unspoken wishes, hadn't pushed for more. They'd reduced their calls to maybe once or twice a week, usually initiated by Kurt, just an update on their lives and a long talk about this and that, which usually ended with Kurt biting his tongue, trying not to blurt out the “I love you so much” like he wanted to. And today, his mind already swimming with conflict over Blaine and feelings he couldn't try (or even want) to ignore anymore, he wasn't exactly eager to talk to him.

Kurt chewed on his lip and decided he'd call back after he ate, switching on the TV at some random news channel as he picked at his food. He wasn't really paying attention, was mentally planning his outfit for tomorrow and trying not to think about Blaine, when the words “McKinley High in Lima, Ohio” coming from the TV jolted him back to awareness.

 He scrambled for the remote and increased the volume as the newscaster stood in front of the familiar building, which was surrounded by scarily-official looking vehicles and milling with confused students and authorities in uniforms.

“…thankfully, there were no deaths or injuries from today's school shooting, although the shooter appears to have escaped and security in McKinley High has…”

Kurt blocked out the newscaster's voice, a dull roaring in his ears, his heart stopping at the words ‘school shooting' and ‘McKinley High'.

Before he even realized it, he was diving for his phone, dialing Blaine's number even as his heart started up again, beating double-time and hurting in his chest.

The phone rang. And rang. And rang, before going into voicemail.

“Pick up, pick up, please pick up," he muttered frantically as he dialed again. It went straight to voicemail again.

Kurt could feel his breathing getting shallow and his brain clouding with panic, and he tried to calm himself down. No injuries or deaths, the newscaster had said. Blaine wasn't hurt. Blaine wasn't dead. Blaine was alive. 

But he could have died. He could've died and without ever knowing Kurt loved him and wanted him more than anyone in the world. He could've died and left Kurt forever and what would Kurt do then?

Kurt tried calling Blaine three more times before his frazzled nerves just couldn't take it anymore and he curled up on the couch, arms around his knees, face buried in his crossed arms, holding himself together, trying to take deep even breaths, phone clutched in his hands like a lifeline. He wanted nothing more than to be in Ohio right now, curled up around Blaine, the planes of his body fitting perfectly into Kurt's like they were made for each other. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Blaine's soft curls and comfort him with soft words of love, reassure himself that Blaine was okay, that Blaine was there and real and alive.

He was so lost in the horror of his thoughts that he didn't even hear the loft door opening as Santana stepped in. He only noticed her when her hands were on his shoulders, rubbing him soothingly as her worried voice asked urgently, “Kurt, are you alright? What happened?”

He lifted his head and was met with the soft, concerned side of her she so rarely let anyone see and he motioned wordlessly to the TV, where the report about McKinley was just starting again. It was only as he watched her face drain of color and the horrified gasp she gave that he remembered - he wasn't the only one with someone he loved at McKinley.

“They are alright,” he reassured her hurriedly, as she collapsed on the couch, staring at the screen blankly, “the reporter said there were no injuries or deaths though the shooter escaped, they're all alright, Brittany is not hurt, its alright, Santana.”

She took in a deep, rattled breath. “Have you talked to Blaine?” she asked quietly.

Kurt shook his head. “He's not picking up his phone,” he said, his voice breaking in the middle.

Wordlessly, Santana pulled him into a deep tight hug before picking up her phone and retreating into her corner of the loft. Trying to call Brittany, he presumed. When he heard a soft curse a few seconds later, he guessed it had gone to voicemail as well.

Kurt picked up his phone and curled back into his previous position, waiting, waiting. His phone suddenly vibrated in his hand, and Kurt hurriedly saw the caller ID. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt a stab of disappointment to see that his father was calling. It was replaced by the need for safety, for assurance and the steadiness that Burt never failed to give him, and he picked up the call, sniffling slightly as he said, “Dad.”

There was a brief pause.

“I take it you've already seen the news,” Burt said, tiredly, as Kurt sniffled some more. “I was on my way to Ohio from Washington, I just got off the plane 30 minutes ago and saw the news. I wanted to make sure Blaine was fine before I called you.”

“You talked to him?,” Kurt asked, heart leaping and eyes filling with tears again, “how is he?”

Santana moved out of her room, and sat on the other end of the couch, hanging on to his every word.

“Blaine's fine, kiddo. Physically I mean, he's not hurt. Emotionally… he's badly shaken up of course, but he's a strong kid, he'll be okay,” and as if he could hear Kurt's brain still racing with worry, “he'll be fine, Kurt, don't worry.”

“He didn't pick up my calls, I just…,” Kurt started but Burt cut through to him.

“He's been talking to people all evening, his phone and his house number's been blowing up. Cooper, other family, Finn, Carole and I, he's just been busy, call him again now alright?”

“What about everyone else,” Kurt asked, darting a look at Santana, “Brittany and Sam and Tina and… everyone?”

“They're all fine too, Kurt, they're all at their homes, Sam called. No one was hurt.”

Kurt nodded at Santana and smiled at her weakly, patting her hand once. She visibly deflated, the pent up tension unwinding, as she took her phone to call Brittany again. 

“I'll call again later okay, Dad? After I talk to Blaine,” Kurt said, with a deep breath.

“Sure kiddo. Take care of yourself, alright? I love you,” Burt replied,

“I love you too,” Kurt replied, wiping his eyes, before disconnecting the call.

Santana was gone again, and he could hear her speaking to someone softly. Brittany must have answered her phone.

With another deep breath, Kurt called Blaine. The call was picked up at the fourth ring.

“Hello, Kurt,” Mr. Anderson's voice came through the line.

“Hello, Mr.Anderson,” Kurt replied, wound tightly, “can I speak to Blaine? I just.. I need to…”

“Of course,” Mr.Anderson interrupted him, “he's in the living room with his mother, talking to Cooper on the house phone. I'll take your call to him.”

“How is he?” Kurt asked softly, after a brief moment of hesitation.

“Badly shaken up. But then again, we all are.” For the first time in over two years of Kurt knowing him, Mr.Anderson's voice had lost its trademark polite calmness, was wavering and breaking. 

Kurt heard indistinct voices speaking in the background and then -

“Hello?” Blaine's voice sounded down the line, throaty and tired and hoarse.

Every single muscle in Kurt's body loosened and before he could stop himself he let out a sob of pure relief. Knowing Blaine was unhurt was one thing, but talking to him, hearing it for himself, that he was fine and alive and safe.

“Kurt? Kurt, shh its alright, I'm… I will be fine, okay?,” Blaine said, soothingly as Kurt tried to hold down more sobs, “I'm shaken up and scared, but I wasn't.. I will be fine, Kurt.”

Kurt nodded vigourously, drawing in more deep breaths, before he realized Blaine wouldn't be able to see him and said, “Yes, yes I know, I'm just… so relieved. I was so scared, even though I knew you weren't, I just… Blaine.”

Blaine's soft, tear-filled laugh sounded on the line, along with the click of a door closing. He was probably alone in his room now, to give them some privacy.

“I get it, okay?” Blaine said, softly, as Kurt took a few more deep breaths, “I get it, Kurt.”

There was a few seconds of quiet as Blaine just breathed down the line, and Kurt treasured that tiny reassurance of life, of Blaine.

A beat.

“I really wish I could kiss you and hold you right now,” Kurt said.

He heard as Blaine's breath caught and whooshed out of him.

“I really wish you were here right now too,” Blaine admitted quietly, “today was… it was…”

Blaine paused a moment to collect himself and Kurt stayed quiet, heart thumping again.

“When we were in the choir room, with the shooter outside,” Blaine started and Kurt had never wanted to hold him closer more, “Artie asked each of us to record a video message - last messages,” Blaine clarified, “in case something happened, in case we didn't… make it.”

He paused again.

“What did you say?” Kurt asked softly after a moment, keeping off the dull roaring in his ears.

“…I didn't,” Blaine said, “I didn't… I refused to leave a message.”

“Why?” Kurt exhaled, heart clenching.

“Because this isn't how I thought it would… because I didn't want… I promised you I'll always be there for you. You promised me you were never saying goodbye. I won't… I wasn't going to say goodbye, Kurt. I couldn't handle the thought of saying goodbye to you,” Blaine finished, his voice breaking, tear-filled.

And Kurt felt a moment where his mind was just clear, crystal clear. In all the emotional conflict and confusion and pain, he had done his best to ignore and denounce the one truth that had never changed. Blaine was it for him. The stories he had heard as a child, the ones about true love and soulmates and happily ever after. That was him and Blaine, it had always been. Their road hadn't been easy, but then again nothing in Kurt Hummel's life ever was. He didn't just want Blaine, he needed Blaine. He had never been able to imagine a future without Blaine, but now he was no longer looking at it through rose-tinted glasses and picture-perfect vignettes, or through the haze and the pain of dashed hopes and dreams. Now he saw the grit and the reality and the imperfect scared boy making his way in the world, just like him. And the very thought of a future without Blaine made him balk. It had taken the thought of losing him forever to make Kurt acknowledge the realization that had been coming to him for a while. But acknowledge it now he did.

And once Kurt Hummel resolved on something, come hell or high water he'd see it through. 

“I'm catching the first flight I can get out to Ohio tonight,” Kurt said, breaking the short silence that had descended after Blaine's words.

“What? No, Kurt, that's not necessary! I'm fine, I promise,” Blaine said, hurriedly while Kurt tried to interrupt him, “no, listen to me. You have midterms in two days you can't just up and leave. And you are coming here in a few weeks anyway, for Burt's therapy? We'll just meet up then, Kurt, please. I'm fine, okay? You don't have to do this.”

Kurt bit his lip reluctantly, mulling it over.

“Alright,” he conceded, “I just really want to see you. When I do come there, you and I are going to have a long conversation, okay? We need… I need to tell you some things I've been meaning to tell you for a while now.”

“Okay,” Blaine said after a brief pause. It was obvious he wanted to push for more, but he didn't, careful as always to not rock the slow bond they had formed again after that fateful night.

“And when I get there you'd better be ready, Blaine Anderson, because I'm going to hug you tight till you have permanent imprints from my arms on your body,” Kurt said, only half-joking.

Blaine let out a choking laugh. “You won't find me complaining,” he said, his voice watery but happy.

Kurt could almost see him in his mind, his grin splitting his face, eyes crinkled adorably and cheeks flushed with happiness, hair loosening out of its gelmet after the long day, curling slightly at his temples, face bright and open and happy, and Kurt thought I love you I love you I love you and this time he didn't try to keep it to himself.

“I love you so much,” Kurt said, for the first time since Thanksgiving, another phonecall of tears and fragile hope.

There was a startled intake of breath on the line, and Kurt's mind flashed to a bright sunlit staircase, red and yellow flowers, sparkling eyes full of adoration and “You always zig when I think you're about to zag and I love that about you.”

“I love you too,” Blaine said, sounding half-breathless and half-disbelieving and Kurt really, really wanted to kiss him.

“Just a few weeks okay?” he said instead, soft and loving, “and I'll be there and we can… we're going to fix this Blaine.”

“Okay,” Blaine said, voice equally as soft and loving, tinged still with disbelief and breathlessness.

They both were quiet again for a moment, reluctant to let each other go.

“Blaine, honey?” the soft voice Blaine's mother floated faintly to Kurt, along with a few soft knocks.

“You should go, your parents will want you with them tonight,” Kurt said, still unwilling to let him go.

“Yeah,” Blaine said, just as unwilling to leave, and stayed on the line, breathing softly.

“Blaine?”

“Hmm?”

“I intend to keep that promise. I am never saying goodbye to you.”

The knocks were slightly louder in the background to Blaine's now slightly irregular breathing, and Kurt puffed a soft laugh.

“Go. Your parents want you. I'll call again tomorrow alright? Good night, Blaine,” Kurt said, trying to express all the love he felt in one inane sentence.

“Goo-good night, Kurt,” Blaine breathed back, before disconnecting the call.

Kurt carefully placed the phone on the couch, his head swimming from the panic and the relief and the love and the myriad other emotions that had all coursed through him in the past hour. He looked up as Santana perched herself at the other end of the couch, eyes slightly red but otherwise fine. It was obvious she had listened to at least part of his conversation with Blaine, because she was smiling at him, one of those real smiles she very rarely let show, as she patted his hand wordlessly.

“How's Brittany?” he asked when she drew back.

Her face reflected every emotion he felt as she said, “She's fine. She had a bad scare, of course, but she's going to be okay. Trouty Mouth's actually not as much of a moron as he seems. He… its good that she has him right now.”

Kurt smiled at her sympathetically.

“It's going to be alright,” Santana said decisively, flipping her hair as she snapped her defenses back on, settling into the strong prickly facade she showed the world.

“Yes,” Kurt agreed, staring at his phone where it was lying on their couch. “Yes, it's going to be alright.”