Kurt was waiting at the train station, his hat low on his head and the flower petal from a rose clasped gently in his hand.

It was the 1940’s, and Kurt Hummel, being stuck in the middle of Ohio, was always watching his back, always keeping his head low, his eyes covered, his affections hidden.

World War II had ended, and the troops were now being sent home.

So Kurt stood there, waiting, waiting for the love of his life to hop off the train. He’d watch as the other couples around him clasped each other, tears running down their faces as they held on, never wanting to let go.

Women around him held big bouquets of roses, the smiles on their faces radiant and excited. Mothers and families were gathered, waiting for their sons to be safe and in their arms again.

But Kurt, he stood off to the side, away from the crowds.

He’d meet the eyes of the one he loved, gently nudge his head in the direction of their house, and, once they had rounded the building and were out of sight from the rest of the people, the other man would round the corner and Kurt would burst into tears.

Because Kurt Hummel was in love with another man named Blaine Anderson.

He would give Blaine the rose petal, and Blaine would hold it up to his lips and kiss it, Kurt knowing that the gesture would be a symbol of what Blaine really wanted to do – kiss him. But, with people still milling around in the distance, it was too risky. There was already enough speculation as it was, and they honestly didn’t need any more fuel to keep the fire burning.

He would look at Blaine – really look at him for the first time in about 4 years. He’d note that Blaine’s hair was shorter, the curls no longer springing free off his forehead. He’d realize the scars on his face, how his hands shook a little as he held the rose.

But his hazel eyes would still be glowing, and Kurt would smile, because Blaine, his Blaine, his heart and his soul, was back and safe.

Once the crowds had cleared out a little, Kurt would take Blaine back to his house. His family would be gone for the whole day, meaning that he wouldn’t have to worry about being cautious.

Kurt would shut the door behind them, and, once he made sure all the curtains were drawn, he would pull Blaine against him, would wrap his arms around his shoulder and squeeze, never wanting to let go.

He would notice that Blaine hadn’t said anything yet. And he would realize that, when Blaine’s hands would wrap around, his nose brushing his ear as he whispered “I love you, Kurt, I missed you so much,” that the voice – the voice he hadn’t heard in years, would cause his heart to burst and swell with happiness and pride and joy and relief.

Kurt would kiss Blaine then – he would kiss him like he’d never kissed him before. His hands would wander, Blaine’s own looping through his belt loops and pulling him closer to his body.

They hadn’t been able to send letters, not without people and troops getting suspicious.

So Kurt had, literally, not had contact with Blaine for 4 years.

Kurt would, once they had made the awkward dance to his bedroom, cry again, because Blaine was here and whole and permanent. He was never leaving again, never leaving Kurt again.

Kurt would tell him this, and Blaine would join him in crying. He would kiss the tears off Kurt’s face, this lips gentle and tender, the feeling leaving Kurt’s face tingly and the feeling of love swelling in his chest.

They would kiss, and kiss some more, their lips moving in tandem until they were red and swollen and puffy. And even then, they would keep them pressed together, their bodies close as they ached for one another, for the years they had to spend apart, for all the worrying and longing. They would murmur ‘I love you’s and ‘I missed you’s and Kurt would repeat “You’re here, you’re actually here” until his voice was scratchy.

Blaine would soothe him, would stroke his hair, his face, his back, his arms, until he had calmed down, until the reality hit him that Blaine was back and safe and in his arms.

They wouldn’t eat dinner, opting instead to stay curled up together, lounging and kissing and crying. Kurt would tell Blaine about everything that had happened while he was away, even though he thought none of it was substantial without Blaine.
Blaine wouldn’t say much about the war, which was understandable. They’d instead talk about what they would do in the future – now that they had a future.

They could move to California, Blaine would suggest. He would say that he heard from one of his fellow troops that they were more lenient towards certain things.

And then, when the talking would fade away, Blaine would kiss a path up Kurt’s neck, his lips moist and soft and wet as they crept up his jaw and towards his lips, planting a small kiss to each corner before capturing them in his own again.

Kurt would realize that this – them being together uninterrupted, undisturbed – was only for now. He’d know that they’d have to go back to pretending they were just friends in public, hiding they’re love from the world.

But Kurt would also realize that that’s what made it special. It was theirs, and theirs alone.

Blaine, at some point during the evening, would continue to kiss Kurt, slowly moving so that he was straddling his lap, their hips pressed together as they moaned, soft ‘more’s and ‘yes, god yes’ filling the room.

And they’d make love – something they had only done once before, the night before Blaine left. It would be all soft touches and whispers, moans and muffled gasps, rough kisses and gentle touches, until they both collapsed and clung to each other, falling asleep in each other’s arms.

And, as Kurt watched the troops get off the train, he searched frantically for Blaine.

But he couldn’t find him.

Panic started to course through Kurt’s body, because, if he had died, of course there was no way for him to know.

But then he saw it – the glowing hazel eyes searching, scanning the crowd.

And, when they landed on Kurt, Kurt felt like he was whole again. He nodded his head to Blaine and they rounded the building, Kurt bursting into tears.

He gave Blaine the flower petal, and Blaine kissed it gently, his eyes never leaving Kurt’s.

And Kurt watched as the hazel in his eyes continued to glow, despite the scars and cuts and bruises on his face, swallowing the lump of emotion in his throat.

Nothing else mattered, Kurt thought as he led Blaine to his house. Blaine was home and safe, and, soon, would be back in his arms.