Rebirth - dancewithme19 - Glee [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter 1: Back to the Start

Chapter Text

It’s weird to be back. Of course it is. It’s been almost ten years, after all, since the dedication, almost eighteen years since Kurt himself was a student here. It’s not often that Kurt even thinks about McKinley anymore.

He likes to think he’s moved on, put the place and all its painful memories behind him. He’s built a life for himself in New York – fought tooth and nail for that life, actually – and even if it isn’t the stuff of his schoolboy dreams, it’s his. He wears every scrap of his happiness like a badge of honor.

Walking these halls, it’s hard not to feel like the hounds are nipping at his heels, ready and waiting to snatch it away.

Still, it would have been heartless for him to say no when Sam was all but begging for his help.

“Come on, man,” he said. “I need someone I can really trust. These kids have got a long way to go before they’re Nationals-ready.”

“And how many people did you try before you asked me, Sam?”

Sam paused. That was answer enough.

“A – a few. I mean, Rachel has her show, and Mercedes is on tour, and Santana and Brit are off on an island somewhere with the girls, and Artie and Tina are busy filming – ”

“I get it.”

“You’re kind of my last hope, dude.”

Kurt sighed, feeling his soft heart starting to relent.

“I don’t know. Three months is a long time.”

If it were anyone else, asking for any lesser reason, Kurt would have stopped entertaining the notion before he even started. But it was Sam, and it was glee club, and Sam’s dad was starting treatment for late-stage cancer. Of course he said yes.

Part of him was actually glad for the excuse to get out of New York for a while. He could use the chance to recharge his batteries, get the creative juices flowing again. Coaching a bunch of bright young people at the beginning of their lives, when everything is new and untarnished and no dream feels too big…well, it might be just exactly what he needs to break him out of his rut.

So, he called his agent, who was understanding if slightly disgruntled, and he called Rachel, who couldn’t have been more delighted, and he called his dad.

“Well, that’s the best damn news I’ve heard all week,” he said. “As long as you’re doing it for the right reasons.”

“What, helping an old friend take care of his ailing father isn’t reason enough?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, kid. Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you haven’t mentioned Tyler in about a month.”

Kurt cringed. He really had been hoping that his father hadn’t noticed.

“We’ve both been really busy lately,” he said, aware that he was only putting off the inevitable.

“Uh-huh,” said his dad, not even close to buying it. “I thought you were between projects.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“And what do I think?”

“That – I don’t know, that I’m moving 500 miles away to avoid breaking up with some guy.”

“Come on, I know you better than that. You’ve never been afraid of the tough conversations – god knows, you’ve had enough practice. I just want you to be really sure you’re not just running away because things have been hard lately.”

“I’m not.”

He said it with more conviction than he felt.

He called Tyler next, broke it to him gently but firmly, so that there would be no question as to his intentions. Tyler sounded more resigned than anything else. Kurt felt a little better, knowing that he didn’t exactly break the guy’s heart.

They weren’t in love. They were barely in like. They didn’t have the power to hurt each other in any way that mattered. Any twinge of regret Kurt felt upon hanging up the phone had more to do with the fact that he was 35 and single, without even a prospect on the horizon.

And now he’s here, standing center stage in the Finn Hudson Auditorium, where his feet always used to take him when he found himself standing at a crossroads. In spite of the renovations and what Kurt presumes to be several coats of fresh paint, it still feels the same. Like the ghosts of the past are out there, ready and waiting to listen to the song in Kurt’s heart.

He turns on his heel. He has no song today.

He’ll be early to the choir room, he knows, even if he tarries for a few more moments, but the stage feels suddenly unbearable. He quickens his stride, only to stop almost immediately in his tracks. There, in the wings – three plaques, hung like a shrine. He can’t leave without paying his respects.

He approaches slowly, carefully, tracing his eyes over the familiar lines of Finn’s face. The ache of missing him is familiar too, dull and bittersweet right between the ribs.

“Hey there, big brother,” Kurt murmurs with a fond half-smile. That’s how he always thinks of Finn, even though he’s technically a few months older. Was. He was a few months older than Finn, when Finn was alive. In this picture, Finn looks like the kid he was, all earnest eyes and goofy smile.

Kurt’s eyes travel over to the other pictures without his bidding. Batty old Lillian Adler to the far right, staring off into the distance as if she can see something that the rest of mundane humanity has missed. And there, in the middle, dedication day. A sea of New Directions alumni, all of them sporting their finest McKinley colors and flashing their joy at the camera. Rachel with her arm tight around Jesse, hand on her just-barely-showing baby bump. Puck and Quinn smiling at each other, Artie and Tina hand in hand, Santana and Brittany in matching wedding bands. Kurt, alone. His smile looks so forced.

He remembers that day.

He’d been touched when he heard what Mr. Schue had planned, honestly. He’d been so happy for Carole, for his family, for Rachel. It was another piece of Finn that would live on even as their memories inevitably faded. He showed up with bells on, ready to celebrate his fallen brother and the legacy he left behind. He spent an entire night in the choir room with these friends of his who’d somehow forged into family, reminiscing and singing and taking comfort in each other’s love.

Not once did anyone mention Blaine. No one said his name. Not once. Kurt didn’t even notice until it hit him, very suddenly, in the middle of a breathless belly laugh. He was about two and a half cups into the lethal pink potion Puck was doling out, and Mercedes was telling a story from senior year that he’d heard a million times before but never ever stopped finding funny. He forgot himself. He glanced to the left, seeking out a familiar pair of laughing eyes.

Nothing. The space beside him was empty. The space beside him was always empty.

Remembering, in that moment, was like living through it all over again.

He had to get out of there. He ran all the way to the front entrance of the school, stumbling over feet that had gone clumsy with alcohol and panic. He didn’t know where he was going – just away, just out, toward air that didn’t feel like suffocation in his lungs.

It didn’t take long for Rachel to catch up with him.

“Kurt!” she called. “Kurt, wait! Where are you going? What’s going on?”

He didn’t answer right away, he couldn’t. He stopped, and he turned to her, and his face must have been enough, because she didn’t ask again. Her expression collapsed into sympathetic heartbreak, and she pulled him into a tight hug.

“Oh, Kurt,” she murmured.

“He’s gone,” he choked out. “He’s gone.” It was the only thought he was capable of putting into words.

“I know,” she soothed.

“No, you don’t! You couldn’t possibly, it’s not the same for you! Finn is everywhere. But it’s like – like I’m the only one who even remembers!” He was babbling, his words falling out before he could figure out how to make sense of them. Still, he couldn’t stop. “He mattered, Rachel! I know he wasn’t – I don’t expect anyone to name an auditorium after him, I get it, but I – he was important enough to remember!”

Rachel’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh, Kurt, no, of course we remember.”

“Then why won’t any of you say his name?”

He was sobbing, then, and Rachel tightened her arms around him.

“Blaine Anderson was one of the best friends I ever had,” she whispered. It only made him sob harder.

He hasn’t been back in the choir room since.

He kisses two fingers and presses them to the words engraved below Finn’s picture.

“See you around,” he murmurs.

He steels his spine. Ten minutes till glee. He holds his head up high and strides out of the auditorium without a backward glance.

&&&&&

Everything is ready. Musical Idols is scrawled across the whiteboard in violet. The sheet music for Born This Way is arranged meticulously by vocal part from bass to soprano across the piano. The accompanist has been briefed. Now all Kurt needs is his kids.

He planned something fairly simple and straightforward for this first meeting. Introduce the theme of the week – chosen primarily to help Kurt to get to know the kids under his tutelage – demo with a meticulously planned impromptu group number, and send them off to work on their individual performances. A classic glee club formula. Kurt could do it in his sleep.

The bell rings. Kurt takes a breath to steady his nerves. It’s show time.

Kids start to trickle in. Kurt busies himself shuffling papers to avoid staring at them awkwardly as they take their seats. He takes a glance at the list of members Sam left for him. The New Directions, 2029-2030. Twenty of the most talented performers in the state, the cream rising to the top. The pride and joy of the William McKinley School for the Performing Arts. He gives them five minutes, in case anyone got waylaid by a teacher or had trouble getting into their locker.

It’s an incredibly long five minutes.

The kids seem torn between acting as if nothing has changed and staring unabashedly at Kurt as if they can figure him out from the way he styles his hair. Kurt hasn’t felt this self-conscious since the first time he walked the red carpet at the Tonys. The discomfort of it prickles at his skin, but he knows better than to let it show.

He moves in front of the risers. He clears his throat. He waits. Their attention snaps to him.

“My name is Kurt Hummel,” he says. “As I’m sure Mr. Evans told you, he’s asked me to step in as your coach for the rest of this year so that he can help take care of his dad in Kentucky. I was actually one of the founding members of the New Directions, way back in 2009, so I know a thing or two about show choir.”

“Are you a performer, Mr. Hummel?”

It’s a girl in the front row, staring up at him with an eager intensity that reminds Kurt of Rachel circa sophom*ore year. He smiles, hopes his amusem*nt isn’t too obvious.

“I am, yes. After McKinley, I went to the New York Academy of Dramatic Arts. I’ve been working pretty steadily on Broadway ever since.”

She seems mollified at that. The others are looking at him with redoubled interest.

“But enough about me,” he says quickly, aware that this could derail into a Q and A session if he doesn’t do something to keep them on track. “I want to start getting to know all of you. Why don’t we go around the room, and I’ll let you introduce yourselves? I want to know your name, your voice part, and your song of the moment.”

Overall, the kids seem game, if a little bored. They already know these things about each other, after all. Kurt listens attentively and tries not to make it clear that he’s really just repeating their names to himself in his head as they speak. It’s the only way he has any hope of learning all of them.

They’re almost to the end of the line when the sound of footsteps draws Kurt’s attention to the door.

“Sorry I’m late,” says the newcomer, chagrinned.

Kurt stares. There’s nothing else he can do. His heart feels frozen inside of his body.

“Blaine?” he whispers.

It doesn’t matter that it’s impossible, it doesn’t, because there he is in front of Kurt, flesh and blood and bone and staring at him with such a familiar expression of polite confusion. Kurt doesn’t know what to do. He wants to run away. He wants to throw his arms around the boy’s neck and breathe him in and hold him so close he could never, ever leave Kurt again.

The boy blinks. He straightens his shoulders.

“That’s right. Blaine Johnson. You must be Mr. Hummel. We really appreciate you taking the time out of your busy life to help us out.”

He smiles a winning smile, which falters when Kurt makes no move to respond. He hurries over to the risers.

Kurt doesn’t move a muscle.

It’s – it isn’t him. It can’t be him. Not unless he turned into a vampire or came back as a very solid ghost – neither of which option Kurt feels he can discount. Nothing else makes any sense. It can’t be amnesia, because no amount of moisturizing can make a 34-year-old man look plausibly 17, and Kurt remembers… They buried Blaine, in the Anderson family plot. In the same graveyard as Kurt’s mother. He can still see Blaine’s face, repaired and made up by a very skilled mortician, a little too perfect. He can still feel the unnatural coolness of Blaine’s skin beneath his fingertips.

No, he knows that Blaine Anderson died.

If this boy isn’t him…well, the resemblance is uncanny. It’s unbearable. He has Blaine’s body, his voice, his impossible eyes. He moves the way Blaine moved, smiles the way Blaine smiled. He has Blaine’s name. Kurt has no idea how to turn around and face him.

He does it anyway. His heart jolts so hard he gives a silent gasp.

“Mr. Hummel, are you okay?” asks the girl in the front row – Lisa. Worry is pushing her fine blonde brows into a deep furrow.

Kurt pulls himself together.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yes, I was just…distracted. Momentarily. Where were we?”

He pushes forward with his lesson, fights through the frantic thudding of his heart and tries not to have a breakdown. On that front, at least, he succeeds. The rest is a blur.

Blaine smiles at him on the way out, tentative but kind. Kurt closes the door behind him. He leans against it, slides to the floor. He’s shaking so hard he’s afraid he’ll rip apart at the seams.

He has to get out of here.

&&&&&

The apartment he’s renting is fairly small. It’s stunningly cheap compared to what he pays in New York, but significantly less charming. He’s barely had any time at all to decorate it to his taste, not that he plans to do anything particularly elaborate. He won’t be spending that much time here, after all, between work and family dinners.

Tonight, he doesn’t even notice the generic white walls. He isn’t thinking about anything but the phone in his hand and the boy he left behind.

“Hey, Kurt, how was the first day?” says Sam cheerfully when he picks up.

“How could you not tell me about Blaine?”

“Blaine?”

“Yes, Blaine. Blaine Johnson,” he spits.

“Oh, right, yeah. Why was I supposed to mention Blaine?”

“Oh, my god, Sam, please tell me you see it.”

“See…what?”

“Blaine! Sam, you can’t tell me you’ve never noticed how much Blaine looks like…”

“You’ve got to spell this thing out for me, man. A lot of people look alike to me.”

“Like…Blaine.”

“Right. So, you’re upset because I didn’t tell you that Blaine looks like…Blaine.”

Sam doesn’t even sound sarcastic, just confused. Somehow that only serves to fuel Kurt’s irrational frustration even further.

“No – not – like my Blaine, Sam! I know you weren’t exactly close, but – I mean – I thought it was him, Sam. For a second, I really thought it was him.”

Kurt is dangerously close to tears. He takes in a deep breath and tries to pull himself together.

“Kurt…”

“You really never noticed?”

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s been, what, 18 years?”

“17 years, nine months, and about four days. I could give you hours and minutes, too, if you give me a moment.”

“Uh, that’s okay. The point is, it’s been a really long time. And I told you, I’m really not the best with faces.”

Kurt lets this information sink in. He tries a different tack.

“So what’s his story anyway?”

“Who, Blaine?”

Kurt makes a vague noise of confirmation, not trusting himself to refrain from saying something like well, duh.

“He’s a good kid,” says Sam thoughtfully. “Sweet. He wants to be a music teacher, so I’ve kind of taken him under my wing. He’s going to NYU in the fall. The other kids really look up to him, too. We don’t have an official leader or anything, but he’s as close as it gets.”

A new wave of emotion threatens to drag Kurt under.

“Oh.”

“Look, Kurt, I get that this is super weird for you,” says Sam, kindly. “It must bring back a bunch of memories. I mean, it does for me, and I kind of never left. I know how that can mess you up.”

Kurt forces a smile. Sam can’t see him, but he’ll be able to hear it in Kurt’s voice.

“No, I know. You’re right. My head must be messing with me.”

They talk for a few more minutes, chatting about Kurt’s plans for the week and the latest health updates from Sam’s dad. Kurt makes his excuses as soon as he politely can. He hangs up.

Kurt’s mind is racing, and his body is still thrumming. He can’t make sense of any of it.

He shakes himself. Sam was right, he’s sure. He’ll probably go back there tomorrow and look at the kid and think, What was I thinking? But that doesn’t help him now.

He’ll make dinner, he decides. He was going to heat up the leftovers Carole practically forced on him from last night’s welcome home feast, but he can save those for lunch tomorrow. He’s always found cooking to be soothing.

He turns on the radio to the Top 40 station he used to listen to as a kid. He remembers dancing around the kitchen to Destiny’s Child and N*Sync while his mother sang into her wooden spoon microphone.

His dad always preferred classic rock.

Kurt gathers his ingredients: chicken, garlic, onion, lemon, salt, olive oil, white wine. He puts them neatly in a row, from smallest to largest proportions. The wine was supposed to be a gift for his dad and Carole for Friday night dinner, but he can always buy another.

He uncorks the bottle, pours himself a glass. He won’t need all of it for the sauce.

Kurt isn’t usually much of a drinker. He’ll have a glass or two of wine for social lubrication when he’s out with friends or at some sort of networking event, but that’s really it. Aside from a few wild nights when he was in his twenties, he’s never really seen the appeal.

He’s done with his first glass by the time the chicken goes into the pan.

It’s a nice wine, striking the perfect balance between fruity and dry. It goes down nicely. His head is starting to feel just slightly floaty, not quite attached to the rest of his body. That’s nice, too. He pours himself a generous glass to go with dinner.

He finishes quickly – too quickly. He does the dishes. He scrubs down the countertops. There’s nothing left for him to do.

Dessert. Perfect. He doesn’t have the right ingredients for cheesecake – not enough cream cheese – but he could whip up some brownies. Maybe he could even bring the leftovers in to glee club tomorrow. Nothing like chocolate to bribe a bunch of teenagers into liking him.

He turns up the radio. He fills his glass with the last of the wine. Why not? He’s an adult, he has nowhere to be until mid-morning.

He sings along to the radio as he works. He doesn’t keep up with pop music the way he did when he was a teenager, but he’s at least familiar enough to do that. This might even be considered homework, considering that he’s coaching a bunch of kids who live and breathe this stuff. He shakes his hips, too, lets his body move the way it wants to move. It’s freeing, not to be constrained by choreography. He can dance like no one is watching, because no one is.

The brownies go in the oven. Kurt scrapes down the bowl and licks the batter off the spoon. Delicious. Just what he needed. He washes the dishes by hand. He scrubs down the counters. Again. He downs the last of his wine.

Ten minutes left on the timer.

His phone rings. He jumps on it, doesn’t even care who it is. Rachel’s picture is lighting up his screen.

“Hello?” he says, and he can barely hear himself over the sound of the radio.

“Kurt?” she says. “Where are you?”

“In my kitchen!” he shouts. He turns down the volume. “I’m listening to the radio.”

“I can hear that,” she says, amused.

“I’m baking brownies.”

“Ah. Did the first day not go as planned?”

This – this is why he wasn’t going to call Rachel until the weekend. She knows him too well.

He laughs. There’s nothing funny about this situation. He has no idea why he’s doing it. But he does.

“You could say that.”

“Kurt, are you – have you been drinking?”

Damn her.

“Maybe a little. I made white wine sauce for dinner.”

“Oh, my god, what happened at that school?”

“I met Blaine.”

“You met – Kurt, you’re not making any sense.”

She sounds worried. There’s no need, though. Kurt may have been freaking out before, but he’s feeling fine now.

“Blaine. Blaine Johnson. He’s a senior, unofficial leader of the glee club. Looks so much like him I nearly threw up.”

“Looks like who?”

“Him, Rachel.”

“Oh, Kurt. No wonder you’re drowning your sorrows.”

The lump rises in his throat so quickly he almost chokes.

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Do you want me to come out there this weekend? I’m sure my understudy would be more than happy to cover.”

“No, don’t do that. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

It’s not something he would ask if his filter was working properly. It isn’t a thought he was even consciously aware of before now.

Rachel pauses, clearly thrown off-kilter.

“I don’t know. I mean, it’s a nice thought. My bubbe always used to say that she and my grandfather had met before, in a previous life. But she was always a little nuts.”

“He looked just like him, Rach.”

“Do you think maybe – I mean, is it possible that Cooper had a kid that no one told you about?”

“His last name is Johnson.”

“I know, but that could be his mother’s last name. It makes sense that Cooper would name his son Blaine, especially if he was born after…”

“After Blaine died. You can say it.”

“Alright. After he died. You never know – you didn’t exactly stay in close touch with the Andersons.”

“That – that would make sense, actually.”

Thank god. He’s found a logical explanation – he would have thought of it himself if he hadn’t been so shaken. He feels a strange sense of loss, alongside the relief. He ignores it. He lost Blaine a long time ago.

“Kurt, do you think – I mean, you might want to consider getting in touch with Dr. Covington. I know that’s the last thing you want to hear, but I would hate to see you fall into a pattern of unhealthy coping. I remember how much she helped you, before.”

Kurt does, too. But that was when he was 19, reeling from the loss of his stepbrother, less than a year after watching the love of his life die of internal injuries no one suspected until it was too late. He’d been deeply depressed.

This is different.

“I’m fine, Rachel. I swear. I’m not going to off myself because I saw someone that reminded me of my dead boyfriend.”

“Okay. I just think it might help if you finally let yourself deal with – ”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine.”

He can practically hear her biting her tongue. Normally, he hates that, but right now he doesn’t particularly want to hear what she has to say.

“I have to go,” he says. “I have brownies in the oven.”

“Okay, Kurt. Just remember to drink lots of water, or you’ll hate yourself in the morning.”

“Bye, Rachel.”

He hangs up before she can return the goodbye. He opens the oven door, reaches in. His bare knuckle brushes the side of the pan before he remembers to use a mitt.

The brownies are a little burned around the edges, but they should taste fine.

&&&&&

Kurt’s head feels clearer in the morning, after a bucket of coffee and a couple aspirin. His meltdown the day before feels far away, like it happened in a dream. He’d be pretty sure that’s what it really was if it weren’t for the lingering smell of burnt chocolate in the air and the empty wine bottle in the sink.

No matter. It’s out of his system now. He can focus on the reason he’s here. He refuses to let Sam down, let those kids down, because he can’t stop making up ghosts to scare himself away.

He heads to school a few hours before really needs to be there. He uses the extra time to work on cataloguing the New Directions’ collection of sheet music, which seems to have been filed according to a system that is only transparent to Sam. It’s far too early to start designing a set list for Nationals, but it can’t hurt to get organized.

Next, he tackles Sam’s desk. The surface is surprisingly neat, just a computer, a framed photo of Sam and Mercedes at last year’s Grammies, and a couple of pen cups. One is stuffed full of chapstick.

Kurt knows better than to be optimistic, however. The computer monitor is ringed with about a dozen post-its covered in barely-legible chicken scratch. Clearly, a harbinger of things to come. He opens one of the drawers, only to find exactly what he expected. He sighs and starts sifting through the mess.

He’s barely started when he happens across a flashdrive labeled “ND 29-30” in Sam’s messy scrawl.

This should be much more fun than attempting to make sense of Sam’s free-floating expense reports.

Kurt skips right over the dozens of files labeled ambiguously with acronyms that Kurt can only take to indicate song titles. Rehearsal footage, probably. He goes straight to the video entitled “Sectionals.”

The video was clearly taken with some sort of hand-held camera. Maybe Sam’s phone. Or maybe he recruited a student to get the footage while he watched from backstage. In any case, the camera-work is far from professional quality. McKinley is hosting – Kurt would recognize the Finn Hudson Auditorium anywhere.

The curtain comes up, and so do the lights. The New Directions are spread out across the stage, decked out in costumes that reflect a much higher budget than Mr. Schue had to work with in the good old days. They look professionally tailored, and Kurt knows for a fact that those fabrics are not cheap. That particular shade of Titan red isn’t exactly the most flattering on everyone, but it does serve to give them a strong, unified presence.

The first song in the set is an indie pop hit from a few years back, by an artist who has since slipped back into obscurity. It’s a good opening number for them, lots of cool, intricate harmonies and a lead vocal that bounces easily around the group. The choreography, though not particularly complex, is executed crisply. There are a few things to tweak with their tuning, and the balance of voices is a little off, but it’s otherwise a stellar performance.

The song ends on a big note, with the whole group center stage, arms up in the air. A classic New Directions maneuver. Mr. Schue must be proud. Or maybe that was Mr. Schue – Kurt makes a mental note to ask Sam who’s been doing their choreography. If memory serves, the body roll was pretty much the only move in Sam’s arsenal. Kurt is fairly certain that a teaching degree did nothing to change that.

The lighting changes, goes dim. A spotlight appears downstage, shining down on a lone microphone. Someone steps out from the crowd to take it. Kurt can’t make out who it is, but he has a sneaking suspicion. He knows that silhouette.

Blaine couldn’t possibly stay in the background forever.

He takes the microphone in his hand. He looks up. The light hits his face. He smiles, and Kurt couldn’t take his eyes off of him if he tried.

The band starts up, with harmony help from the New Directions.

Kurt’s chest tightens painfully. Oh, god. He knows this song. The arrangement is acoustic and slowed slightly to mid-tempo, but he knows it in his bones.

“You think I’m pretty

Without any make-up on,

You think I’m funny

When I tell the punchline wrong…”

A chill runs down Kurt’s spine. That voice. A million years could go by and it wouldn’t dull the memory.

Next time, don’t forget your jacket, new kid. You’ll fit right in.

It’s all he can do to keep breathing.

He stops the video as soon as the song is over. He backs it up, shaky fingers causing him to miss the mark more than once. He watches again. And one more time.

The boy in the video, he doesn’t perform like Blaine. Not exactly. He’s less polished, more…subdued, perhaps. Like the dimmer switch has been turned on.

It’s hard to hunt for subtle differences in his face, given the poor quality of the footage, but Kurt can clearly see that he styles his hair differently. Short-cropped on the sides, just long enough to show a hint of curl on the top. A style that was popular when Kurt was his age and has yet to swing back around to retro-cool. He must use some sort of product to keep it from turning into a frizz ball, but it certainly isn’t visible.

This, more than anything, jolts Kurt back to reality. The boy in this video, the boy he met yesterday, is not Blaine Anderson. He isn’t. And Kurt has to get a grip. It isn’t Blaine Johnson’s fault that he reminds Kurt of the boy he loved and lost.

Kurt needs to stop projecting his baggage onto innocent teenagers.

He watches the rest of the video, and the Regionals set, too, and resolutely does not allow his eyes to linger on Blaine any longer than they do on any other kid in the choir.

If his heart jolts every time he happens to spot the boy, well. That isn’t something he can control.

&&&&&

There are five performances slots this afternoon, and they filled up extremely quickly. Kurt isn’t sure if this is due more to the fact that the group is filled to the brim with ambitious divas or to the fact that they want to impress their new coach.

Blaine isn’t one of them. Thank god.

He’s one of the first to arrive today. He greets Kurt with a polite smile, which Kurt returns successfully, if a little weakly. He’s wearing dark-wash jeans, an olive-green polo, untucked, and a pair of well-kept converse in classic black. His shirt is fitted across the shoulders and chest. Its color brings out the green tones in his eyes.

He sits in the front row, next to a guy – Alex? – who holds out a fist to bump. Blaine complies gamely, then strikes up a conversation about student council that Kurt loses track of after a few minutes, due to the rising noise level in the room. A girl in a Cheerios uniform joins them – Leighton, Kurt remembers – and draws Blaine’s attention to her with a light touch to his bicep. She bats her eyelashes at him as they talk, leans further into his personal space than is really warranted. Not-so-subtle signals that Blaine doesn’t even acknowledge.

Kurt has to look away, hide a smile. That much they have in common, at least.

The first day of performances goes smoothly. The kids have made some interesting, surprising choices. There’s an Aretha, of course, and a Gaga. But there’s also a Johnny Cash, and a Pharrell, and, to Kurt’s utmost amusem*nt, a Rachel Berry. They’re all quite passionate performances, some more polished than others. Lisa, singing a song from Jane Austen Sings, seems to be attempting to replicate Rachel’s Tony-winning performance, to her detriment.

Kurt keeps the feedback mostly positive, with perhaps a dash of constructive criticism (“Next time, sing something that will allow you to show us who you are”) to show he’s really listening. The harsher truths will have to wait until their trust has been built a little stronger. He doesn’t want them hating him before the first week is even over.

Blaine is a model teammate. He listens attentively, an encouraging smile on his face that would look patronizing if he weren’t so very sincere. He leads the applause at the end of each performance and never fails to say something both positive and genuine as they exit the stage (“Wow, Lisa, all that work you’ve been putting into your upper register is really paying off. You sounded amazing.”).

Kurt can tell that Sam wasn’t exaggerating at all when he called Blaine the unofficial team leader.

Blaine lingers at the end of rehearsal as the rest of the kids head cheerfully out the door.

“Mr. Hummel?” he says as he approaches.

Call me Kurt, he almost says. But that would be inappropriate. Blaine is his student.

“Yes, Blaine?”

Blaine smiles when their eyes meet. An automatic response, probably. Kurt can’t help it, the jolt of recognition – more than just skin deep – it hits him like an electric shock to the marrow.

Blaine blinks, bewildered, perhaps, at the look that must have crossed Kurt’s face. Kurt smooths his expression to something neutral yet welcoming.

“I – well, I don’t know if Mr. Evans told you,” says Blaine, straightening his spine. “I usually stay after rehearsal a few times per week to help him out. You know, straightening up the choir room, helping him put together vocal arrangements, choreography, that sort of thing. Kind of like a TA.”

“That’s right, Sam told me you want to be a music teacher.”

Blaine beams.

“Did he tell you I got into NYU?” he says eagerly.

“He did. Congratulations, I know Steinhardt has a great program.”

“Thank you. I can’t wait to get started.”

“I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Blaine ducks his head, smile going slightly bashful.

“Thanks.”

He looks up again, and, hey, Kurt’s smile might be just a tad too intimate to direct at a teenager who he only just met yesterday. Kurt clears his throat.

“Well, I know I would certainly appreciate the help,” he says. “You know the group way better than I do, at the moment. It would be foolish of me to turn down inside information.”

“Great! So, um, would tomorrow work? I would offer to stay today, but I told my mom I’d pick up my little sister from her after-school program.”

“You have a sister?”

“Yeah, Caitlin. She just turned ten.”

From Blaine’s smile, it’s clear that he loves her a lot. He’s probably an amazing big brother.

“Is she your only sibling?”

“Yep. It’s just her, me, and Mom. The fearsome threesome.”

Kurt laughs – it’s clearly a family joke. Blaine’s smile widens.

Kurt can’t stop himself.

“Can I ask you something, Blaine?”

“Sure.”

“This might be – are you in any way related to Cooper Anderson?”

Blaine’s brow furrows deeply in confusion.

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Sorry, I know that’s a little intrusive. It’s just – you remind me of him, I thought maybe…” he trails off, kicking himself for bringing it up. Blaine’s body language is starting to close off.

“Is he a friend of yours or something?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I’m adopted, so – I mean, I don’t know who I’m biologically related to.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t think anybody knows, actually. I was just kind of...found when I was a newborn, at the hospital where my mom works. They think someone left me there.”

The way he says it is matter-of-fact, but Kurt has had long practice reading the signs on this face. He can see the hurt that Blaine is trying to hide.

Blaine looks a little surprised at himself, actually. It probably isn’t something he’s used to sharing with strangers.

Kurt takes a step back. He doesn’t take Blaine’s hand the way he wants to.

“Well, it sounds like you ended up where you were meant to be,” he says.

Blaine smiles softly.

“I guess so.”

Kurt breaks eye contact. He swallows.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Hummel.”

And with that, he’s gone.

&&&&&

Kurt takes a detour on the way home. He knows that neither his dad nor Carole will be home this early. Still, he has a key, and it’s not like they’ll mind him coming over to grab something that belongs to him anyway.

He takes the stairs two at a time, goes straight to the room that used to be his and is now a well-appointed guest room. There’s a box in the top right corner of the closet labeled “Kurt’s Things” in his dad’s blocky handwriting. It isn’t a big box. Kurt knows exactly what’s in it – only the things he couldn’t bear to get rid of and couldn’t bear to have within reach. Kept here, for him, instead of rotting away in the attic with the rest of the junk they have too much sentimental attachment to.

He takes the box carefully into his arms. He locks up the house behind him and places the box in the passenger’s seat of his car. He texts his dad a quick, Came by the house to get something. See you tomorrow for dinner. I’ll bring dessert.

He feels jittery all the way home. His fingers are drumming against the steering wheel. His foot has gone trigger happy on the brake pedal. He keeps glancing to his right, at the box sitting innocuously beside him.

He brings it inside, sets it on the dining room table. He sits down, stares at it. He feels silly, being so afraid of a mid-sized cardboard box. He feels paralyzed.

He takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. There’s nothing inside that he hasn’t run his hands over a million times. There’s nothing inside that isn’t precious to him. Still, he hesitates. Opening that box would be like opening up his chest to expose his vulnerable, beating heart.

Maybe he needs to go get himself some more wine first.

No. Enough. He stands up quickly and he pries off the lid before his resolve can run out.

At the top sits a collection of objects. Kurt removes them one by one with careful, loving fingers. A crown and scepter. A boutonniere, long since dried. A stack of programs bound with red ribbon, West Side Story in pride of place at the top. A rose-gold brooch in the shape of a fallen feather. A gum-wrapper promise ring.

Kurt lines them up on the table in front of him. An audience of sorts.

Underneath is a yearbook. The Thunderclap, 2011-2012. Kurt’s senior year. He takes it out and settles back into his chair. He opens it gingerly, skipping the photos in favor of the signature pages at the back. He doesn’t have many, not compared to someone like Quinn Fabray, who needed to request extra pages to accommodate the well-wishes of a student body that revered her almost as much as they feared her. But each of these people was dear to him then. Most of them are still in his life. He feels lucky, for that.

Blaine’s page is at the back, the very last. Half a page of Blaine’s looping penmanship, half a page of sweet, silly doodles. All of it dotted and streaked with tear stains.

Kurt could recite his inscription better than any monologue in any play he’s ever been in.

“Congratulations, graduate! I am so very proud of you, Kurt. I’ll miss you next year, you have no idea how much, but I’m going to love every minute of watching you spread your wings and take over Manhattan the way you were always meant to. I’ll be with you, in spirit if not in body (for now!). You can count on that. Oh, and Future Kurt, if you’re reading this (and you haven’t left me for Future Taylor Lautner), go find Future Blaine and tell him to give you a giant kiss. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to comply. I love you, now and always. Blaine Devon Anderson, 6/8/12.”

Blaine wrote this the morning of Kurt’s graduation. By nightfall, he was dead.

It happened as they were driving back from lunch with Kurt’s family. The mood had been more grim than celebratory, Finn and Kurt having just come from opening up their college rejection letters. It was a miracle that Kurt managed to eat at all, really, considering that all of his dreams for the future had just been crushed. Blaine tried his best to comfort him, but there was only so much he could do over stale breadsticks, with Kurt’s entire family looking on.

Still, it didn’t stop him from trying.

Kurt’s played it back so many times. Blaine, singing along to the Taylor Swift song on the radio, making eyes at Kurt from the passenger’s seat, trying to entice him to join in. Kurt, laughing in spite of himself. The truck, coming out of nowhere.

Kurt blacked out just after the impact. He’s glad not to have those memories. When he came to, he was lying in an emergency room hospital bed. Blaine was holding his hand.

“Oh, thank god you’re okay,” he breathed, bringing Kurt’s knuckles to his lips for a tender kiss. He had a few nasty scrapes and bruises, and one long, shallow cut across his cheek. Otherwise, he looked fine. It was Kurt they were really worried about, Kurt with his concussion and his broken bones. They were just keeping around Blaine as a precaution, so that they could run some tests and make sure he was as okay as he seemed.

No one expected him to crash, suddenly, in the chair next to Kurt’s hospital bed. No one could have predicted that he would bleed out on the operating table.

He’d been smiling not two hours before.

Kurt slept with his yearbook under his pillow for the whole summer. It was those words that inspired him to go to New York that fall, lit the fire under his feet to re-audition for NYADA. Every step of that journey was dedicated to Blaine, in his heart.

He sets the yearbook aside.

Next is another book, a thicker one. The scrapbook Kurt made to document their relationship. It starts just where it should, at the very beginning. A collage spelling “Courage” and a pair of ticket stubs for a local production of Rent. The last page is a selfie the two of them took on Kurt’s graduation day. Kurt is in his cap and gown. He’s looking at Blaine, smile toothy and unfiltered. He was supposed to be kissing Blaine’s cheek, but they ended up liking it better this way anyway. Blaine is grinning so hard his eyes crinkle in the corners. His bow tie is slightly askew. The sunlight is gleaming off of the gel in his neatly combed hair. He looks so young.

He’ll always be young. Kurt’s beautiful lost boy.

Kurt pores over the book for what could be hours. Photo after photo of the two of them – together and separate, candid and posed, dressed up for movie dates and dressed down for couch time. Well, as much as they ever dressed down. Every major milestone is captured here, as well as a whole lot of the everyday in between. Special only because it was them.

Blaine, full of life and laughter. Kurt, full of love.

He’s never felt that way about anyone since. He’s never even gotten close. Rachel tells him he needs to take a risk and let himself open up to someone new. Kurt always says he just hasn’t found the right person yet. He knows what it feels like, when it’s real, and he won’t settle for anything less.

Deep down, though, he knows that no one else will ever feel as right as Blaine did. They knew each other for such a short time – a year and seven months, almost exactly – but it feels, looking back, like the sun around which the rest of his life revolves.

It’s dark outside his window by the time he closes the book. It used to bring him just as much pain as it did comfort – more, some days. Today, it’s just filled him with longing.

The last item in the box is a flashdrive. It’s not labeled, but Kurt knows what’s on it. He won’t watch tonight. He can’t, not when he’s already feeling so fragile. He’ll wait.

His stomach rumbles. He looks at the clock. It’s past 9:00. He heats up some leftovers, eats while he watches the tail end of a Friends marathon on TV Land. He packs up the box and brings it to his bedroom.

He doesn’t put it back in the closet. The irony feels too cruel.

&&&&&

“Happy Anniversary, husband.”

The voice is soft in Kurt’s ear, breath warm and tickling. He can feel the smile in those lips and the brush of a stray tendril of hair against his temple. He smiles, too, the stretch of it warm and lazy.

“Mmm. And just how were you planning for us to celebrate?”

“I don’t know. Fourteen years is a pretty big deal.”

A kiss is brushed to the sweet spot just below Kurt’s ear. Kurt shivers deliciously.

“It is.”

“I was thinking…breakfast in bed.” Kiss. “Followed by – ” Kiss. “blowj*bs. Or shower sex. Your choice.”

“Both?”

“I like the way you think.”

Kiss to the nape of his neck.

“I should hope so. You did marry me, after all.”

“Fourteen years ago today. Best decision I ever made.”

“Hm. For me it’s a toss-up between that and making neckerchiefs my signature.”

A nip to the side of his throat, just above his collarbone.

“See?” says Kurt with a laugh. “One would think you were part vampire.”

“Werewolf. I know what you like.”

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“That depends. Are you ever going to stop making jokes about bicep tattoos?”

“Touché. Now, about that breakfast…”

Kurt turns over, hand ready to run through his husband’s hair, pull him into a kiss.

There’s no one there. The pillow is pristine on the other side of the bed, the blankets undisturbed.

Dread curdles cold in his stomach.

“Blaine?” he tries.

No response.

“Blaine, where are you?” He can feel the hysteria taking him over, even if he doesn’t know why. “Blaine! Where did you go?”

He’s alone, utterly alone.

Kurt wakes up with a jolt. The panic from the dream is still skittering under his skin. There’s no way he’ll be able to get back to sleep after that. He can still sense the phantom touch on his skin.

He rolls out of bed, ready to go to the kitchen to fix himself a mug of warm milk. He stops. He goes to the box in the corner, carefully fishes out the flashdrive. He pads out to the living room and boots up his computer, setting the milk to heat while he waits.

He doesn’t think, just lets his body go through the familiar motions. Enter his password. Stick the flashdrive into an open jack. Swirl the saucepan, wait for the milk to steam. Pull out a mug, pour the milk, add a dollop of honey. Stir. Open the file.

He settles in on the couch. His laptop is balanced on his knees, his mug cradled in his hands. It’s too hot to drink, almost too hot to hold. Still, he needs something in his hands.

There are dozens of videos stored here. Most are performances, ranging from show choir competitions to West Side Story to “Love Shack” on Valentine’s Day 2012. The rest are just Blaine. Silly videos to be shared on social media or just to keep.

Usually, he starts with these. Tonight, he saves them for last.

He opens the first file, smiling ruefully at his own nervous baby face. He looks so stiff and awkward in his Warbler’s blazer. It’s really no wonder that Blaine saw him more as a chick in search of a mother hen than a potential romantic interest.

The harmonies kick in, precise as ever. The spotlight lands on Blaine. He looks up, and he smiles.

This – this is the point of no return. Kurt couldn’t stop watching if he wanted to.

Blaine, whether he’s the debonair front man or the supporting player, he’s impossible to look away from. Kurt felt it then, and he feels it now. When Blaine performs, he can’t help it, he just – he lights up the whole goddamn world.

Kurt has been a professional for years. He’s worked on Tony-winning shows with Tony-winning co-stars, and he knows now better than ever just how special that quality is. How special Blaine is as a performer. Was.

Each of these videos is tied to a memory. Their first (and only) competition duet, sounding pitchy and not caring at all because they were so caught up in each other. Opening night of West Side Story, the night they lost their virginity. Artie’s Christmas special, and the elaborate fantasies they concocted about what their life would be like once they got famous (“Ooh, and when we retire, we can buy a lighthouse in Maine and start an artists’ colony!”). Sneaking out the night before Nationals for a deep-dish pizza date.

Some of the details have gone fuzzy after all these years, but the feelings remain just as strong.

The next video was clearly taken in Kurt’s bedroom. Blaine is sitting cross-legged on his bed, dressed in light, summery colors. He’s giving a detailed review of the America’s Got Talent semi-finals, with occasional commentary from Kurt. He’s wide-eyed and serious, but he laughs at all of Kurt’s jokes.

There’s one of him on the couch with Finn and Kurt’s dad, clutching at the couch cushion with white-knuckled fists as he watches the TV screen. All three of them are riveted, showing the kind of intensity Kurt has learned is reserved for finals, or play-offs, or whatever they’re called. Something bad must happen on screen, because the three of them react in sudden, outlandish disgust. Kurt’s dad throws his arms in the air and takes his cap off to rub at his shiny head. Finn throws a Cheeto at the screen. Blaine jumps to his feet and actually shakes his fist. Kurt’s voice can be heard snigg*ring behind the camera.

Blaine and Rachel are rehearsing the dance scene from West Side Story in the middle of Kurt’s living room. Finn is watching and trying not to look bored. Blaine keeps glancing over at Kurt, behind the camera, when he forgets his lines. Rachel hisses, “Stay in the scene.”

Blaine is in the kitchen, shaking his butt to the Bee Gees while he helps Carole empty the dishwasher. She bumps his hip, and he bumps back, and then they’re singing along and actually seem to have forgotten the dishes entirely. The video only ends because Kurt went to join them.

Blaine is on the couch in the Andersons’ living room, backlit by the sun coming in through the window. He’s ranking his top ten male divas of all time, blushing as he tries to justify putting Adam Levine in the top spot. “Come on, Kurt, you’ve seen him on The Voice! You don’t need to rock sequins to be a diva.”

Outtakes from the audition tape Blaine and Cooper shot for Michael Bay. Blaine trying so hard to keep his expression entirely neutral while his brother flops around on the floor like a dying fish.

This one, the last one, is his favorite. Blaine is asleep. His face is soft and relaxed. His hair is still curly, though significantly less frizzy now that he’s gotten away from the static-inducing balloons. The comforter has slipped down just enough to expose his bare shoulder.

“Blaine,” murmurs Kurt’s voice. “Come on, sleepyhead, time to wake up.”

Blaine groans and turns over. He opens one sleepy eye. It seems to dominate the screen.

“Are you filming me?”

“I wanted to document this momentous occasion.”

“What, the morning after senior prom?”

“No, silly. Blaine Anderson sleeping until 10:00.”

Blaine chuckles, then seems to come to a realization. He sits bolt up. His hand flies to his hair.

“Kurt, oh my god, my hair must look like a bird’s nest.”

“It does not. It looks sexy.”

Blaine levels him a look.

“Kurt.”

“It does! But not to worry, no one will ever see this video but me. I swear. And your emergency stash of hair gel is in the bathroom, ready for you the very second you step out of the shower.”

Blaine smiles at him gratefully.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Now get up and give me a show, you gorgeous hunk of man!”

Blaine bursts into laughter, which was, of course, the intention. Suddenly, the mirth drains from his face. His eyes widen in alarm.

“Kurt! You have to delete that video before you get home. What if your dad sees?”

He looks truly distressed at the idea, his eyes going Bambi-wide.

“Blaine, he knows we stayed in a hotel room last night. I’m pretty sure he’s already figured out what we did. And if he hasn’t, the state of my clothes should certainly clue him in.”

Blaine looks over at the floor by the bed, where their (anti-)prom outfits are lying in a crumpled pile. He looks back at Kurt, behind the camera, and he laughs.

“You’ve got a point.”

“I know. Now come here.”

Blaine complies, crawling slowly across the bed. The muscles in his arms shift sinuously. He’s staring straight into the camera with his very best bedroom eyes.

“I thought you wanted a show,” he says.

“I think I just got one,” murmurs Kurt, breathless.

Blaine grins, and the camera goes dark.

It’s over.

Kurt closes his laptop and sets it aside. He moves his now-tepid milk to the coffee table. He draws his knees up to his chest, and he’s done holding back his tears. He lets them come.

It’s like the bursting of a dam. He sobs and sobs, tears and snot and drool going everywhere, completely out of his control. It’s painful. His throat feels like it’s being torn to shreds.

It isn’t just Blaine he lost. It’s the life they would have had, everything that they could have become together. All of that potential, drained away before they had a chance to turn it into anything real. Kurt never really found a way to let it go. He never wanted to. But now, he’s starting to realize that maybe he should.

Kurt cries until there are no more tears, until his eyes are dry and he’s a mess and his insides feel clean. He stands up on shaky legs and stumbles his way to the bathroom. He washes his face. He looks in the mirror.

Maybe this is what he needed. Catharsis. Maybe now he’ll be able to move on.

The lump in his throat gives a painful twinge. He ignores it.

&&&&&

Kurt feels better in the morning, in spite of his interrupted sleep. More centered. He does his morning yoga routine for the first time in about a week, then downs a bowl of cereal and a giant mug of coffee and heads out to the local 23-Hour Fitness to get in some cardio. When he emerges, showered and coiffed and dressed in his best, he feels more like himself than he has in…months, probably.

Glee club goes much the same as it did the day before. Five kids, five performances. Two Beyoncés today, a Nicki Minaj, some Beatles, and an Ed Sheeran.

“You know, you guys don’t have to choose artists from my youth just to impress me,” he says, only mostly joking.

“You should be flattered,” offers Blaine, when rehearsal is over and the rest of the group has ambled out the door. He gets to work stacking the chairs without waiting to be told. It must be a routine he had with Sam.

“Oh?”

“The last time we had a substitute, half the club switched names, and the other half refused to sing anything but Bon Jovi for the rest of the week.”

“And where were you during all of this?”

“Switzerland.”

Kurt co*cks his head.

“Figuratively, of course,” says Blaine with a lopsided smile.

“Ah. I see.”

“It’s probably because you’re a real professional. They respect you. Not that they don’t respect Sam – um, Mr. Evans, that is, it’s just that it’s different.”

Blaine stops, seemingly aware that he’s stuck his foot too far into his mouth to salvage with more words. He isn’t looking at Kurt, but he is biting his lip rather forcefully.

“How so?”

Blaine considers, this time, before speaking.

“Well, Mr. Evans, he knows what it takes to win show choir competitions. But you know what it takes in the real world. I mean, you were nominated for a Tony.”

“Twice.”

“Twice. I really thought you were going to win for The Bard.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up. His most recent nomination was in 2025.

“Did you…see that?”

“Oh, yeah. It was my birthday present that year. My mom had all this guilt because she decided not to do the bar mitzvah thing, so she took us on a last-minute road trip to New York. I bought the soundtrack with my birthday money. You were really incredible.”

He’s looking up, now, meeting Kurt’s gaze with an earnest smile. His eyes are practically shining with admiration.

“Thank you, Blaine. That’s – thank you.”

Kurt has to turn away or risk getting choked up. The thought of Blaine at one of his shows…

Stop it.

“I mean it. You have one of my all-time favorite Broadway voices.”

“Wow, so me and – what, Patti LuPone, I’m guessing?”

“She’s up there, too.”

Blaine is grinning. So is Kurt.

Kurt clears his throat and turns his attention to the papers on the piano before he can forget himself.

“So, this week’s assignment is giving me a pretty good sense of the group’s vocal strengths and weaknesses, but I’m hoping you might be able to help me sort through some of the group’s more…social dynamics?”

“Social dynamics?”

“Well, I know that when I was in glee club, we spent more time singing about our drama than actually rehearsing.”

Blaine pulls a face.

“Oh, boy. Well, I won’t lie and say that never happens, but the group is pretty good at keeping things more or less professional during rehearsals. Lisa causes drama sometimes, but honestly, I think it’s just because she likes the attention. She doesn’t have that many friends.” He says it matter-of-factly, but not without sympathy. It’s clear he’s never felt that particular pain. Kurt’s heart goes out to her. “Jason and Marta have been on again and off again since the beginning of the year,” continues Blaine. “They weren’t speaking each other for, like, a month leading up to Regionals, but that seems to be over now. Thank god. That was deeply unpleasant.”

He sighs. Kurt hides a smile. He just sounds so put-upon.

“Oh, and Juniper! How could I forget? He’s slept with, like, half the club, so there’s pretty much always some weird jealousy thing going on there. He likes to think he’s God’s gift.” Blaine rolls his eyes. “But other than that, it’s just normal high school stuff. Nothing we can’t handle on our own time,” he adds hurriedly, as if suddenly afraid he’s scaring Kurt off.

Kurt laughs shortly.

“Don’t worry. I get it. I’m telling you, no one did drama better than the New Directions, original flavor.”

Blaine is watching him with bright, avid eyes, but he doesn’t ask. Kurt doesn’t elaborate.

Blaine stays for about an hour longer, straightening up the room and helping Kurt finish the filing he started the day before. They chat about New York, mostly, and Broadway. Blaine is bright, and very knowledgeable. He’s so very easy to talk to.

“What was it like, going to NYADA?” he asks eagerly.

“Intimidating, at first. But once I got over that…it made me the performer I am today. Being given the time and space to explore your craft and learn from real industry greats – I mean, I can’t imagine a better gift for a budding young performer.”

Blaine nods thoughtfully.

“I thought about applying there,” he says. “But ultimately I decided that pursuing performance as a career would be impractical. I mean, not everyone can be like you, or Rachel Berry.”

It’s flattering to be thought of like that, like he’s a success story to aspire to. Kurt doesn’t really see himself that way. Sure, he’s made it as a working actor on Broadway, and, yes, he’s been nominated for a couple of Best Supporting Actor Tonies, but it doesn’t feel as if he’s done anything particularly…substantial with his career.

“Well, you never know if you don’t try,” he says.

Blaine shrugs. There’s a flicker of something there, though.

“I suppose.”

Kurt doesn’t push it. He challenges Blaine to name his top five all-time favorite musicals instead.

Blaine thinks for a moment, a spark gleaming in his eye. “Okay, I’ve got it. The Mystery of Edwin Drood, The Last Five Years, um, Matilda, Fun Home, and – please don’t think I’m just saying this because it’s you who asked – The Bard.”

Blaine smiles a tad sheepishly. Kurt smiles back.

None of them are the same. Kurt knows exactly what his Blaine would have said at this age. He would have hemmed and hawed and told Kurt it was impossible, picking just five is far too brutal, but the answer would have been the same every time. Anything Goes, West Side Story, Les Misérables, Into the Woods, Rent. With an honorable mention for Little Shop of Horrors.

Kurt feels oddly relieved that there isn’t any crossover.

The more he talks to Blaine, the more he watches the shifting of expressions over his face, listens to the inflections of his voice, understands the way he thinks, the easier it is to distinguish them. He can see it now, when he looks at him. Blaine Johnson, McKinley High senior, a boy with a bright future ahead of him. Bursting at the seams with passion he thinks he shouldn’t show and potential he doesn’t know how to tap. Pragmatic, sharp, and caring. A born leader.

Kurt sees him.

Blaine leaves with a cheery wave. Kurt feels at peace.

&&&&&

The rest of the week passes quickly, now that Kurt has stopped his nervous breakdown in its tracks. He finds his rhythm, and he sticks to it. Sleep in, then coffee, yoga, breakfast (and more coffee). Hit the gym, shower, head to school. Prep for glee club, run rehearsal, neaten the room. Unwind with an hour or so of light entertainment, spend the evening with his dad, conk out before 10 PM. It’s nothing like the life he left behind in New York. It’s simple, easy. It’s nice, for now.

Blaine performs on Friday. He accompanies himself on “Don’t Let the Sun Go Down On Me,” and, while it’s a highly competent, even engaging performance, Kurt can’t help but feel that same niggling feeling he had watching the footage from Sectionals – Blaine is holding back. Maybe he doesn’t know it, but he is.

Blaine’s eyes snap to Kurt when he’s done. He seems to be holding his breath. The whole room has erupted in enthusiastic applause, and Blaine is looking at him as if the sun rises and sets on his approval.

“That was great,” says Kurt as soon as he can make himself heard. “Really lovely, Blaine. Would you like to explain why you consider Sir Elton to be your musical idol?”

The praise is genuine, but bland, and Kurt can see in the press of Blaine’s lips that he senses it. Kurt hates to see him crestfallen, but he is Blaine’s coach. It’s his job to nurture the boy’s talent and help him grow as an artist. Not to put a sparkle in his wide hazel eyes.

Blaine rallies and says something practiced about Elton John’s skillful use of piano and his evocative lyricism. He pauses.

“I like that he knew who he was,” he adds. “That’s something I’ve always admired.”

He glances at Kurt, who can’t help his soft smile.

Kurt spends the weekend helping his dad with the chores he claims are too hard on his back. Kurt suspects that it’s really more an excuse for the two of them to spend some quality time together and/or for his dad to take advantage of the free labor, but he doesn’t put voice to his suspicions.

“So, how was the first week?” asks his dad as they try to bring some semblance of organization to the garage.

“It was good. Sam’s put together a really great group.”

“I thought it might be tough, spending all that time in the choir room.”

Kurt can feel the weight of the significant look his father sends in his direction. Kurt should have known better than to think he wouldn’t bring up the elephant in the room. He has no doubt his father knows just exactly what he came by the house to pick up earlier in the week.

“It was, at first.”

“There’re a lot of memories there.”

“I know.”

His dad claps him heavily on the shoulder. Kurt looks up and meets his eyes. There are certain walls he can’t hide behind, not from his father.

“I’m real proud of you, bud.”

That’s all either of them says on the matter. Kurt doesn’t tell him about Blaine. It sounds crazy even to himself, now.

Chapter 2: Grease

Chapter Text

Kurt feels energized when he wakes up on Monday morning. He gets an earlier start than usual and makes it to school with enough time to make lesson plans for about the next month. He’s about to start some preliminary brainstorming for Nationals, too, but he needs a hit of caffeine before he tries to take that on. He considers taking a Lima Bean break, but in the end decides to bite the bullet and try out the coffee maker in the staff room.

He is staff, after all, even if he isn’t a certificated teacher. Mr. Schue – Will – was clear on that.

“I can’t pay you much,” he said when they met that first day. His expression had taken on a certain desperation, as if he was afraid of scaring Kurt off. “But I can guarantee that you will be treated as nothing less than a valued member of this faculty.”

Kurt should get to partake in the free coffee.

The staff room is nearly empty, as Kurt would expect it to be in the middle of the afternoon, when most teachers are busy, well, teaching. There are a couple of clusters, however, chatting away and clutching their mugs with the passion of a junkie. Kurt hovers in the doorway for a moment. He’s torn between slipping in and out undetected and attempting to approach his colleagues.

The decision is made for him.

“You must be Kurt!”

He’s been spotted.

The woman breaks away from her group and strides right over to him, hand outstretched. She’s moderately attractive in a Midwest kind of way, attempting to be fashionable but stuck a few years behind the trends. She’s somewhere in that nether region between youthful and middle-aged. Her lips are stretched in forced cheer that doesn’t make it to her eyes. Kurt smiles back, just as fake but much better hidden.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he says.

He shakes her hand, two firm, perfunctory pumps.

“Don’t worry, we’ve only heard good things,” she says. She laughs and it’s fake, so fake. “Those kids are so lucky to have you.”

“They’re a great group.”

“Well, bless your heart. You must be an angel to step into this role, with so many eyes watching your every move, and you without any teaching experience whatsoever!”

Her eyes flash, and her smile doesn’t move one iota. Kurt has to fight hard not to recoil.

“Thank you for that…welcome,” he says.

Her smile goes impossibly wider. It kind of looks like she’s baring her teeth. She sweeps out of the room without another word. Kurt is left standing there, at a loss. He’s a little concerned that she’s going to go slash his tires.

“Don’t mind Lina. She’s harmless.”

Kurt starts. He didn’t realize anyone had approached him. He relaxes, though, when he sees who it is. It’s an elderly lady with glasses that eat up half her face and a kindly smile at her lips. There’s something vaguely familiar about her.

“Who is she, exactly?”

“Lina Van Horne, Sam’s long-term sub. She’s just a little miffed that Principal Schuester didn’t hand the New Directions over to her. She’ll get over it.”

She pats Kurt’s bicep reassuringly, then takes it in her surprisingly strong grip and steers him over to her table.

Suddenly, it hits him.

“Mrs. Kettlestone?”

She laughs.

“I guess my looks really have deteriorated in the last 20 years, haven’t they?”

“Oh – that’s not – I mean, you look – ”

“I’m teasing, honey. There’s no need. And I think we’ve reached the point where you can call me Susan, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course. Susan.”

It feels strange, calling his high school English teacher by her first name. Almost as strange as hearing a bunch of teenagers call him “Mr. Hummel.”

She gives his bicep a squeeze.

“Well, it’s certainly clear that you’ve grown up well in any case,” she says with a wink that may or may not be vaguely lascivious. He gently eases his arm out of her grasp.

It’s amazing what getting out of this cow town does for a person, he wants to say. But he isn’t a teenager anymore, and he has enough tact to realize that this may offend these people, who obviously have chosen to live and work here. He’d rather not alienate any more of his colleagues.

“I always knew you were going to make it big,” she continues, seemingly unaware of Kurt’s discomfort. “I still remember that paper you wrote on hom*oerotic subtext in the works of F. Scott Fitzgerald. ‘The Real Green Light,’ I believe it was called.” She laughs. “Anyone with that kind of moxie couldn’t help but turn into a success story.”

Kurt remembers that paper too. It had felt daring at the time. It was the kind of thing that he and Blaine would talk about all the time – right up there with celebrity makeovers and glee club gossip – but certainly not something he would ever bring up in class. Still, it was the end of senior year, and Kurt was done with playing it safe. Worst case scenario, he would fail the paper and have to work just a little bit harder on the final exam to secure an A in the class. Totally worth it.

He ended up getting an A- and one scrawled comment: Definitely a fresh perspective. He didn’t know what to make of it. He still doesn’t, actually.

He smiles and nods his way through a round of introductions and some getting-to-know-you small talk (“You live in New York? How interesting!”). He meets David, math teacher, who pulls out pictures of his pekingese about 2.5 seconds into the conversation. Jessica, dance teacher, who’s so young and perky it must be her first year teaching. Polly, chemistry teacher, who’s so bitter she must be nearing retirement. They’re all from Lima, born and bred. They seem to see him as an exotic creature.

Kurt sits there long enough to be considered polite but not exactly friendly and excuses himself to pour a mug of coffee and slip back to his office. He’s almost made it out when someone taps him on the shoulder.

“Excuse me?” she says. He turns around with a smile that maybe doesn’t do quite a good enough job at hiding his annoyance.

It’s a woman, probably in her late twenties, with curly red hair that she’s pulled into a messy bun.

“Hi,” she says with a bright, nervous smile. “I’m Sally Watkins, I’m one of the drama teachers here,” she continues, without waiting for Kurt to respond. “I just wanted to tell you, I’m a big fan of your work. You’re such a huge inspiration to me. I mean, you and Rachel Berry, of course.”

“Thank you. That’s very – ”

“Would you be interested in helping out with the spring musical?” she blurts. “You know, vocal coaching, that kind of thing. I understand, you must have a lot on your plate with the New Directions, but I can’t tell you how much it would mean for our kids to get advice from a real, Tony-nominated Broadway actor.”

The hope shining in her eyes is so genuine.

“What show are you doing?”

“Grease,” she says. “The kids are really excited. We start auditions next week. Performances are scheduled about two weeks before Nationals, so any of your kids who participate should be well-rested and ready to compete.”

She says all of this very fast. She looks like she might be holding her breath.

Kurt would feel like a monster, turning her down.

“Count me in,” he says. Her eyes light up, and she’s probably about three seconds away from pouncing on him for a hug. Kurt takes a semi-conscious step back.

“Thank you so much, Kurt. This is going to be so amazing! I’ll e-mail you with the details, okay?”

Kurt agrees, and makes sure she has the temporary e-mail address assigned to him by the district.

Finally, he makes his escape.

Grease. It’s a fun show, perfect for a group of high-schoolers. The last production he saw was the one Finn directed during Kurt’s first fall in New York. Rachel decided she wanted to come see him last minute, to get some closure after their rather nasty break-up. Kurt came with her for moral support. It didn’t really occur to him until he was there, in the audience, watching Sam as Kenickie and Brittany as Cha-Cha and Tina as Jan, that Blaine would have been up there too, if only…

He cried his eyes out in the bathroom at intermission. Rachel slipped her hand into his when he got back to his seat. She didn’t say anything, but then, she didn’t have to.

It’ll be nice to make some happier memories.

&&&&&

“So, will I be seeing you at auditions tomorrow?”

Kurt is so sure that he knows the answer to this question that he literally stops in his tracks when Blaine says, “No.”

He looks at Blaine, who’s still busy stacking chairs and avoiding Kurt’s eyes. He feels wrong-footed.

“Are you not planning to audition?”

“I don’t really have the time. I mean, between the GSA, and after-school tutoring, and my duties as senior class president – not to mention glee club, of course – my schedule is kind of full. It just wouldn’t be practical.”

Blaine’s tone is final, but Kurt can read something wistful in his face. It’s fleeting, but it’s there. He wants it. Kurt’s sure he does. He just needs to give himself permission to go after it.

“Rehearsals would only be until 5:00 at the latest. And I’m sure Mrs. Watkins wouldn’t mind working with you to schedule around your other commitments.”

“I don’t know. Even if that’s true…I mean, there are a lot of kids who need this way more than I do, kids who have been working their whole lives to end up on Broadway. I would hate to take an opportunity from one of them.”

“If they’re good enough, you won’t.”

Blaine looks at him, then, eyes wide and surprised.

“What?”

“You heard me. If this is something you want, Blaine, then you should audition. You shouldn’t stop yourself from shining so that someone else’s light will look brighter. You wouldn’t be doing them any favors, in the long run.”

“That’s not – I love performing, don’t get me wrong, but I’m not – I have other priorities.”

“I understand that. I do. And I respect that you’re so passionate about helping people. I just don’t want you to deny yourself something that you want just because you don’t think you should be allowed to have it.”

Blaine is staring at him, transfixed, as if Kurt’s just unlocked one of the secrets of the universe. He blinks his Bambi eyes and looks away. He swallows.

“I’ll think about it,” he says.

His cheeks are slightly flushed when their eyes meet again. Kurt doesn’t let himself think about that.

They work in silence.

&&&&&

Blaine’s name isn’t on the list. Kurt has looked it over twice, and his name isn’t there. He’s tempted to check one more time, but Sally is already starting to give him vaguely confused sidelong glances.

Oh well. It’s disappointing, but it was also Kurt’s first real shot at this whole mentor thing, and, thus, was probably doomed to failure. It tends to be a reoccurring pattern in Kurt’s life. He’ll take another shot after glee club tomorrow.

In the meantime, he and Sally have got about a hundred kids to try out for the first round of cuts. They’ve got 90 seconds to sing a selection from Grease that they feel highlights their strengths. No more, no less. Accounting for small talk and transition time, Kurt’s pretty sure he’s not leaving the building before 6:00.

“The first day of auditions is always so exciting, don’t you think?” Sally stage-whispers as Mikayla Blackburn, first on the list, hands her music over to the accompanist. “You never know what talents will come to the surface.”

That might be a bit of a stretch, since Sally has been teaching here for five years and has had pretty much every candidate on the list cycle through her classes. It’s not as if there are likely to be any surprises. Still, Kurt understands the sentiment.

Kurt smiles, but he doesn’t have time to respond before Mikayla is standing center stage, smoothing out her skirt and shooting them her biggest stage smile.

“My name is Mikayla Blackburn, and I’ll be auditioning for the role of Sandy,” she says, clear and ringing. Her body language may be nervous, but it doesn’t show up in her voice.

Kurt slides her audition form across the podium to take a glance. Mikayla Blackburn, sophom*ore. Alto.

She sings “Hopelessly Devoted to You,” and though her voice is lovely, she really doesn’t have the upper register required to deliver the song. She’s straining pretty hard by the time she hits the chorus.

Call back for Rizzo? he jots in the margins.

Kurt has heard that song about ten times by the end of the first hour. That, “Greased Lightning,” and “Summer Nights” arranged for a soloist. Over and over and over. Kurt is really starting to wish they’d decided to allow song selections beyond Grease, if only to save his sanity.

There have been a few impressive voices in the bunch, and even more technically proficient performances, but none that really stand out. No one truly…original. No one with star quality.

The second hour brings a little more variety, at least. There’s a girl, Elise Sugarman, whose impeccable comic timing more than makes up for her under-developed technique on “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee,” a freshman duo with sizzling stage chemistry on “You’re the One That I Want,” and a countertenor, Mark Washington, who smashes “There Are Worse Things I Could Do” out of the park. Too bad the plot requires Rizzo to have the kind of anatomy that allows for a pregnancy scare. Otherwise, Kurt would totally be arguing for gender-blind casting.

By the time they’ve reached the last name on their list, they’ve found a good handful of promising Sandy hopefuls, a smattering of Dannys, and a whole bucket-load of Rizzos. The rest, they’ll figure out at callbacks.

Kurt and Sally are already starting to pack up their things, eager to get home after nearly three hours of listening to the same six songs on repeat, when a sudden throat-clearing from the direction of the stage stops them in their tracks. Kurt looks up.

His heart leaps.

“Blaine!” he says, probably too enthusiastically if Sally’s look is anything to go by. “You came.”

Blaine’s smile is bashful, but he holds himself straight and tall.

“I did. I’m sorry, I didn’t get here in time to put my name on the list. My mom took an extra shift at the last minute, so I had to pick up my sister and make sure she got her homework done.”

“It’s no problem, Blaine. I’m glad you made it,” says Kurt.

“What will you be singing for us today?” asks Sally.

“‘Beauty School Dropout.’”

Kurt perks up at that. It’s a great song for Blaine, sits in a nice, sweet spot in his voice. Pulling it off properly depends on one part humor, two parts charisma, both of which Kurt knows Blaine possesses in spades. Besides, this will be only the second time they’ve heard it today. For some reason, none of the kids seem to want to be associated with a part that has only one scene.

“Whenever you’re ready,” says Sally.

Blaine nods to the accompanist, and the music starts.

“Your story’s sad to tell,

A teenage ne’er do well,

Most mixed-up non-delinquent on the block…”

He sounds great, and he’s dynamic as ever, but still, even now, he’s holding back. A black and white sketch of what he could be. It’s so clear to Kurt, although he knows it probably isn’t to Sally. She can’t know just how much of himself he isn’t showing.

Kurt honestly doesn’t get it. What is he so afraid of?

And then – there’s a moment. It happens toward the end of the first verse. Blaine’s eyes meet Kurt’s, a fleeting glance that sticks. He seems to falter. He looks down. When he looks up, the light catches in his eyes.

Blaine comes to life. That’s what it looks like. A flower bud blooming, a firework exploding color across the night sky, Dorothy stepping out into Oz for the very first time.

He’s there, suddenly, all of him, shining through with the force of a supernova. There isn’t a person in the world who could bring themselves to tear their eyes away.

This is what Kurt has been waiting for.

This – this is star quality.

Sally bursts into applause when it’s over. Kurt does too, after a dazed moment. Blaine is looking to him, flushed and smiling and still uncertain. Kurt tries to show him the depth of his pride, tries to make it transparent, but he isn’t sure it registers across the distance.

“Well, that was certainly worth the wait!” says Sally cheerily. “Thank you for coming in, Blaine.”

“You were wonderful,” says Kurt, and means it with all his heart.

Blaine beams.

“Thank you,” he says. “Sorry again for the inconvenience.”

Sally looks to Kurt as Blaine exits the stage. There’s a gleam in her eye.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she says.

“I’m thinking we may have just found our Danny Zuko.”

She grins.

&&&&&

Kurt and Sally spend hours the next day deliberating over callbacks. It isn’t easy. They saw a few kids who could barely carry a tune, but most were at the very least chorus-worthy.

It’s all a little overwhelming, honestly. Kurt remembers West Side Story, when Coach Beiste had to practically threaten the football team into rounding out their numbers. Now, their biggest problem is figuring out which talented kids to cut.

It feels ruthless, but it’s necessary.

In the end, 75 hopefuls will be attending the dance audition. They’ve got a short list for each of the leads and a veritable pool of potential greasers and their Pink Lady cohorts.

Sally posts the list during sixth period and quickly retreats.

“Trust me, you don’t want to be out there when they see it,” she says with a shudder that is definitely not entirely for show.

Kurt doesn’t ask. He graduated from the most cutthroat performing arts school in the country. He doesn’t need to.

Blaine is the first one in the choir room after school. He looks slightly out of breath, and flushed with elation. His cardigan is slightly askew.

“I got a call-back?” he says.

His joy is nearly as strong as his disbelief. Kurt claps him on the shoulder. He isn’t sure why he does it – he isn’t a touchy-feely person, would never pat his students on the back or ruffle their hair the way he’s sure Sam does. Blaine just looks like he’s ready to fly away.

“Of course you did. You were brilliant.”

Blaine beams. There might be actual sunshine in that smile.

“I felt – I’ve never – I didn’t know it could feel like that,” he says.

Kurt opens his mouth to say something – what, he doesn’t know. A burst of laughter from the doorway tells him that the others are starting to trickle in. He smiles instead, and releases Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine is soon engulfed by a wave of chattering glee clubbers.

Almost the entire club is attending tonight’s dance audition, so Kurt keeps the lesson short and sweet and lets today’s slotted performers off the hook. Their concentration is shot anyway. It’s probably a better use of their time to head over to the dance studio and get a head start on stretching. As far as themes go, the music of Edith Piaf wasn’t all that inspired anyway.

Kurt doesn’t have much to do at dance auditions. Perky Jessica and her grim assistant Boris are in charge of putting the kids through their paces. Kurt just has to sit and watch and take notes on which of the Dannys can hand-jive well enough to plausibly win a dance contest.

There’s José Martinez, who not only has a lovely voice, but managed to be funny yesterday without devolving into caricature. Unfortunately, his dance moves rival Finn’s on his worst day. Bless him.

There’s Derek Schwartz, whose vocal performance was decent and whose dance moves are decent, but who is so forgettable that Kurt has to check his notes to even remember what the poor boy sang for his audition.

There’s Blaise Favreau, who is dancing at what looks to Kurt’s barely-trained eye like the pre-professional level. He’s easily the best male dancer in the room. His vocal was rough around the edges, but he can be trained up. God, there were days during Kurt’s college days when he would have killed for that kind of extension.

There’s Mark Washington. He moves gracefully, right up until the moment he loses track of the choreography, and then it’s like his feet have suddenly grown two shoe sizes. Now that, Kurt can relate to.

There’s something about Mark, something that Kurt keeps returning to. He doesn’t have the range for Danny, and he doesn’t carry himself with anything resembling the character’s machismo. Still, he’s just – he’s got gumption. He’s got steel in his bones, and conviction in his heart. He’s special. The rest is just details.

There’s Blaine.

Nothing will be decided until after tomorrow’s cold read call-back. Kurt is prepared to consider every candidate with all the fairness he can muster. The deliberations will be long and probably brutal. Still, Kurt knows exactly who his heart will be fighting for.

&&&&&

Kurt sighs.

This isn’t working. They’ve been auditioning Sandys and Dannys in every possible combination for over an hour, and they’re no closer than they were when they started.

Well, that’s not entirely true. Blaise has been relegated to ensemble, due to the fact that he has the chemistry of a limp fish with just about every scene partner. Derek turned out to have awesome chemistry with Elise Sugarman, their chosen Rizzo, so he’s been cast as Kenickie. And there’s really only one part suited to José’s talents, considering the utterly hopeless clunkiness of his line delivery.

It’s down to Mark and Blaine for Danny, and a trio of triple-threat blondes for Sandy. Katie, Kelly, and Kadence. All talented, all committed, all special in her own unique way.

Kurt is about ready to start banging his head against the podium. Sally, next to him, doesn’t seem to be faring any better. Her smile is so strained it more closely resembles a grimace.

“Okay, let’s take five,” Kurt says into the microphone, hoping that his frustration isn’t too apparent. He’s pretty sure that would do nothing to improve anyone’s nerves. The kids exchange glances and trudge off the stage. Blaine pats Mark on the back and leans up to murmur something that Kurt assumes is encouraging. Mark smiles at him.

Kurt turns off the microphone and turns to Sally.

“What are we going to do?” he says.

“I don’t know, coin toss?”

Kurt snorts.

“God, at this rate, it might actually come to that.”

“Okay. Seriously, now. I think it’s time to cut Mark.”

“What? Why?”

“I mean I agree with you, Kurt. Mark is talented, and his take on Danny would be cool, if unconventional. But the reality is that Blaine is a better fit. Don’t you think?”

Kurt opens his mouth. He closes it again. The thing is, he does think. Of course he does. He just also hates the idea of being one more person in what he’s sure will be a long line to close a door in Mark’s face. It won’t matter how talented he is – there will always be someone who fits the part better than Mark. Kurt knows all too well how that goes.

“Yeah,” he says, defeated. “Okay. You’re right.”

They talk over the relative merits of their three Sandys for a few more minutes, but come no closer to making a decision.

Kurt has a sudden brain wave.

“Let’s have a duet-off,” he says.

Sally blinks.

“Duet-off?”

“Yeah, you know – like a diva-off, but instead of a solo, the girls will sing a duet with Blaine. Best musical chemistry takes it all.”

Sally lights up.

“That’s perfect!” she says. “You’re the One That I Want?”

“What else?”

“You’re a genius, Kurt Hummel.”

“I have my moments.”

They call the kids back in. They announce their plan, and even though they never actually tell Mark he’s out of the running, it must be pretty obvious. Mark heaves a world-weary sigh. His shoulders slump, and his mouth tightens bitterly.

Blaine looks torn between joy and grief. The way he’s looking at Mark is so remorseful that one could be forgiven for thinking he’d run over Mark’s puppy. Mark musters up a smile for him, though, and a congratulatory clap on the shoulder.

Kurt hates this.

“Mark,” he says, before he’s had a chance to think it through, or even to really realize what he’s about to say. “You think you’re up for making this a four-way fight?”

It takes a moment for Mark to work out what Kurt means. His eyes widen in disbelief.

“Really? You’d – really?”

“You have the range, don’t you?”

“Yeah! I – yeah, of course.”

“Then I don’t see a reason why not.”

Sandy is a gender-neutral name, after all.

Kurt can feel Sally’s stare boring into his temple. He knows he should have discussed this with her first, knows he may just be setting the kid up for disappointment, but he had to give him the chance.

Blaine is looking at him like he’s just performed a miracle.

The girls put up a good fight. They do. They turn the charm up to eleven and hit their harmonies impeccably. Blaine, to his credit, gives back everything he gets and more. Each of their performances is good. Solid. Entertaining.

It’s not enough.

Something changes when Mark hits the stage. The music starts, and a look passes between him and Blaine, and it just – clicks. It’s what Kurt has been waiting for all afternoon without even realizing it. It’s effortless. The characters come alive. The energy that passes between them seems to fill the entire room.

Kurt looks at Sally. She feels it, too, he knows she does. It would be impossible not to. She meets his gaze with a wry smile.

“Okay,” she murmurs. “You’ve convinced me.”

Kurt grins.

The boys are breathless when the song is over, more from the high of it than the exertion, most likely. Blaine is looking hopefully up into the audience, squinting under the bright heat of the stage lights. Mark can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Blaine.

“Nice job, guys,” says Kurt. “That’s all we need to see. We’ll be posting the cast list before school tomorrow.”

&&&&&

There’s a knock on Kurt’s office door. It’s open, but Kurt is buried deep in the script for Grease, so he appreciates the warning.

“Mr. Hummel?” It’s Blaine’s voice, soft and hesitant.

Kurt looks up.

“Hi, there. I believe congratulations are in order.”

Blaine grins, so big and wide that his eyes scrunch into slivers. It isn’t nearly enough to diminish their sparkle.

“Thanks. I can’t believe – thank you, for your faith in me. It’s a huge honor.”

“You earned it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Me? All I did was give you a push. Believe me, Blaine, it was all you up on that stage.”

“You believed in me.”

His eyes are wide now, and brimming with gratitude. Kurt has to look away for a moment.

“I still do.”

“I want you to know that I don’t take that lightly. I won’t let you down.”

“I know.”

“And I think it’s really cool that you cast Mark as Sandy. There isn’t nearly enough LGBT representation in this place, considering that it’s a school for the performing arts.”

Kurt shrugs.

“He was the best for the part.”

The bell rings. Blaine glances at the clock.

“I should go,” he says regretfully. “I have a test in music theory.”

“Good luck.”

Blaine smiles.

“See you in glee club, Mr. Hummel.”

He waves as he hurries out the door. Kurt waves back, but it’s too late. Blaine has already turned around. Kurt carefully does not watch him go.

Kurt leans back in his chair. He closes his eyes and breathes in, deep and measured. He needs to re-focus.

Blaine has left behind the faint scent of amber. New hair product, maybe? The wave of his hair was looking particularly glossy today.

Kurt opens his eyes. He shakes himself and sticks his nose back into his script.

Mark comes to find him, too, later that afternoon. He twists his hands as he waits in the doorway for Kurt to acknowledge him.

Kurt looks up, and gives him what he hopes is a warm, welcoming smile.

“Hey, Mark. Congratulations,” he says.

Mark returns his smile, but it’s just as anxious as it is happy.

“Thanks. I just wanted to come thank you in person. You know, for giving me this chance. I know I’m not a particularly…traditional choice for the role.”

“Well, I’m not a particularly traditional guy.”

“You have no idea how much it means to me, Mr. Hummel. There aren’t a lot of parts out there for someone like me. I mean, the only lead I’ve ever even had a chance at before now was when my eighth grade class did Othello. And that’s only because I was the only black guy who tried out.”

Kurt laughs. Mark’s eyes light up in response.

“Believe me, I get it,” says Kurt. “When I was in high school, I tried out for the lead West Side Story with a Barbra Streisand song. Needless to say, I did not get the part.”

Mark rolls his eyes, but there’s something private and almost fond about it. The smile he directs at Kurt is the most comfortable Kurt has seen from him.

“Let me guess – the part went to some devastatingly perfect tenor.”

Kurt swallows hard against the sudden lump in his throat. He swallows.

“You got it.”

Mark seems to sense the weird tension he unwittingly created. He clears his throat.

“Anyway, I just wanted – I should get going. Mrs. Watkins makes us improv when we’re late.”

Kurt nods his understanding.

“Better not risk it.”

“See you at rehearsal, Mr. Hummel,” Mark says quickly, as he leaves.

At this rate, Kurt half-expects Elise to show up with her own heartfelt words of gratitude before the day is over.

She does not.

She does flash him an extra-wide smile as she saunters into glee club, but Kurt suspects that’s more for Lisa’s benefit than for his. Lisa is not-so-quietly fuming over the fact that she got cast as Patty Simcox, and, given the bored looks her fellow glee clubbers are exchanging behind her back, probably has been since she found out this morning.

Kurt is not her favorite person right now.

“You could always put us all out of our misery and quit the play,” says Elise sweetly.

Lisa looks appalled at the suggestion.

“I would never do that! I’m a professional. You know what they say – there are no small parts, only small actors.”

“Except in your case, there are both.”

It’s at this point that Kurt intervenes. He needs them both to be intact.

He pulls Lisa aside after glee, as the rest of them head down to the auditorium for day one of Grease. She crosses her arms over her chest and looks up at him with her chin jutted in defiance. Or maybe suspicion. Her expression can’t seem to settle on just one.

“Look,” he says. “I get that you’re disappointed. I really do. But you’ve got to know that we cast you in that part because we knew you could make it great.”

She softens slightly.

“Really?”

“Well, yeah. In the hands of the right actress, it’s a total scene-stealer.”

She narrows her eyes.

“Are you sure it isn’t because…”

“Because what?”

“A lot of people seem to think Patty and I have a lot in common. You know, annoying know-it-alls who nobody wants to be around?”

Kurt doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He settles on, “Of course not. And I think you may be underestimating your peers.”

She snorts.

“Not likely.”

“Give them a chance to get to know you, and they might surprise you.”

“I don’t know, I think the problem is more that they don’t want to get to know me.”

She looks so sad, a rare moment of unguardedness.

“You know,” says Kurt gently. “One of the perks of having a supporting role is that you get a lot of free time. You’re practically forced to bond with your castmates.”

That inspires a weak smile. She still looks skeptical, but at least she isn’t glaring daggers at him anymore.

“If you say so,” she says.

Kurt will take it.

&&&&&

It isn’t long before the play is consuming almost every one of Kurt’s waking thoughts. If it isn’t vocals, it’s costume design, or set design, or helping Sally work out the kinks in her blocking. He feels useful. No, more than that – he feels needed. These kids, they look up to him, they admire him, they listen to him. He’s helping them.

It feels good.

The play is coming along nicely, too.

After a brief period of disgruntled grumbling in reaction to Mark’s casting, led by the three Ks, the cast has come together beautifully. It helps that Mark is both fairly popular amongst his castmates and undeniably talented. The resentment can’t hold out long against that. It also helps that Blaine slips into his role as leader as easily here as he seems to everywhere else in his life. The others look to him to take their cues, and Blaine’s excitement at having Mark as his co-star is nearly tangible.

“It really does bring out a fresh socio-political perspective on the piece, doesn’t it?” he says one day as he helps Kurt choose fabrics for the Pink Ladies’ jackets. They’re in the choir room, lingering after rehearsal. They might be the only ones left in the building.

Blaine is perched on the piano, legs dangling over the edge. Kurt has to look up to meet his eyes.

“I like to think so,” says Kurt. He smiles. It comes out crooked.

Blaine smiles brightly in return.

“See, this is why we need someone like you,” he says. “I swear, most of the faculty is stuck in, like, the nineties.” He wrinkles his nose. It’s adorable.

“Hey, I was born in the nineties. We’re not exactly talking ancient times.”

“Oh, I know – and believe me, I don’t think of you like that at all. I’m just saying, I appreciate that you’ve somehow managed to pull the Titans into the 21^st century.”

“Well, I’ve been trying since I was a student here myself. It had to work eventually. What do you think?” Kurt holds up a sample of baby pink satin that he’s been admiring.

Blaine narrows his eyes, considering.

“Too soft. The color, I mean. It looks like the party favors at a baby shower.”

“Not exactly what we’re going for.”

“Not exactly. It needs to be bold. Fierce.”

Kurt nods his agreement. He turns back to his samples, sneaking a peek at Blaine out of the corner of his eye. He takes in the dark, muted palette of Blaine’s outfit. Olive greens, dark browns, a hint of burgundy in the stripe of his belt. Colors that complement his skin tone and bring out the full spectrum of his lovely eyes. The boy clearly knows his way around a color wheel. There’s something, though, about the way he’s looking at those pinks. Something almost wistful.

“Mr. Hummel?” says Blaine, after a moment of comfortable silence. He sounds suddenly tentative.

“Yes, Blaine?” says Kurt, doing his best to seem warm and attentive. Blaine is looking down at his hands, deliberately avoiding Kurt’s gaze.

“Have you ever…been in a romantic relationship with a co-star?”

That’s just about the last thing Kurt was expecting. He gapes, trying to get a hold on the wild surging of his blood.

“That’s – I – ”

Blaine looks up quickly, seems to sense Kurt’s irrational panic.

“I’m sorry, that was so inappropriate. I didn’t – you don’t have to answer that.”

“No, it’s – it’s fine. Can I ask what brought this up?”

Blaine looks away again, clearly embarrassed.

“It’s nothing. Just – I don’t know, I think Mark might – you know, like me, I guess. I’ve never been in this situation before, and I thought maybe…” He trails off. There’s a hint of color in his cheeks.

Kurt breathes in, calming.

“I don’t know if I should – I mean, I’m glad that you feel comfortable enough to come to me with these things, but – don’t you think your mother might be a better person to talk to?”

It’s a cop-out, Kurt knows. It wouldn’t truly be outside his bounds as a mentor figure to play sounding board for Blaine’s boy problems, and, if Blaine’s experience growing up in Lima, Ohio has been anything like Kurt’s, he’s probably pretty short on confidants who can truly relate to his experiences. Kurt’s just not sure he can handle it.

Blaine laughs shortly.

“My mother is the last person I want giving me advice on my love life.”

“What about your – ”

“My father hasn’t been in the picture since I was four years old. So that’s a no.”

It’s too bitter to be matter-of-fact, but he does try.

“Oh,” says Kurt dumbly. He should have known – he should have recognized the way Blaine’s stories never seemed to include his father.

“I’m sorry,” says Blaine. “I shouldn’t expect – I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Can we please just forget about this and go back to fabric samples?”

Blaine smiles, but it’s nothing but a cover for his mortification.

Kurt could kick himself.

“No. Listen, Blaine, I’m the one who should be apologizing. You caught me off-guard, is all. Let’s start over. So – Mark likes you?”

Blaine’s eyes flicker over Kurt’s face, as if checking his sincerity. He relaxes after a moment.

“I think so. He hasn’t said anything, but – I don’t know, it might just be character bleed.”

Kurt’s pretty sure it isn’t. He’s seen it since day one, the way Mark looks at Blaine as if he’s something miraculous.

“Do you like him?”

Blaine blinks. He looks a little lost.

“I – I don’t know. I guess I haven’t thought that far. I’ve been so worried about what it might mean for the play – you know, if we started dating. And then there’s the fact that we’re about two months from graduation, and I don’t know if there’s even a point to starting something now when we’ll just be going our separate ways in a few months anyway, and I’ve got so much on my plate right now that I would hardly have time for a boyfriend at all, and that certainly wouldn’t be fair to him. If that’s even what he wants.”

He looks so stressed about the whole thing that Kurt wants to pull him down for a hug.

He refrains.

“I think you may be getting a little bit ahead of yourself, Blaine.”

Blaine meets his eyes. It’s clearly an act of trust. Kurt resolves himself to deserve it.

“First, you need to figure out how you feel about him,” says Kurt. “The rest will fall into place.”

“As easy as that, huh?”

“Well, no. Nothing about love is easy. But if that’s where you see this going, it will be worth it.”

Blaine drinks this in. He swallows. Kurt can practically see his pulse pounding in his throat. He himself is starting to feel a tad light-headed. He looks away.

“What about the play?” says Blaine. “I wouldn’t want to mess things up, not when so many people have put their faith in me. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“You won’t. You couldn’t.”

Blaine looks skeptical.

“Look,” says Kurt. “To answer your question, yes – I have dated co-stars in the past. None of those relationships went anywhere special, and okay, there might have been some weirdness when they ended, but you shouldn’t let the possibility of that stop you from following your heart. You’re a person first, Blaine. Your first responsibility is to yourself.”

“That’s – that’s really good advice, Mr. Hummel.” Blaine sounds dangerously close to breathless. A shiver runs up the full length of Kurt’s spine. He would swear the hair on the back of his neck stands up on end. Blaine is so open right now.

Kurt clears his throat. He picks up the sample closest to his fingers, a deep blushing rose.

“What about this?” he says.

“I like it,” Blaine says hesitantly. “It’s romantic.”

“But maybe not quite right?”

“I don’t know. Put it in the maybe pile?”

Kurt does. He really hopes that Blaine doesn’t see the way his fingers shake.

&&&&&

Before Kurt knows it, there are only three weeks left to opening, and just over a month until Nationals. The New Directions are starting to get a little anxious about preparing their set, but Kurt knows they haven’t hit their sweet spot yet, that if they start now, they’ll just be over-practiced and flat by the time they hit the stage in New York.

Sam has started to feel it, too, apparently. He calls Kurt at least three times a week with setlist suggestions, each more “genius” than the last. Kurt has started letting him go to voicemail.

It’s over his dead body that they’ll be doing Blake Shelton for their opening number.

For now, Kurt is content to continue focusing his energies on Grease. They’re scheduled to have their very first off-book run-through today, with an attempt at full choreography. Jessica is here, poised with her phone open to some sort of note-taking app, thumbs at the ready. Sally is still backstage going over notes with the kids she’s recruited to mime set changes. Kurt is itching with the urge to do something, feels like he must be missing some sort of last-minute detail, but he’s already led the cast in vocal warm-ups, and confirmed that the accompanist has the latest sheet music updates, and made sure that Elise understands the importance of taking vocal rest until her cold has well and truly passed.

“No offense, Mr. Hummel,” she said, “but that’s just silly. If I were on Broadway, I wouldn’t be taking the week off over some stupid cold. Rachel Berry performed through a month-long case of pneumonia when she was in Jane Austen Sings, and she never missed a note.”

Kurt just barely refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Okay, first of all, it was a 48-hour stomach flu, and Rachel was on a co*cktail of meds strong enough to reanimate a dead corpse. Second of all, you’re not on Broadway, you’re in a high school production of Grease. And there is no way that I, as both your vocal director and a person who cares about your well-being, am going to allow you to give yourself vocal nodules over the delusion that you aren’t a real actor if you can’t tough it out.”

It was almost comical how quickly she agreed after that.

Now, all he has left to do is wait.

“Kurt!” he hears. He looks up to find Sally motioning him over, brow furrowed deeply in what could be either worry or stress, it’s hard to tell at this distance. Kurt hurries up to the stage, where she meets him. The wisps of hair corkscrewing haphazardly around her face only serve to make her appear more harried.

“What’s wrong?” he says, dozens of scenarios running through his head, each more outlandish than the last. He’s pretty sure that Blaise Favreau’s foot wasn’t crushed by an insecurely-fastened stage light.

“Have you heard from Blaine?” she says, and it’s clear now. She’s worried. Kurt relaxes in relief.

“He had that student council meeting, remember? Today is the prom theme vote. He said he’d be here in time for his first entrance at the latest.”

“I just called down to Susan for an ETA. She said he left fifteen minutes ago.”

Well, that is a bit concerning. Susan Kettlestone’s room is directly across from the auditorium – and even if it weren’t, it wouldn’t take longer than five minutes to walk here from any point in the school.

“Maybe he lost track of time or something. I have his number, I’ll give him a call.”

Sally nods, grateful. Kurt digs his cell phone out of his pocket and heads to a quiet corner of the auditorium.

The call goes straight to voicemail.

“Hi, Blaine, it’s K – Mr. Hummel. Hopefully you’re on your way to rehearsal and can disregard this message. If not, please give me or one of your castmates a call and let us know what’s going on. See you soon.”

Kurt is starting to feel a niggle of worry. This is completely uncharacteristic – Blaine is nothing if not the picture of responsibility.

He shoots off a text to the same effect, then sets about surveying the cast to see if anyone knows anything.

“I would have sworn he was right behind me,” says Leighton, their Cha-Cha, as she sinks into a deep stretch. “When he didn’t make it to the auditorium, I just figured he’d made a detour to warm up in the choir room.”

“I saw him like twenty minutes ago when I went out to the hall to fill my water bottle,” says José. “He was checking his phone. It was kind of weird. He stopped for a second, then turned around and totally just booked it down the hall. I figured he forgot something in his locker or something.”

Kurt deploys someone to the choir room, just in case, but he has a feeling he knows where Blaine ran off to.

“Hey, Sally, where can I find Blaine’s home address?” he says, without preamble.

“Is that where he is?”

“I’m not sure yet. I have a feeling – I think something may have come up. I just want to make sure everything’s okay.”

Sally doesn’t question it. She locates Blaine’s address with a few button touches and sends Kurt on his way.

“We’ll just workshop some scenes with Sandy and the girls,” she says. “Text me when you figure out what’s going on.”

Blaine’s address is one that Kurt recognizes – not because he’s been there before but because he passes by it every day on his way to school. It’s nearly equidistant between Kurt’s apartment and the school, probably a block and a half or so from the house Finn grew up in. Kurt could probably walk there in about ten minutes, but now really isn’t the time for a leisurely stroll.

Blaine’s car is alone in the drive when Kurt pulls up. It’s a fairly small duplex with a tiny front lawn that’s well on its way to going brown. There’s a drooping lilac bush next to the front stoop and a few stray dandelions poking up hopefully from the grass. A girlish, child-sized bike is leaning haphazardly against the garage.

Kurt rings the bell. It’s a standard-issue ding-dong, the kind that he himself had in his childhood home. He of course had it changed to something more melodic when they moved in with the Hudsons.

“Be there in a second!” Blaine calls, tone far too harassed to be considered truly polite.

The door swings open. The screen gets caught up in the backdraft and bangs slightly against its frame. Blaine freezes.

“Mr. Hummel,” he manages. His eyes are going steadily wider in horror. “Oh, god, I am so sorry. I didn’t – you didn’t – ”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah – yes, of course. I – I didn’t even think – I got a text from my sister as I was on my way to rehearsal. She’d been waiting for Mom to come pick her up for, like, 45 minutes, and no one seemed to be able to reach her. I meant to call from the car or something, but I don’t know, it must have slipped my mind, and then the battery somehow ran out on the way home. I didn’t mean to – I can’t believe I made you come all the way down here.”

Kurt offers a wry smile.

“The drive was less than five minutes.”

Blaine isn’t mollified in the least.

“Still. They needed you at rehearsal, and here you are, and – oh, god, they hate me, don’t they?”

“Nobody hates you. We were worried about you, that’s all.”

“I am so, so sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really. These things happen, Blaine. We all get that family comes first. Just – if it ever happens again, you should feel free to bring Caitlin along to rehearsal. I’m sure Mrs. Watkins wouldn’t mind.”

“Thank you. That’s – should we – now?”

“Oh – no, that’s fine. I think you’ve both probably had enough stress for the afternoon.”

Blaine nods, still a tad shame-faced. He bites his lip.

“Okay.”

Kurt can sense it, that itch Blaine has to make it better, to fix it, and the anxiety that comes from not knowing how.

“Tell you what,” offers Kurt. “Let me text Sa – Mrs. Watkins and let her know that she should go ahead and move forward with plan B. You have a piano or a keyboard or something, right?”

“Yeah,” says Blaine cautiously. “I have a keyboard in my room.”

“Perfect. We’ll have our own little rehearsal here. The rest of them won’t even miss us.”

Blaine’s mouth drops open in surprise. He quickly closes it, flushing with color.

“You want to rehearse here? Like, in my house? Where I live?”

“Unless that would make you uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s – that sounds great,” says Blaine quickly. “Come on in, and I’ll get everything set up.”

The house is nice inside, the kind of nice that comes from determination to make do with what you’ve got rather than a little plastic card. The curtains may be homemade, and the furniture may not match, but they were picked out by somebody with taste.

Blaine leads Kurt into the living room, picking up stray clutter along the way. There isn’t much of it – mismatched shoes, a scuffed-up soccer ball, someone’s neon green socks – just the detritus that tends to collect in a home that’s well lived-in. Blaine keeps glancing surreptitiously back at Kurt, as if afraid of Kurt’s judgment. Kurt wants nothing more than to rest a steady hand against his back, or take Blaine’s hand in his and give it a squeeze, or catch him by the arm, and look him in the eye, and…

“Go ahead and have a seat,” says Blaine, gesturing to the couch. “Um. I’ll be right back.”

He bustles away, pausing to straighten the stack of magazines on the coffee table.

Kurt pulls out his phone.

Found him, he types. There was a minor family emergency. Everyone is fine, but Blaine isn’t going to make it to rehearsal.

The reply comes quickly.

I’m glad everything’s okay! Are you on your way?

Staying here, actually. He felt bad about missing rehearsal, so we’re going to do some one-on-one vocals.

Oh. Okay. Well, no worries, we’ve got plenty to do here. See you tomorrow!

See you tomorrow.

Kurt turns his phone off, returns it to his pocket.

Now that Kurt is here, in Blaine’s space, where he lives and breathes and loves every day, where there are pictures of him as a little boy who grinned with abandon, and the scent of his hair is woven into the upholstery, he feels – it feels intimate. Maybe more than it should. And maybe this should make Kurt want to turn on his heels and run out the door, but all it really makes him want is to shut the world out.

A quiet shuffling noise catches Kurt’s attention. He turns to find a girl – Caitlin, he presumes – watching him from the dining room table. Her eyes are wide, impossibly huge behind bright green, thick-rimmed glasses. Her hair is dark and curly, yanked into rather uneven pigtails. Her skin tone is just a shade or two darker than Blaine’s. Kurt knows that Blaine and his sister aren’t biologically related, but looking at her, he would never have guessed it. It isn’t just her coloring or her round doe eyes, either. There’s something about the co*ck of her head that’s entirely Blaine.

“Hi,” says Kurt. “You must be Caitlin.”

He’s attempting to come across friendly and non-threatening, without crossing over into condescending, but his experience with kids this age is extremely limited. He has no idea whether or not he’s succeeding. He just keeps smiling.

She nods.

“I’m Blaine’s sister.”

“I know. Blaine’s told me a lot about you.”

“Oh. Who are you?”

Okay. The girl is direct. And entirely unflustered, it seems, by the appearance of a stranger on her living room couch.

“I’m Mr. Hummel. I coach glee at Blaine’s school.”

“Got it. So, you’re the new Sam.”

“What?”

“Sorry – Mr. Evans.” She rolls her eyes. “Blaine was, like, obsessed with him.”

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up before he’s even fully processed what she said. That’s – he’s not sure what to say to that. The idea that Blaine had a crush on Sam is honestly not shocking. Even at 34, Sam is practically the definition of crush-worthy, and Kurt knows that the relationship between him and Blaine was special. Kurt had his suspicions all along.

It’s the rest of what Caitlin is implying that’s got Kurt’s brain temporarily short-circuited.

He’s still groping around for a response when Blaine comes back in the room, lugging a keyboard in his arms.

“Here it is, it’ll just take me a second to – oh.” He stops short, gaze flicking between Caitlin and Kurt. “I’m sorry, where are my manners? I can’t believe I – this is my sister, Caitlin. Caitlin, Mr. Hummel.”

He makes the introduction quickly and bites his lip, as if afraid of what other social gaffes he might be capable of.

“We’ve met,” says Caitlin, matter-of-fact.

“Well, we’re going to be rehearsing in here, so you’d better grab your homework and do it in your room.”

“What are you rehearsing?”

“Grease.”

Caitlin pulls a face.

“Ugh, when are you going to put us out of our misery?”

“Never. You’re stuck with me. But I’ll try and hold off on Grease after opening night.”

Caitlin slides out of her chair and starts gathering up her materials.

“Gee, thanks, big brother.”

He grins and tweaks one of her pigtails.

“Sure thing, Cay-Cay.”

She bats at his hand.

“Don’t call me that. Are there any Oreos left?”

“This close to dinner? I think not.”

“You haven’t even started dinner, Blainey.”

“I don’t need to. You know Thursday is leftovers.”

He raises his eyebrows at her pointedly. She stares back, giving it her best puppy-dog pout, but Blaine holds steady. She sighs.

“Fine. I’ll be in my room. With ear plugs.”

Blaine rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Let me know if you need any help with your fractions,” he calls as she trudges down the hallway. “Sorry about that,” he says, turning to Kurt.

“It’s fine. It’s nice that you and your sister are so close.”

Blaine smiles wryly.

“Tell that to her.”

They make short work of setting up Blaine’s keyboard, shoving aside the coffee table to make room. The space is cramped, but the acoustics are surprisingly decent. Blaine plays through a few scales to test the volume. His fingers move deftly over the keys. It’s as natural to him as – well, as nothing is to Kurt. He had to work for every talent he possesses. There was a time when he was resentful at that, but he knows better now. Kurt Hummel is in control of his destiny, and that’s worth more than anything.

Kurt leads Blaine through a brief vocal warm-up, and then they jump right in to his big solo. They haven’t done much with it yet beyond finding the appropriate key and blocking the scene. With so many duets and group numbers, it’s been difficult to find the time to really work on solo stuff with any of his stars.

This time together is a gift.

Kurt takes over on piano so that Blaine is free to concentrate on the vocals. His skills are rusty, but he can sight-read well enough to play a simple accompaniment. He gives Blaine his opening chord, and then they’re off. Just Kurt, and Blaine, and Blaine’s voice filling the modest room.

Right away, Kurt can tell that Blaine feels uncomfortable with the higher sections. The tension in his shoulders and neck has him this close to straining for notes that are well within his range. Blaine doesn’t stop, though. He pushes through all the way to the end. Kurt lets him.

“Damn it,” mutters Blaine when the music stops. Kurt’s pretty sure he wasn’t meant to hear that.

“Hey, don’t worry,” says Kurt. “That was just the first time through. We’ll get you there.”

“And if not, maybe Caitlin will be willing to share her earplugs.”

Blaine laughs wryly. Kurt doesn’t join in.

“Come now, none of that. You’re not as far off as you think. You just need to relax and let it happen.”

Blaine meets his eyes, then, a dash of surprise flickering across his face. Kurt smiles, hopes it does enough to convince Blaine of his belief. Blaine smiles, too.

“Easier said than done.”

“Well, let’s start here,” Kurt says, reaching out to rest his hands on Blaine’s shoulders. Blaine flinches slightly when they make contact. Kurt pulls immediately back, startled at his reaction. They’ve touched plenty before, casual touches to shoulders and backs and hands, and even a hug, once, when Blaine aced a music theory exam and couldn’t contain his joy. Blaine never seemed anything but comfortable with it, seemed to seek it out, even. Still, Kurt feels it, too. He’s felt it since he walked in the door. Today is different. “Sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have – can I?”

Blaine nods hurriedly.

“Yes, of course. That wasn’t – I’m not normally – ”

“It’s fine, Blaine.”

Kurt keeps his touch light, and he holds Blaine’s eyes, raising his eyebrows in question. Blaine breathes in sharply. He nods, and relaxes.

“There you go,” murmurs Kurt. “You can hit those notes in your sleep. You just need to let go of this tension.”

He presses in a little deeper, digs into Blaine’s muscles so he can really feel what Kurt means. Blaine winces, but then he breathes into it. His muscles soften under Kurt’s fingers. His eyelashes flutter.

Kurt’s breath catches.

He lets go. He clears his throat.

“Ready to try it again?”

“Yeah,” says Blaine. There’s something slightly dazed about him, as if he’s only just woken up.

He blinks himself out of it and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, there’s been a shift. Everything about him, from his stance to the tilt of his head to the spark in his eye, is present. Here, now, in this moment. Fully committed to embodying the wounded swag of a secret romantic whose love has abandoned him for getting fresh.

He nods curtly. Kurt strikes the opening chord.

“Stranded at the drive-in,

Branded a fool,

What will they say

Monday at school?”

This time, Kurt stops him whenever he has corrections.

“Okay, that was a little under again. Try approaching the note from the top, rather than reaching up for it from the bottom.”

“Don’t be afraid of your break. You’re letting it control you. Aim for your nose and trust yourself.”

“We’re losing the end of that phrase. Do we need to think about moving your breath?”

“Let’s do that section again, but this time, make sure your catch breaths are coming from your gut. It’ll give you more air and stop those shoulders from creeping up.”

“This is it, this is the moment you’ve been building to! This is where you can really let loose and let your voice fly.”

Blaine takes direction beautifully. He looks at Kurt with those big trusting eyes of his, and he listens, and he does it. Without question, without holding back. By the fourth run-through, Kurt has nothing left to say except, “Flawless.”

Blaine grins. The last traces of his nerves faded long ago. All that remains is the bright glow of triumph.

“That was amazing,” he says. “I’ve never worked with someone who understood my voice like you do. You’re amazing.”

He grabs Kurt’s hand and squeezes it, a move that seems at most semi-conscious. It brings his body closer to Kurt’s. He smells of amber. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes a contrasting golden-green.

You take my breath away, Kurt’s brain supplies.

He removes his hand gently from Blaine’s.

“Just doing my job,” he says, and looks away.

There’s a momentary pause, a moment of tension that Kurt knows he created. There’s still too much adrenaline drumming his pulse to even consider breaking it.

“Can we run Summer Nights?” says Blaine, finally. “I don’t feel like I’ve really nailed the timing of the verses yet.”

“We should probably wait for Mark to work on that, don’t you think?”

“I thought – I mean, you could sing Sandy’s part, right?”

Kurt looks at him. He’s so hopeful.

“I do have the range for it.”

Blaine’s smile lights up.

“I know.”

It’s a mistake. Kurt knows it’s a mistake, but he can’t say no. It’s been so long.

Kurt has sung plenty of duets since Blaine. With friends and competitors and friends-who-are-competitors (a group consisting mostly of Rachel), with co-stars and guys he was seeing, even with his father one memorable night after he’d had one too many beers. Not one of them made him feel the way that singing with Blaine always did, since that first duet, when all Kurt wanted to do was turn off that stupid boom box and give him the world’s most passionate kiss. With Blaine, it was – Kurt used to say that duetting to the right song was better than sex. The connection they had was that intense.

This feels the same.

Their effortless give and take, the way their voices sound twined together in the air between them, it’s so familiar. It sends a shiver down his spine and a sweet ache straight to his heart. They aren’t Sandy and Danny right now, or teacher and student. They’re Kurt and Blaine.

Kurt is lost in it – lost to it. Lost to Blaine’s eyes, lost to that feeling he remembers so painfully and never thought he’d have again.

The song ends far too soon, on one last devastating harmony. Blaine is too close, and Kurt is too far gone. Blaine is breathing hard, and his lips are parted, and his eyes keep wandering down to Kurt’s mouth. He looks hungry.

“Blaine,” says Kurt, helpless.

The door slams. Blaine practically leaps back in surprise, his calf banging against the coffee table with a brutal thump.

Kurt is grateful – he couldn’t have broken the moment on his own.

“Blaine!” calls a voice, a woman’s voice. It must be his mother. She sounds frantic.

“In here, Mom!”

Kurt runs his hand over his hair and down the front of his shirt. It’s inane. He wasn’t doing anything that would cause him to appear rumpled. There’s no need to act like a guilty teenager, he scolds himself.

Mrs. Johnson comes into view. She’s a tiny Latina woman of early middle age, probably no more than a few years older than Kurt. She’s dressed in loose, blue scrubs and a pair of white sneakers that have seen better days. Her hair is pulled into a severe ponytail. Wisps are starting to rebel at her temples, adding to her overall frazzled appearance.

She goes immediately to Blaine. She takes his face in her hands and pulls him down to plant a kiss on his forehead.

“Oh, thank god. I was so worried when I got your messages.”

“You were worried?” Blaine says incredulously. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

“I did, honey! Your phone must be off, because it went straight to voicemail.”

“Probably because it ran out of battery while I was trying to get in touch with you! Caitlin waited for you for almost an hour, I hope you know. I had to miss my rehearsal because of you!”

“I’m sorry, Blaine. There was an emergency, there was nothing I could do.”

“There’s always an emergency! You work in the ER!”

“I know. That’s why I’m so grateful to have such a responsible son.”

She raises her eyebrows. Blaine sighs. The heat of his anger seems to cool.

“You could have told Whitney or someone to call me.”

“I know, and I should have. But by the time I realized how late it was, it was too late.”

Blaine nods, accepting this. He glances over at Kurt. Mrs. Johnson follows his gaze.

“And who is this?” she says, looking him up and down. Kurt can’t tell from her expression what she makes of him.

“Mom, this is Mr. Hummel. He’s subbing for Mr. Evans while he’s in Kentucky. Remember, I told you about him?”

Realization dawns over her face. She smiles politely.

“It’s nice to meet you Mr. Hummel. My name is Angela.”

“Kurt.”

He offers a hand to shake, and she obliges.

“Mr. Hummel came over to check up on me when I didn’t show up to rehearsal,” Blaine supplies quickly. “We’ve been working on vocals here, since I couldn’t leave Caitlin on her own.”

This last is a tad pointed. Angela doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Ah,” she says, smile warming. “Well, that was very kind of you. I see Blaine isn’t exaggerating when he speaks so highly of you.”

“Mom,” hisses Blaine in warning.

“Will you joining us for dinner, Kurt?”

That pulls Blaine up short. He turns his full attention to Kurt, looks at him with those big, hopeful puppy dog eyes. They’re much more effective than Caitlin’s.

Kurt feels overwhelmed. His heart and his brain are pulling him every which way, and never in the same direction. He thinks about what happened, what was in the midst of happening when Angela walked through the door, and he feels slightly sick.

“Sorry,” he says, smiling stiffly. “I’m expected at my father’s tonight.”

Blaine seems to deflate. If Angela notices, she doesn’t betray it.

“Oh, well,” she says. “Maybe another time.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll go find Caitlin and let the two of you finish up. It was a pleasure to meet you, Kurt.”

“Likewise.”

Angela pats Blaine fondly on the cheek and heads down the hall.

“So,” says Blaine, glancing at Kurt and away again. “That was my mom. Sorry you had to see the family drama.”

“Don’t worry about it, Blaine. We all have it.”

Blaine smiles gratefully.

“Thanks. I mean, for everything. This afternoon was really great.”

“It was my pleasure. I should probably – ” Words failing him, Kurt gestures toward the front door.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. You wouldn’t want to keep your dad waiting.”

There’s one more charged moment between them, when Kurt turns to say goodbye, only to find Blaine leaning in for a hug. Kurt thumps him on the back, turning it into the most awkward bro hug in history. All he wants to do is to pull him close.

“Take care,” says Kurt, and then he’s gone. He sits in the car for a full minute trying to calm his heart before he feels safe enough to start the ignition.

He gets himself under control.

He goes home.

&&&&&

Kurt is even more of a recluse than usual that weekend. He holes up in his apartment marathoning I Love Lucy and doing his best to put what happened on Friday out of his mind.

Blaine is his student. Who may or may not be of age. Even thinking about Blaine in the way his heart seems to want him to would be a violation of trust. And that is something that Kurt will absolutely not let himself do.

Sally texts him on Saturday to invite him to dinner. Kurt texts back a polite but firm no. He lets calls from his dad and Sam and even Mercedes, who he hasn’t talked to in months, go to voicemail. Eventually, he texts his dad, Working all weekend, so he won’t worry and follow up his calls with a visit. He hates lying to his dad, he really does, but he needs this.

It’s nice, not having to worry about anything but Lucy Ricardo and her hijinks.

Kurt manages to keep his bubble of isolation intact until Sunday evening. The reality of Monday is starting to loom large, and he’s maybe kind of considering removing his butt from its very comfortable indentation on the couch in order to put together tomorrow’s lunch. His phone buzzes.

He sighs, and picks it up. It’s a text from Rachel.

Facetime, ASAP!!!!!!, it reads.

Rachel isn’t one to abuse exclamation points without good reason. The news is either totally amazing or completely catastrophic and, either way, is far too big to be contained.

Kurt’s bubble is officially popped.

He opens up the app and gives her a call before the mourning can set in.

She answers almost immediately. Her face pops up, skin green with face mask and hair up in a messy bun. Her eyes are wide – crazy wide.

“Kurt!” she greets. She may actually be vibrating.

“Rachel! What’s – ”

“Wicked is coming back to Broadway!” It bursts out of her, so quickly that it takes Kurt a moment to process what she said.

“What? That’s – ”

“Jesse and his production team just finalized the deal. We’re opening early next spring.”

“Wait, ‘we’?”

Rachel grins, too happy to play coy.

“Didn’t I tell you? You’re looking at Miss Elphaba herself!”

She preens for the camera. Kurt can’t help but laugh.

“What can I say? You look the part already.”

Rachel joins in his laughter, flakes of green shedding from the corner of her smile.

“Green does rather suit me, doesn’t it?”

“It always has. Congratulations, Rach. No one deserves it more.”

“Oh, Kurt. I really wish I could hug you now.”

He shoots her an air kiss instead. She catches it on her cheek and shoots one right back.

“So,” says Kurt. “I’m guessing Jesse has already cast himself as Fiyero?”

“Well, of course. Who else?”

Kurt just raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, come on,” she says. “You know very well that you and I have zero romantic stage chemistry.” It’s unfortunate but admittedly true. “Besides, there’s still a part open that’s perfect for you.”

She waggles her eyebrows, but Kurt’s excitement is already draining.

“Please tell me you don’t mean Boq.”

“Why not? I know it’s not a lead role, but since when does that matter?”

That, coming from Rachel’s mouth, is laughable. Kurt doesn’t laugh.

“That’s not the issue.”

“Then what is the issue? It’s Wicked!”

“He’s just – he’s so – ”

“What? Funny? Tragic? Perfectly suited to your sensibilities?”

“Boring, actually.”

“So you’ll make him interesting.”

“Why are you insisting on this, Rachel?”

“Because this is our dream! Don’t you remember that day at the Gershwin, the first time we came to New York together? Singing with you on that stage, that was the first time it ever felt real to me. I need you, Kurt.” She hesitates. “And – and I think you might need this.”

Kurt rolls his eyes.

“I’m doing fine.”

“You’re in Ohio, coaching our old glee club. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she adds hastily, heading off Kurt’s indignance. “Honestly, it was admirable of you to step in like that, and I remember how rewarding it can be. But I know that you never would have agreed if you hadn’t been feeling so…stuck. This could be something really good, Kurt.”

She seems utterly sincere, in the way that only Rachel can, but still. Something about this prickles.

“Are you sure this isn’t because…”

“Because what?”

“Because – well, the Tin Man, he’s pretty famous for lacking a heart.”

Rachel looks stricken.

“Oh, Kurt, no, I would never think that. Of course not. I know you’re only protecting yourself because – well, didn’t it turn out that the Tin Man had the biggest heart of all?”

“Rachel – ”

“I want you to be happy, Kurt. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Kurt could be petty and point out the numerous times in the early days of their friendship that this was absolutely, irrefutably not the case.

“I know,” he says, and he does.

They share a smile.

“Please, just think about it?” says Rachel after a moment. “The part is yours if you want it. I mean, the producers will probably want to hear you sing, but that’s really just a formality.”

“I don’t know, Rachel. Even if I wanted to do it, I kind of have my hands full here. I can’t just leave these kids high and dry.”

Rachel waves a hand, as if batting his objection away.

“That won’t be a problem, trust me. They’ve barely even started the casting process. We won’t be rehearsing until summer at the earliest.”

Kurt sighs.

“I’ll think about it,” he concedes.

Rachel squeals. She sounds uncannily like her six-year-old daughter upon receiving a Princess Aurora dress on her last birthday.

“Oh, this is going to be so amazing!” she says.

Kurt laughs.

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Yet. I know you can’t resist the siren call of Stephen Schwartz.”

“He has always been one of my favorite Stephens.”

Rachel hums her agreement, settling back against the mountain of pillows on her bed. The angle gives her a bit of a double chin. Kurt smiles fondly.

“So,” she says. “How is Grease coming along?”

“It’s great. Miles ahead of any production we did in high school.”

Rachel feigns offense.

“How dare you? I’ll have you know that my portrayal of Maria was ‘transcendent,’ according to reviews.”

“According to which review exactly? The blurb your dad wrote up in the JCC newsletter?”

“It counts.”

“If that makes you feel better.”

“So, I suppose you haven’t gotten any backlash about your, shall we say, nontraditional casting?”

“Apart from a few spurned Sandys, we haven’t heard a peep.”

“I guess McKinley really has come a long way.”

“I guess so.”

“And how are things with, um, Blaine?” She bites her lip, clearly worried about broaching this subject. Kurt has to look away. “I know how…unsettled you were. It can’t be easy, working with him so closely.”

“Things are fine. Now that I’ve gotten to know him…I feel silly about the whole thing, honestly. I was over-reacting.”

“Did you ever find out…?”

She trails off. She’s being vague, careful, but Kurt knows what she’s asking.

“He’s adopted, doesn’t know anything about his birth parents. So I guess I’m just assuming you were right, and he’s Cooper’s kid, or he’s some sort of distant Anderson relative. It doesn’t matter, honestly.”

Rachel smiles, but Kurt can tell that some of the brightness is false.

“Well, that’s great,” she says.

“You don’t have to worry, Rach. I had my meltdown, I dealt with it, and I’m fine. Better than fine. I’m happy.”

It’s close enough to true. Truer than it was those last few months in New York, anyway.

Rachel’s smile softens.

“Well, you can count on me to be there on opening night. With bells on.”

“Flowers might be more appropriate.”

“Those too.”

“Thanks. It really means a lot. There are more than a few kids who may actually die when they realize you’re in the audience.”

Rachel grins.

“Then we’ll just have to make sure it’s a surprise.”

They chat for a few more minutes, catching up on the twins’ latest exploits. They apparently spent the entire week corralling their classmates into staging a production of The Wizard of Oz in the Berry-St. James living room. Tony was a very enthusiastic Wicked Witch of the West. Audrey played Toto.

“It was very professional,” says Rachel proudly. “Considering their limited rehearsal time, of course.”

Kurt is sure it was. He would expect no less from the spawn of the two most ambitious people he knows.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he says.

“It’s already up on YouTube.”

&&&&&

When Kurt goes to sleep that night, he dreams.

Rachel is there, in pigtails and gingham, arm linked through Kurt’s. A faceless impression of a man stands in front of them. He seems to be made of straw.

“Give him your heart,” says Rachel. She blinks her wide eyes, all mannered innocence. “It’s the only way you’ll ever know true happiness. Open yourself to him.”

“I can’t,” says Kurt. His jaw is creaking.

“Why not?”

He raps a fist against his chest. It’s harder to manage than it should be. His arm feels so stiff. The resulting sound is metallic, hollow, like banging against the side of an empty garbage can.

“I don’t know where it is. I gave it away, I think. When I was a boy.”

“Oh, no, I’m sure you’re wrong. You just haven’t looked hard enough.”

That specter of a scarecrow nods his head in agreement. He remains otherwise still. He doesn’t make a sound.

“Here,” says Rachel, brightly, sounding suddenly more like herself. Kurt turns to look at her. She’s holding some sort of electric saw, the kind Kurt’s father uses to cut down scrap metal. “I’ll help you.”

She turns on the saw with the flick of a button. It buzzes horrifically. Kurt knows he should run, but he can’t. He’s stuck. He can only watch as Rachel brings the saw lovingly to his silver barrel chest. Sparks fly into her face as she makes contact. He can’t tell if the screeching he hears is coming from the saw or from his own throat.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

His alarm wakes him before he can figure it out.

Chapter 3: Prom

Chapter Text

Kurt finds himself avoiding Blaine that week – or, rather, avoiding being alone with Blaine. He hasn’t even begun to wrap his head around what happened on Friday. The only thing that’s clear is that it can never happen again.

If Blaine notices, he doesn’t let on. Prom is two weeks away, so his student council responsibilities have suddenly skyrocketed anyway. He begs out of his TA duties before Kurt has the chance to bring it up.

“Thank you so much for understanding,” he says. “I’m not normally one to back out of my commitments, but you wouldn’t believe how much there is to do. I mean, I think I might literally kill right now for a decent DJ who’s remotely in our price range.”

He’s got a touch of the crazy eyes. Kurt’s instinct is to ground him with a touch to the hand. He clasps his own hands instead, tightly enough that his knuckles turn bone-white.

“It’s no problem. I get it. You just worry about making your prom fabulous.”

By mid-morning, prom fever has officially stricken the student body of McKinley High. The theme – vintage – is revealed during the morning announcements to great éclat. The hallways are soon plastered with posters featuring the likes of Marilyn Monroe and Cary Grant and Madonna in her “Like a Virgin” era. The upperclassmen are suddenly so busy planning prom proposals and putting together outfits that it’s a struggle to get them to focus for more than two seconds. The lowerclassmen aren’t much better, either rolling their eyes jealously or joining the chatter to live vicariously, but either way not thinking at all about the choreography for this week’s group performance.

Kurt needs to figure out how to harness this energy for good.

It hits him one day as he passes by the principal’s office. What would Mr. Schue do? he finds himself thinking idly. It isn’t a common refrain for him – he’s more likely to think something along the lines of What do I wish Mr. Schue had done? when making decisions about the New Directions – but he really is at a loss. Not even Lisa was putting any effort into finding her harmonies during yesterday’s rehearsal.

The answer is obvious. Prom performances.

Will agrees with the proudest of grins, and makes it clear that he’ll issue a mandate if the student council puts up a fuss.

“Oh, no, that’s – I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” says Kurt hurriedly. Will just smiles congenially, in a way that makes Kurt think maybe the message didn’t quite go through. Will has thus far been generously hands-off when it comes to the New Directions, but Kurt is well aware of the dangerous effects of nostalgia.

It turns out not to be an issue. The student council is mostly just relieved to resolve their entertainment crisis.

“As long as we get final set list approval,” adds Leighton.

It seems like a fair compromise.

The New Directions respond to the idea with mixed reviews. The lowerclassmen are uniformly ecstatic, while the upperclassmen seem torn between excitement at the opportunity to be in the spotlight and annoyance at having to take time away from their dates.

“It’s a time-honored New Directions tradition,” says Kurt in the face of their protests. “And trust me, if memory serves, your prom dates will be anything but disappointed to watch you strut your stuff in formal wear.”

That shuts them up well enough for now.

It seems that the art of prom proposing has become something of a competitive sport in the years since Kurt attended his own senior prom. If it isn’t a courtyard serenade, it’s a banner in the cafeteria, or a skywriter, or an actual goddamn carrier pigeon who was absolutely not fed glitter before being set free.

Kurt shouldn’t be surprised – he went to a performing arts school, he knows how quickly drama can breed. He gets it, honestly. He remembers a time when the idea of asking someone to prom, or, even better, getting asked to prom via some big, dramatic gesture seemed like the height of romance. Of course, it didn’t happen like that for him, not the way he had fantasized about. Both times, it was small, intimate, a moment just for them.

It still felt just as romantic.

All things considered, Kurt should know what to expect when Mark takes the stage on Friday, right as rehearsal is about to start. He strides right to center stage, clears his throat nervously, and waits for everyone to quiet down. Kurt and Sally exchange a look, coming to a silent agreement – let’s see where this is going.

“I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” says Mark. His voice has a somewhat strangled quality. “But, um, I think being in this show, playing this character, has taught me a lot about going after what you want. Even if it makes you uncomfortable.” He takes a deep breath and smiles tightly. “It’s worth it.”

He looks right at Blaine, sitting front row center. His smile softens.

Finally, Kurt gets it. He steadfastly ignores the sinking of his heart.

“So, um, here it goes,” finishes Mark lamely, nodding offstage. Music blasts through the speakers. Leighton and Lisa scurry out, dressed to the nines in disco chic that was clearly assembled last-minute from the costume closet.

“You can dance, you can jive,

Having the time of your life
See that girl, watch that scene,

Digging the dancing queen…”

The cast starts to laugh as they recognize the song. Kurt can only see the back of Blaine’s head. He sits up straighter, moves forward in his seat.

Mark relaxes more and more as the performance goes on, hamming up the disco moves and working the crowd like a pro. He’s got most of them singing along and dancing in their seats. Even tone-deaf Sally seems unable to resist.

He reels Blaine up on stage for the final chorus.

“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen,” he sings, leading Blaine in a little spin.

Kurt can see it, in the way Mark looks at him and the way he holds his hand – Mark adores Blaine. This means everything to him. It’s hard for him to show that, especially here, in front of a room full of their peers, but he’s doing it anyway.

Kurt has to admire that.

He smiles when it’s over, and applauds, because what else can he do? Blaine looks delighted. Awestruck, even, like he doesn’t quite believe this is happening to him. He might even be a little choked up.

“So, Blaine,” says Mark, a tad breathless. “In case you couldn’t tell, this is my way of telling you I’d like nothing more than to be your dance partner at prom. And, um, your date. If that wasn’t obvious. Will you go to the prom with me?”

He’s smiling so hopefully, and his heart is probably pounding a mile a minute.

Blaine’s gaze flickers out to the audience for the briefest of moments. He nods.

“Yeah. That’s – I’d love to.”

Mark’s entire face lights up.

“Oh! That’s great! I – thank you.”

Blaine smiles.

“No, thank you. For, um, this.” He gestures vaguely at the now-empty stage.

“Kiss him!” someone yells. It’s a boy’s voice, but Kurt can’t tell whose. A wave of approving cheers moves through the cast.

Mark looks caught off-guard. His jaw drops open, as if the idea of it is terrifying. It’s pretty adorable, considering that they kiss onstage several times a week.

Blaine leans up for a tight hug instead, and the auditorium breaks into applause. Mark seems slightly dazed by the whole thing.

Sally stands up and lets out a piercing whistle. The cast quiets instantly. Mark and Blaine practically jump apart.

“Okay, people, let’s shake a leg! No more shenanigans, unless you’re keen to hang here with us until after dark.”

Just like that, they’re scurrying to their places for the top of the show.

It’s another full run-through today, and Kurt is pleased to hear evidence of the hard work they’ve put in this week, in spite of distractions. The show has a few rough patches, but they’re exactly where they need to be two weeks before opening.

Mark is on fire today, for reasons that are obvious when Kurt thinks about it. He seems lighter, less restrained, more vulnerable. His connection to Sandy just seems to click. The rest of the cast’s performances are elevated, too, through some kind of trickle-down magic. Blaine has more swagger, Elise’s Rizzo has never been saltier, and Kurt would swear José’s teeth actually sparkle as he holds out the final note of “Beauty School Dropout.”

It’s past 6:00 by the time they finish going over notes. Kurt hurries out, leaving final clean-up duty to Sally so that he has time to run home and pick up the cookies he made for dessert for Friday night dinner.

“Go ahead,” she says. “It would do my husband good to be in charge of a meal for once in his life.”

Kurt has nearly made it home before he realizes he left his notebook in the auditorium. He would consider leaving it for Monday, but he was planning on getting some work done on the costumes this weekend, and all of his sketches are in there. He sighs, makes a slightly illegal U-turn, and heads back to school.

There’s still one car left in the lot. He expects to find Sally finishing up in the auditorium, or maybe taking advantage of the quiet to tweak the lighting cues or something. As he approaches, though, he hears the shuffling sound of character shoes moving over the stage.

It’s Blaine, in the middle of a move that Kurt remembers has been giving him some trouble. He stops short and runs a hand through his hair.

“Damn it,” he mutters.

“It’s the hips,” says Kurt. He could kick himself. He can see his notebook, sitting right where he left it at the podium. He could have snuck in and grabbed it without Blaine even noticing, preoccupied as he is with his footwork.

Blaine’s head shoots up. He squints through the stage lights.

“Mr. Hummel?”

“Your hips are too stiff. That’s why you keep falling half a beat behind. You’re trying to force it. If you loosen your hips, it will just happen.”

Blaine nods, considering.

“Can you…show me, maybe?” he says.

“Oh, god no. You don’t want that, believe me. I may know what it takes to execute complex choreography, but my body certainly does not.”

Blaine raises his eyebrows skeptically.

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“You’re very sweet. But you’ve also never seen me dance.”

Blaine ducks his head, bashful smile at his lips. It only reinforces Kurt’s point. Kurt takes an involuntary step closer. He stops himself.

“Well, thank you for the advice anyway,” says Blaine. “Um, I didn’t realize you were still here.”

“I forgot my notebook.”

“Oh.”

“Is Mrs. Watkins still here?”

“Oh, no, it’s just me. She said I could use the stage as long as I turned out the lights before I left.”

Kurt nods.

“Congratulations, by the way,” he says before the silence between them can get too heavy.

Blaine narrows his eyes in confusion.

“Prom?” Kurt prompts patiently.

“Oh, right. Yes, thank you. It should be fun.”

“I’m sure it will be.”

“Are you going? As a chaperone, I mean. Of course.”

“I don’t – I suppose I probably should. Since I’m forcing the glee kids to perform and all. It would only be fair.”

He doesn’t know what he’s saying. There are a million reasons he shouldn’t set foot near prom, and only some of them have anything to do with the boy on that stage. But he can’t take it back, not when Blaine is smiling like that.

“Great. I guess I’ll be able to check out your dance moves after all.”

His tone is approaching the edge of something dangerous. He’s looking up at Kurt through his eyelashes. It shouldn’t be possible, not when he’s on stage and is, in fact, several feet taller than Kurt at the moment, but he does.

Kurt swallows. He grabs his notebook and manages a tight smile.

“Don’t stay too late,” he says.

&&&&&

“Hey Mr. Hummel, having fun?”

He is not, but he also can’t bring himself to burst Lisa’s giddy bubble. She actually kind of looks like a bubble, decked out in blue-green taffeta that’s been ruched within an inch of its life.

“You guys sound really great up there,” he says, and that, at least, is the truth.

“I’m here with Aiden,” she says. Kurt knows. Lisa made sure that everyone she so much as made eye contact with in the last week knew. “He’s getting me some punch.”

“It seems like you two are having a great time.”

She actually blushes. Kurt nearly does a double-take.

“We are,” she says earnestly. “I really should thank you, you know. He wouldn’t have looked at me twice if we hadn’t been forced into close proximity so often at rehearsal.” She glances over her shoulder. “Ooh, here he comes!”

She smiles brightly at Kurt and whips around to meet Aiden halfway. Her skirt swishes around her feet. It’s a miracle she doesn’t trip.

Kurt stays right where he’s been all night, stationed by the stage. As music coordinator, he needs to be on hand should anything go wrong. It’s a very important job, and has nothing at all to do with Sally’s latent Yente tendencies.

“You know, Jonathan is going to be there,” she told him earlier that week, deliberately casual. It was mere seconds after finding out that Kurt had volunteered as chaperone.

“Jonathan?”

“You know, dashingly handsome music theory teacher? Very gay, very single, and very ready to mingle.”

She waggled her eyebrows. Kurt didn’t bite.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh, come on. I know you’re going back to New York in June, but what’s a little distance in the face of true love?”

“I’m not interested.”

“Just promise me you’ll let me introduce you.”

“No, Sally,” he said firmly.

She got off his back after that, but there was a distinctly calculating gleam in her eye when she saw him arrive dateless this evening.

He thinks fondly of the days when she thought of him as a celebrity. Not that he doesn’t enjoy dissecting reality television with her over lunch, but he already has one too many meddlesome friends trying to insert their Midwestern values into his love life. Yes, in high school he was certain that he’d be married by thirty or die of shame, but he’s grown up since then. He isn’t withering away, hoping for some man to come sweep him out of the shadows. He’s not an incomplete person just because he hasn’t found someone to hold his hand.

He glances at his watch. He’s been here for two hours. It must be time for prom court soon.

They’re in a performance break now, giving the guy they hired as between-set DJ something to do. He’s pretty much just letting a Top 40 Pandora station run while he scrolls through his Twitter feed, as far as Kurt can tell. It doesn’t fit the theme of the night in the slightest, but at least it inspires the kids to dance. Even Kurt finds himself unable to resist bopping his head to the beat.

The student council must have decided to funnel most of their funds into the decoration budget. This isn’t a crepe-paper-and-drooping-balloons kind of affair, not by a long shot. The stage’s backdrop is a mosaic made entirely of broken record pieces, depicting the Beatles’ first Ed Sullivan appearance. There’s an ice sculpture of Like-A-Virgin-era Madonna slowly melting in the middle of the refreshment table. There’s an actual 1926 Rolls Royce set up in the back of the gym for photoshoots.

They must have had one hell of a bake sale.

Stylistic elements have been pulled from nearly every decade of the 20^th century, scrambled together with little to no heed for chronology. The overall effect is not so much like going back in time as it is like stepping into a time machine and getting violently spun. It would be a giant mess if not for the guiding hand of someone with true vision.

The kids have gotten really into it, too, way more than Kurt’s peers would have when he was a student here. Not that he’s honestly surprised at that. In his experience, performers tend not to pass up an opportunity to put on a costume.

Kurt himself went for a modern take on his father’s powder-blue prom tux. It was deeply satisfying to transform the look from hideous to chic, like scratching an itch he’s had since he was a kid and first saw his dad’s prom photo.

He just kind of wishes that velour were a tad more breathable.

It’s getting really hot in here. That underlying gym smell of rubber and sweaty socks is starting to mingle with the perfumes and colognes that the kids apparently bathed in prior to leaving the house. Kurt can feel the sweat prickling beneath his collar and under his arms.

He checks his watch again. It’s been two minutes.

Kurt gives an inward groan. He decides to just bite the bullet and take a trip to the refreshment table. Sally and her husband are busy boogying by the now-defunct ticket table, so he should be safe. He could really use something sweet to nibble on and a cold cup of punch right about now. Besides, Madonna is starting to look a little lonely.

Kurt makes it through the crowd without incident, the kids far too wrapped up in their dates and their friends and the magic of the evening to take notice of one lone quasi-teacher. No matter how stylishly dressed. The refreshment table has been largely abandoned, for reasons that become clear as soon as Kurt comes within range. The pickings are pretty slim – just a few sad-looking celery sticks and the broken remains of an Oreo. Even the punch is starting to dwindle. He pours himself a cup and toasts Madonna with a clink of his cup against her misshapen brassiere. He takes a deep drink.

He grimaces.

Either it’s spiked or the grape juice is way past its expiration date. He should probably tell someone with the means to take care of it. And he will. As soon as he finishes this cup.

And maybe another.

He turns to watch the dancing. The music has melted into something lush and romantic, so it’s really just a bunch of teenagers revolving in slow circles. Nothing like the choreography some of them were whipping out earlier. Still, it’s sweet. There’s so much young love in the room.

Kurt spots Blaine and Mark. Mark’s hands are clasped gently at the small of Blaine’s back. Blaine’s head is resting against Mark’s shoulder. Mark is smiling blissfully, as if Blaine is a miracle in his arms.

Kurt turns back to the punch bowl. He downs his cup. It isn’t very strong. He’d probably need at least one more full cup to start feeling any kind of buzz. Still, he can’t knowingly allow the school to serve alcohol to minors. He pulls out his phone and checks his e-mail for the chaperone list. He scans until he finds –

Refreshments – Jonathan McDonald.

Of course. Of course Jonathan was put in charge of refreshments. He’d suspect Sally of setting him up, but this is a little too convoluted to be anything but coincidence.

Kurt locates the man in a matter of seconds, chatting amiably with a student at the other end of the refreshment table.

“Jonathan?”

Jonathan turns to him, and, yeah, Sally does have a point. He really is very attractive. He’s got that craggy, salt-and-pepper, gets-better-with-age thing going on. He isn’t quite old enough or gray enough to be considered a silver fox, but Kurt can clearly see that that’s where he’s heading.

And, oh, hello, that smile is pretty dreamy, too.

“Kurt, right?” Jonathan holds out a hand to shake. “Sally’s told me a lot about you. Only good things, of course.”

Kurt takes his hand. It’s big, and strong, and he doesn’t try to prove his manhood with the force of his squeeze. Kurt lets go a tad sooner than would likely be considered polite.

“Of course.”

Jonathan’s smile widens. Oh, god, he has dimples. He glances meaningfully at the dance floor and holds out his hand again, in a very different kind of offer.

“Would you care to – ?”

“Somebody’s spiked the punch,” Kurt blurts.

Jonathan’s eyebrows shoot up. He can’t be thinking much of Kurt’s social skills.

“Oh, dear,” says Jonathan, hiding his disappointment with grace. “That’s – we should probably take care of that, shouldn’t we?”

Jonathan strikes up small talk while they dump the spiked punch and fill the bowl with leftover ingredients in what are probably all the wrong proportions. He’s very charming and an excellent conversationalist, but Kurt can’t bring himself to be the same in return. Jonathan seems to sense it. He doesn’t make a second attempt to ask Kurt to dance.

Will is on stage by the time they get back, at the tail end of a speech. The candidates for prom king and queen are spread out on either side of him. Leighton is amongst them, smile glittering brighter than her ‘40s-inspired gown. Blaine is there, too.

It isn’t the first time Kurt has seen him tonight, of course, but it is the first time he’s let himself really look. Blaine is wearing a sharp, slim-cut suit in classic black. It isn’t tailored, evident in the slight pull of the fabric at his shoulders and the looseness at his waist, but Kurt is sure that he’s the only one who would notice those details. A bow tie is knotted neatly at Blaine’s throat. His hair is slicked back and gleaming. The light seems drawn to his eyes.

He looks…timeless.

Kurt pours himself a cup of their new punch concoction. It tastes pretty terrible.

“And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for,” Will is saying. “Your 2030 prom king is…” He looks at the paper in his hand. He takes a dramatic pause. Blaine seems to be holding his breath. “…Benjamin Walker! Congratulations, Benji.”

Blaine looks disappointed, but he’s mastered the art of the gracious loser clap. He even gives Benji a congratulatory thump on the back as he passes by. Benji gets his crown and his scepter and thrusts both in the air victoriously.

The crowd goes wild.

He must be a band kid. They seem to have taken over from the cheerleaders and football players as top dogs of the school. The New Directions are well-respected, of course, but the band kids have somehow unlocked the mysterious cool factor.

The other prom king candidates start to clear out as Will opens a second envelope. He nearly rips it in his zeal.

“And now, give it up for your 2030 prom queen…Leighton Miner!”

Her gasp of shock is far too practiced to be genuine. She smiles her best beauty pageant smile and waves to her cheering subjects as Will places the crown on her head. He has to stand on his tip-toes to do it. Benji offers her a hand for their traditional first dance, and she takes it regally.

The music starts, soft and sweet. They move to the dance floor as Blaine takes his place behind the mic. He smiles down at them as they step into formal hold, genuinely happy for Leighton. He knows as well as Kurt does how very much she wanted this.

The lights dim. A spotlight comes up on the royal couple, and another on Blaine.

And then he opens his mouth to sing, and everything changes.

“Oh, my love, my darling,

I’ve hungered for your touch

A long lonely time.”

Kurt knew what to expect. He’s seen the set list in all stages of development. He has it saved on his phone and has, in fact, been checking it all night.

Nothing could have prepared him for this.

“And time goes by so slowly,

And time can do so much

Are you still mine?”

It isn’t Blaine up there, it can’t be. It’s – there’s someone else looking out through his eyes. Someone who’s weathered a lifetime of pain and longing, someone older, even, than Blaine’s old soul. Ageless. As if he’s somehow stepped out of the stream of time.

It’s unsettling, and strange, and, god, he’s still so beautiful – more beautiful, even, with the light shining in his hair and those eyes that know. They know. Kurt can’t look away.

It could almost be –

“Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea

To the open arms of the sea,

Lonely rivers sigh wait for me, wait for me

I’ll be coming home, wait for me.”

It’s crazy. God, it doesn’t make sense, but Blaine looks at him, and he feels it anyway.

There you are.

A sweet, sharp arrow to the heart, because this is impossible. His love has been lost to him for longer than he was alive. Knowing this, it doesn’t stop Kurt from looking at Blaine and seeing… It doesn’t stop Kurt from longing. Nothing could.

What’s the pain of an arrow when all Kurt really wants is to rip his heart out of his chest and offer it up?

“I need your love,

I need your love,

God speed your love to me.”

He turns on his heel, and he runs out of the gym.

He needs some air.

The night sky is dark when, finally, he reaches the stairwell by the rear entrance. The stars are covered by clouds, the full moon nothing but a faint blur. Kurt sits, and he concentrates on breathing. In, out. In, out. He’s a singer – if there’s one thing he’s really good at, it’s breathing.

It doesn’t take him long to start feeling normal again, now that he’s alone. He can still hear muffled strains of music floating out from the gym, but it feels far away. Unreal.

“I need your love…”

He considers pulling out his phone and texting Rachel, a fail-safe distraction if he manages to reach her sometime in the window between final bows and bedtime, but she’s still on his case about Wicked, and he’s still woefully undecided.

In many respects, it’s the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s a musical he’s loved since he was a child, one that’s shaped so many of the important turning points in his life. It’s a chance to perform with his best friend, in an extremely popular, high-profile show. It might even open doors that have stayed closed to him through two Tony nominations.

The thing is, it’s the kind of part he would have jumped on ten years ago but now feels more like a step backwards. He’s better than that. He has more to offer.

Still, maybe Rachel is right. Maybe he needs something to look forward to, something to put his blood, sweat, and tears into after his stint in Ohio is over. Maybe Wicked can be that thing.

And then he’s right back to square one.

“Mr. Hummel?”

He starts. He didn’t hear the door open. He turns around, heart thudding from more than just the residue of fear.

“Hey, Blaine.”

Blaine takes a tentative step closer. His brow is slightly furrowed with worry. In the yellowy light of the nearby street lamps, he looks young. Earnest. Innocent. Nothing like the man who brought Kurt to his knees not five minutes ago. The spell seems to be broken.

“Are you okay?” he says. “You ran out of there pretty quickly.”

“I’m fine. I just needed some air. I was feeling a little…claustrophobic.”

Blaine’s expression relaxes, going sympathetic and maybe a touch relieved.

“Oh, yeah. I get that.”

“I’ll be ready to come inside in just a minute.”

Kurt smiles, hopes the dismissal is clear. Blaine wavers.

“You missed my performance,” he says. It very carefully isn’t an accusation.

“Not all of it. You were amazing up there.”

“I felt amazing.”

He says it with conviction, but he looks conflicted. Lost. Kurt sighs internally. It would be cold to send the kid back in when he so clearly needs to talk. He pats the concrete next to him.

“Here,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

Blaine smiles gratefully and sits a respectful distance from Kurt. He hugs his knees to his chest.

“Thanks. I think I needed some air, too.”

“What’s going on?”

It takes Blaine a moment to respond.

“I don’t know. I’ve always loved performing, but it’s never been – I always knew my life would take me in other directions.”

“Why?”

“Because it isn’t a practical career path,” he says automatically. He pauses, seems to realize it isn’t enough, isn’t right. “Even if your talent is truly special, there are no guarantees. And I guess I never really believed…”

“That your talent was special?”

“Yeah.”

“It is.”

Blaine’s smile contorts against a sudden wave of emotion.

“No one’s ever believed in me like you do,” he says softly.

If circ*mstances were different, Kurt would take Blaine’s hand in his own. He wouldn’t hesitate. He strokes a thumb over the back of his own hand instead.

“You belong on a stage, Blaine.”

“Lately, it’s the only place I feel…”

He trails off. He looks up at the sky, as if the end of that sentence is written in the stars.

Kurt knows without looking that all he’ll see is the black night sky.

“Yeah?” he prompts.

“Like me.”

“I know the feeling.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to give that up.”

“Who says you have to?”

Blaine huffs an impatient sigh.

“I know, I know, NYU is a big school, there’ll be plenty of opportunities to perform if I go looking. But then what? I know how it goes. You get older, you get busy. Soon, you’re lucky if you manage karaoke nights a couple times a year.”

“Blaine, you’re allowed to change your mind. If teaching isn’t what you want anymore – ”

Blaine’s eyes snap to Kurt’s. They flash.

“No, you don’t understand. It’s too late. Even if – I have a full-ride scholarship. My mom is counting on that – she’s counting on me. I can’t let her down.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’re good enough. You are. You just need to trust yourself. And I get that that’s scary, I really do, but you can’t let fear take away the things that make you who you are.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“I am. All the time.”

Kurt freezes. It’s not something he’s admitted, even to himself. He didn’t mean to admit it now.

“Of what?” asks Blaine, gently. Comfort is there for the taking in his soft gaze.

Kurt releases his breath.

“That – that I’ve peaked, I guess.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Is it? The best offer I’ve had in months is…”

Kurt trails off. Rachel will kill him if the story leaks before they’re ready to go to the press.

“What?”

“Promise you won’t say a word? This is top-secret intel.”

Blaine’s eyes light up for a moment before he can dial back his enthusiasm at being on the receiving end of exclusive Broadway gossip. He holds out his pinkie.

“Pinkie swear,” he says solemnly.

Kurt obliges, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Okay. So, my friend Rachel – ”

“Rachel Berry?”

“Yes, Rachel Berry. She and her husband – ”

“Broadway legend Jesse St. James,” Blaine supplies.

Kurt laughs.

“Please don’t ever say that to his face.”

Blaine grins, gaze drifting down in embarrassment.

“I’ll try.”

“So, anyway, Rachel and Jesse are launching a revival of Wicked.”

Blaine gasps.

“Really? That’s – that’s huge! There have been rumors circling the Broadway blogs for months, but nothing’s been confirmed.”

“They’re waiting to make the announcement until contracts have been signed. It should be any day now.”

“That’s incredible.”

“I know. They’re offering me a part.”

“But – wow, that’s – ”

“They want me to play Boq.”

That stops Blaine in his tracks. He blinks, wrong-footed.

“Oh,” he says.

“I mean, I get it, it’s not as if the show is teeming with good parts for men, and I’m not exactly what you’d call a Fiyero type. Even if Jesse didn’t have a strangle-hold on the part.”

“I don’t know about that. I bet you’d make a great Fiyero, if that’s what you wanted.”

Kurt shoots him a brief smile.

“Thank you. But the fact of the matter is, I’ve reached the point where I’m supposed to be grateful when my best friend offers me a part that should be played by some twenty-year-old kid looking for his first big break.”

“That’s ridiculous. If anything, you’re better now than you were when I saw you on Broadway. Producers should be beating down your door.”

“Well, they seem to disagree.”

“So screw them.”

“What?”

“Screw them. Go beat down their doors and show them why Kurt Hummel is a star. Forge your own path.”

Kurt stares at him, drinking in the fire of his passion. He can feel it sinking into his skin and down to his beating heart.

“I could say the same thing to you,” he says.

Blaine holds his gaze until the connection between them grows taut enough to pluck. He ducks his head, lets it go slack. He glances back up.

“You never did show me your moves,” he says.

It takes Kurt a moment to follow the shift in topic. He’s still stuck on Blaine’s golden eyes.

“I had a job to do.”

“And now?”

Blaine nods toward the gym, and Kurt hears it.

“Look at the stars,

Look how they shine for you

And everything you do,

Yeah they were all yellow.”

“It’s the last dance,” says Kurt.

“So dance with me.”

“Don’t you want to go back in and find Mark?”

“I’ve been dancing with him all night.”

“He’s your date.”

“I know.”

“I’m your teacher.”

“I know.”

Their knees are touching. Blaine’s hand is resting right next to his. Kurt would swear he can feel every molecule of air between them. Blaine’s eyes are bright, and sure, and his sweet mouth is ever so slightly parted.

Kurt stands up. He holds out a hand in invitation.

“May I have this dance?”

Blaine grins. He takes Kurt’s hand.

“Of course.”

Kurt can feel it down to his bones.

They start in partner hold, frame wide enough to navigate the sparsest of 19th century ballrooms. Kurt leads. He needs to feel in control right now. He guides Blaine through a few fancy turns, one of which brings them so close to the stairs that Blaine almost topples over. Kurt hauls him closer, just in the nick of time. Their eyes meet.

They laugh.

“You did warn me,” says Blaine through a teasing grin. He brings his arms up around Kurt’s neck. He keeps his hold loose and his body a respectable distance away. He seems to be holding his breath.

“Your skin, oh yeah, your skin and bones

Turn into something beautiful

And you know, for you I’d bleed myself dry

For you I’d bleed myself dry.”

Kurt snakes his arms around Blaine’s back and pulls him close. He closes his eyes, because Blaine’s skin is warm against his. He can feel the expansion and retraction of Blaine’s ribs as he breathes, and the throb of his heart below. The muscles in Blaine’s back shift smoothly beneath his palms as they move together. He smells of raspberries.

Kurt holds him. He lets himself have this. He clutches close, tries to imprint the shape of Blaine’s body into his skin. It feels more like remembering.

“Look at the stars,

Look how they shine for you

And all the things that you do.”

Inside the gym, the music stops and the crowd cheers.

Kurt breaks away. Blaine stumbles, thrown off-balance. A flash of something wild crosses his face.

“We should go back in,” Kurt says hurriedly. “I’m sure Mark is wondering where you are.”

“I – ” Blaine pauses. He seems dazed. Finally, he nods. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Monday,” Blaine echoes.

Kurt turns and starts toward the door.

“Mr. Hummel?”

He stops.

“Yes, Blaine?”

“For the record, you’re a much better dancer than you give yourself credit for.”

Kurt doesn’t reply.

Chapter 4: Opening Night

Chapter Text

Blaine flops face first into his pillow, jostling the mattress just enough that Kurt loses the precarious grip he had on his laces. Blaine groans in relief. Kurt sighs, wondering once again why he thought it was a good idea to wear lace-up knee-high boots to the theater tonight.

“Oh, god, I’m never leaving this bed again,” says Blaine, muffled and barely intelligible.

It’s for show, Kurt knows, because there is no way in the world that Blaine Anderson-Hummel would ever allow himself to fall asleep in his day clothes.

“I’m all for it,” Kurt says as he wrestles the boot off his foot. “But I’m afraid certain other members of the household might object.”

“We’ll hire a live-in nanny. And a valet. And a maid.”

Kurt triumphantly frees his other foot. He tosses the boot carelessly aside, a move that he might regret in the morning, but right now is far too exhausted to worry about. He flops back onto the bed next to his husband. He sighs with the bliss of being horizontal.

“Sounds perfect,” he says.

Blaine turns slightly, enough that one eye is visible. He smiles that sleepy, warm smile that Kurt thinks of as his. His hair is still damp from his post-show shower, spilling in heavy ringlets across his forehead. It will be a mess in the morning. Blaine will probably have to log some extra time with the flat iron.

Kurt brushes the curls up off of Blaine’s forehead. Blaine catches Kurt’s wrist, and their fingers slide easily together.

“You were amazing tonight,” says Blaine, and everything there in his eyes – or, well, eye – is enough to make Kurt want to look away. It’s an old instinct that he ignores. He squeezes Blaine’s hand.

“We were amazing.”

“I want you to know, Kurt – I wouldn’t trade a single second on that stage with you for anything in the world.”

Kurt smiles through the lump of emotion in his throat.

“Not even live-in house staff?”

“Not even that.”

Kurt scoots closer, until their noses are touching at the tip. He kisses Blaine’s waiting lips.

“Neither would I.”

He wakes up.

&&&&&

“Mr. Hummel, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” says Kurt absently. Most of his brain is focused on the jumble of Goodwill finds in front of him.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

Kurt freezes. It isn’t a question he was expecting, or one that he has any idea how to deal with. Not here, not now. Not ever, actually.

They’re backstage, trying to coax the props table into some semblance of order. It’s late, but they’re not alone. There’s a team of students painting sets on stage, and another hanging lights up in the catwalk. The sound of laughter drifts occasionally down. The light in their corner is dim.

“I’m an atheist,” he says, eyes focused forward. He releases the fist he had clenched around a pack of fake cigarettes and places them carefully in the section labeled Danny, Act One. He can feel Blaine’s stillness at his side.

“I didn’t ask if you believed in God.”

“I don’t believe in souls either.”

“Oh.”

“What – um – what brought on that question?” says Kurt lightly, perhaps overcompensating for the sudden drumming of his heart. He’s not sure he should want to know the answer. He glances quickly at Blaine, who’s returned his attention to the combs he’s supposed to be sorting.

“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about.”

Kurt presses his lips together. He’s going to leave it, let the topic fade into silence.

“Things must have gone pretty well with Mark on Saturday.”

Or not.

“No, that’s not – I mean, we decided we’d be better off as friends,” says Blaine, quickly.

“Oh.”

Blaine shifts uncomfortably.

“It’s actually – I was just thinking…I used to have these dreams.”

“Dreams?” says Kurt blankly.

“I had them two or three times a week, for years. Since before I can remember. I was always searching for someone. I’d lost him, I think, or he’d lost me – either way, I needed to find him. I didn’t know who it was, but I knew – when I found him, I knew I’d feel…”

He trails off, focus turned inward.

“What?” says Kurt.

“Like the person I was supposed to be.”

“You are the person you’re supposed to be, Blaine.”

When Blaine looks at him again, his eyes are clear with purpose.

“It didn’t feel that way.”

Kurt is at a loss. He doesn’t know what Blaine means, and he doesn’t know what he wants. He musters up what little authority he can manage. The rest, he fakes.

“That’s normal, I think, for a person your age. The good news is, finding yourself is pretty much the main point of college.”

He smiles, but he can tell it looks forced, wan.

Disappointment flickers over Blaine’s face before he shifts his gaze.

“That’s a good point,” he says, flashing a smile that Kurt doesn’t buy for a second.

He’s letting Kurt off the hook, and for a moment Kurt wants to let him.

Kurt sighs internally, frustrated with himself. This is a kid who trusts him, who’s reaching out to him, and Kurt can’t let go of his own issues long enough to listen.

“Look,” he says, grasping Blaine’s shoulder in a way that he hopes is reassuring. He doesn’t think about the warmth of Blaine’s body beneath his palm. Blaine’s eyes snap to his. “I’m not an expert by a long shot, but I do know that you can’t rely on another person to make you feel whole.”

“I know. That isn’t – I mean, needing someone else doesn’t make you any less whole. Isn’t that the point of having a soulmate? Having someone there who’s meant for you, who gets you, who makes you the brightest, best, most you you can possibly be, just by virtue of being there? Someone who connects you to something bigger than yourself? There’s nothing wrong with wanting that.”

Kurt lets go of Blaine’s shoulder. He looks down at his fingers, twisting together in discomfort against his own will. He shakes them out.

“No, I guess there isn’t,” he says, still unable to meet the intensity in Blaine’s gaze. “But that’s not how the world works. There isn’t some perfect person out there who’s pre-destined to love you, no matter how nice the thought may be. Love is a choice. And believe me, it’s better that way.”

Blaine nods. Kurt can see it out of the corner of his eye. Blaine looks away, turns once again to the props table in front of them.

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree,” he says.

“I guess so.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. Kurt is lulled into a false sense of security.

“All I know is, I haven’t had that dream in almost two months.”

Blaine says it softly, almost a murmur. Kurt looks at him, but Blaine’s attention stays firmly on the combs in his hands. He doesn’t expect a response.

Kurt doesn’t give one.

&&&&&

Kurt doesn’t know where he is. It looks the way he would imagine the inside of a cloud – shades of gray and white, shifting around him, never quite resolving into anything tangible. It can’t be real, of course it can’t, but that’s the way it feels.

He’s looking for something. Someone, maybe. It feels urgent. He feels…close.

There’s a bend in the path, and there at the end, a startling splash of color.

His Blaine, as if he stepped out of a photograph. Hair slicked back, decked out in his favorite reversible bow tie and his brightest, tightest cherry red chinos. Timeless. He’s seventeen, clearly, but his eyes tell a different story.

They light up at the sight of Kurt.

Kurt runs to him.

“Blaine!”

“Kurt! How did you – ”

They come together, but their bodies don’t connect. They’re diaphanous, no more substantial than the landscape around them. It almost doesn’t matter. The sight of him is almost enough.

Blaine’s face falls.

“I don’t know,” says Kurt, “I just – where are we?”

Blaine blinks, as if he’s never considered the question.

“I don’t know. I’ve been here so long, I don’t – I’m waiting for someone.”

“But I – I’m here now.”

“I know.”

The light is starting to dim. Kurt’s heart plummets. He reaches out to take Blaine’s hand in his, but their fingers pass through each other. It feels like nothing. Just air.

He rallies.

“Come on, we have to get going, before – ”

Blaine’s eyes go big, and sad. Kurt wants to cry.

“I can’t,” says Blaine, just as Kurt knew he would.

“But I can’t stay,” says Kurt. He can already feel it, the tug in his gut, pulling him away.

“I know.”

The world goes dark.

&&&&&

The choir room feels quiet after the crush of the crowd. Most of the kids and their doting families have filtered out of the lobby by now, leaving Kurt free to take a moment for himself. His own family is waiting not so patiently to sweep him away for a late-night celebratory dinner at Breadstix, so he can’t exactly linger, but it’s still nice. His thoughts need to be sorted out almost as badly as the costumes that have been left crumpled on the floor.

Opening night is officially a smashing success.

It hasn’t sunk in yet. After a week of being almost constantly in crisis mode, dealing with ripped seams and ill-timed colds and the discovery that Elise is severely allergic to the hairspray Kurt blew almost their entire make-up budget on, not to mention the to-do list that only seemed to get longer as opening drew closer, it’s difficult to even conceptualize.

They made it. The hard part is over. His only job now is to watch those kids shine and make sure they know how proud he is.

He sighs. He stands up from the piano bench, where he collapsed practically the second he walked in the door. He starts by gathering up those poor fallen costumes and hauling them over to their designated racks. He’s going to have to give the T-Birds a stern talking-to about the importance of proper costume maintenance before tomorrow’s matinée. Blaine’s pieces, at least, are hanging neatly in chronological order, the way Kurt trained them to do.

It’s a miracle that none of these faux leather jackets have make-up stains or worse.

Kurt’s thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing politely from behind. He turns. He has a feeling he knows who it is.

“Need any help?”

Blaine is smiling hopefully as he hovers in the doorway. He still has his Danny hair. Paired with his street clothes and his hopelessly sweet expression, it creates an odd sort of dissonance.

“I’m almost done. Besides, I wouldn’t want to keep your family waiting.”

Blaine’s smile flickers.

“Oh, they’re not here. My mom got the dates mixed up and asked for tomorrow night off instead. I told her it was for the best anyway. Opening night is always a little rough.”

“You were wonderful.”

“No notes?”

“That can wait till tomorrow. Tonight we celebrate.”

Blaine nods. A hint of post-performance high rises back up in his smile. He was practically glowing with it earlier.

“I saw Rachel Berry in the lobby,” he says. “It was nice of her to come out and support us.”

“She’s a big supporter of arts education. And she knew how important it was to me.”

“Everyone was kind of flipping out.”

“I noticed.”

It’s true. He’s pretty sure she’s signed more autographs tonight than she ever does at the stage door. Lisa actually started hyperventilating backstage when she peeked out between the curtains and spotted Rachel in the audience.

“She seems really nice.”

“She thought you were wonderful, too.”

Blaine’s eyes grow huge.

“She did?”

“She told me you were a star. And trust me, that is not a word that Rachel Berry uses lightly.”

She also slanted Kurt a look that said We’re talking about this later with the kind of urgency she usually reserves for SOS signals from across a crowded room.

“Will you tell her I said thank you?”

“You can tell her yourself, if you want. She’s waiting with my parents in the lobby.”

“Yeah, there was still kind of a crowd around her when I left.”

Kurt rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Figures.”

“So, what can I do to help?” says Blaine, determined this time.

Kurt hesitates, but it doesn’t take very long for him to give in.

“Well, you can start by teaching your cast mates how to hang up their costumes.” He gestures to the small pile he’s gathered on the chair next to him.

Blaine winces, and immediately steps forward.

“I swear, teenage boys can be such slobs,” he says as he hangs a jacket in the section labeled “Kenickie.”

“Tell me about it. I don’t even want to think about the atrocities I witnessed in my stepbrother’s bedroom when I was your age.”

He gives an exaggerated shudder. Blaine wrinkles his nose.

“I guess some boys just mature faster than others,” he says. The look he gives Kurt is nowhere near as subtle as he seems to think it is. Kurt looks away.

“I guess so. Finn, my brother – he got there, though. Eventually.”

And then he died. But Blaine doesn’t need to hear about that.

They work in silence. Kurt tries not to read it as tension, but he’s so aware of Blaine’s body next to his that it’s like a static shock whenever their arms brush. He keeps his eyes focused forward, forces his mind to stick with the mindless task at hand. And then he reaches down for the last of the jackets, and it’s Blaine’s hand he finds instead, reaching out at the same moment. Kurt pulls back as if burned. He might as well have been – the jolt he felt to the heart was just as white-hot.

Blaine stills. He pulls away, too, after a frozen second. He takes in a steadying breath, seems to steel himself. When Kurt dares to glance at him, he’s blinking a little too rapidly to be normal.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said,” he says.

“Yeah?”

Kurt isn’t sure what he’s referring to. He said a lot of things. Many of them were things he shouldn’t have. He picks up that damn jacket and hangs it up with hands that are absolutely not trembling.

“Yeah. About – about not letting fear control your life.”

“Oh. That’s – that’s good.”

“I think you might be right. I think that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Something in his tone makes Kurt stop and turn.

Blaine looks nervous – no, more than that, he looks terrified. He doesn’t let it stop him. He pushes through, eyes wide and too intense, and he takes Kurt’s hand in his. Kurt doesn’t know what to think – he can’t think. His heart is pounding hard enough to shake his ribs.

Blaine takes a deep breath.

“Kurt,” he says. “I feel like – like I’ve spent my whole life looking for you. You came here, and you unlocked something inside me. You made me come alive. You made me feel – I’ve never – I want – I – ”

He seems to give up on finishing that sentence. He leans in instead, eyes fluttering closed, intention so clear Kurt could taste it. Blaine’s hand comes up on blind instinct, holding Kurt gently in place. Every nerve in Kurt’s body is singing with want.

He pulls away. He has to. He does it at the last possible second, when he can feel Blaine’s breath on his lips, and his own is stopped short.

There’s a line he won’t cross.

“Blaine, we – I – ”

He flounders, trying to find the words that won’t hurt. He didn’t prepare himself for this moment, couldn’t have even if he wanted to. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Blaine looks heartbroken. Stricken. He looks for a moment like he might crumple, but he doesn’t. He rallies.

“Don’t tell me I made this up in my head,” he says, with all the ferocity of an animal who’s been backed into a corner. “I know I didn’t.”

“That’s not – I’m your teacher, Blaine.”

“Technically.”

“Yes, technically I’m your teacher. I’m in a position of power, and that means – ”

“I know what it means. I don’t care. None of that applies to us. This isn’t some gross Mary Kay Letourneau situation, it’s not like – I’ll be 18 on graduation day. That’s less than a month away. I know how I feel, and I know what I want, and that should be all that matters.”

“Maybe it should be, but it isn’t.”

“Is this – are you worried about your job? Because I can wait. I didn’t mean to pressure you into anything, I just wanted to – I know you don’t believe in soulmates, but you’re it for me, Kurt, you’re the one, and I – I – I love you.”

He’s so very brave. Or maybe just reckless.

“It wouldn’t be fair to you, Blaine. Not now, not – not ever.”

Blaine’s expression blackens.

“I’m not a child,” he spits. “You don’t have to worry about stealing my innocence.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what is it?”

Kurt looks at him, beautiful Blaine, young and new and offering him everything, and he can’t. He can’t give him anything but the truth.

“You’re right. You didn’t make it up in your head. I do…have feelings. But I would never be able to act on them without feeling like I was using you.”

“You wouldn’t – ”

“Not for the reasons you think. Just let me finish.”

Blaine’s protestations die on his tongue. His eyes flick over Kurt’s face, as if attempting to read his intentions. He nods briefly.

“I’m listening,” he says.

Kurt takes a moment to calm his racing heart.

Courage.

“When I was in high school, I met a boy,” he says. “He was my first love. My – my only love.”

“This isn’t your way of telling me you’re married or something, is it?” says Blaine, expression twisting in horror.

“No.”

“Thank god.”

“We were young, younger than you, but we had it all planned out. We were supposed to get married, start a family, grow old together. Like in The Notebook.”

“Only without the dementia.”

“Exactly.”

“What happened?”

“He died. Car accident. He was only seventeen.”

Blaine’s eyes widen. The shock of it quickly softens to sorrow.

“I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t think I ever got over it. Not like I should have.”

“Everybody grieves in their own way, in their own time,” says Blaine. It must be something he read – perfectly correct, but devoid of any real understanding.

“The thing is, Blaine, the reason I’m telling you all of this is because…because you remind me of him. Blaine. My Blaine.”

“I – what?”

“That doesn’t even do it justice. It isn’t just the way you look, or your sense of humor, or your voice, it’s – it’s everything. You feel the same, to me. You make me feel the same. When I look at you, I see him.”

The blood drains from Blaine’s face. He looks suddenly cold.

“Oh, my god.”

“I know I’ve been sending some seriously mixed signals, and I’m sorry for that, but I can’t let it go any further. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Blaine takes in a shaky breath.

“So – so none of this was real? Every time you looked at me, or you smiled at me, or you told me how amazing I was, none of it was even about me at all?”

“No, Blaine, that’s not – ”

“Because that’s what you just said. When you look at me, you see him.”

It hits Kurt then, how it must have sounded.

“It’s not like that,” he says quickly. “I never lied to you.” He means it to be reassuring.

Blaine narrows his eyes.

“How could you? You were too busy using me as a prop in some sort of sick emotional masturbation fantasy.”

His words are harsh, and his eyes even harsher. Kurt’s first instinct is to throw up his defenses. It’s what he would have done as a teenager, no question, even if he was very clearly in the wrong. Now, he sees the signs – the sheen in Blaine’s eyes, the trembling he’s trying so desperately to control. He sees the hurt. He knows he can’t take it away, no matter how much he wants to, but he can take responsibility.

“You’re right,” he says. “I shouldn’t have – well, there are a lot of things I shouldn’t have done. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you. I’m sorry.”

Blaine looks as if he’d burst – into tears, into flames of rage, into a million bits and pieces – if only he weren’t so busy dealing with the pain of being stabbed in the heart.

“I’ve got to go,” he says, voice hanging on by the thinnest of threads. He doesn’t wait for Kurt’s response. He turns, and he runs.

Kurt can do nothing but stare after him and live with what he’s done.

&&&&&

Kurt does his best to smile his way through dinner with his family. He doesn’t expect it to fool anyone, but it should at least clue them in to the fact that he’s not willing to discuss what’s bothering him. Aside from a few scrutinizing looks from Rachel and a couple of pointed comments from his dad about his “chipper” mood, it works. Rachel dominates the conversation with anecdotes ranging from amusing on-stage gaffes to the adorable exploits of her adorable children, while Kurt pushes pasta around his plate and pretends to be listening. He’s already heard most of them anyway. He suspects that she is well aware.

Kurt begs off early, citing his long week of sleepless nights and the upcoming two-performance day. His family agrees gamely.

Maybe too gamely, he realizes, when Rachel announces, “I’ll just pop over to your place for a nightcap before heading over to my dad’s. I’m used to a late-night schedule.” She doesn’t give him time to respond before dropping into the driver’s seat of her rental and slamming the door. His parents are no help. They just wave to Rachel as she pulls out of the parking lot and hug their goodbyes as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

His father takes him by the shoulders and looks him in the eye. “I’m real proud of you,” he says. It’s the same thing he said on Kurt’s graduation day, and the day he got into NYADA, and his opening night on Broadway. He means it just as sincerely.

Kurt doesn’t feel like he deserves it tonight. He smiles tightly.

“Thanks,” he says, and he ignores the question in his dad’s eyes.

Rachel is waiting for him when he pulls into his parking space. She’s perched primly on his top step, just in front of his door. She looks perfectly comfortable, as if she’s prepared to wait there for hours, if needed.

She stands as he approaches, smiling far too brightly.

“So,” she says, “I was thinking. Why don’t we turn this into a sleepover, for old times’ sake? It will be just like high school, but with wine. You do have wine, don’t you? If I remember correctly, the stores around here don’t exactly keep late hours, but we could always hop out to Scandals and drum up some free drinks. I’ve never been, if you can believe it. Ever since the divorce, I’ve been worried that I’d run into one of my dads there. Can you imagine?”

She’s doing that Rachel thing where she talks really fast in the hope that Kurt won’t actually process what she’s saying until after he’s agreed. He arches an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“I’m really tired, Rachel. I think I’m just going to turn in.”

Rachel crosses her arms over her chest.

“No, you’re not. Not until you tell me what’s going on. I’m done letting you get away with bottling it up. It’s not healthy and you know it.”

She’s deadly serious. Kurt sighs, and lets her in. She goes straight to the refrigerator and pulls out the bottle of Riesling he was planning to bring over to his dad’s for next week’s Friday night dinner. Carole always seems to appreciate his “ritzy” taste in wine.

“Help yourself, why don’t you?” he mutters, knowing very well that she can hear him and that it won’t make one bit of difference in her actions.

As predicted, Rachel doesn’t bother to acknowledge him. She rummages around the kitchen until she’s produced two wine glasses and a corkscrew. It doesn’t take her long. She removes the cork with practiced ease and fills the glasses practically to the brim.

“Shall we?” she says, as she makes her way past him to the living room. It’s with her very efficient brand of grace that she doesn’t spill a drop. She waits until Kurt has joined her on the couch to hand him his glass. She holds hers out in a toast that Kurt reluctantly meets. “L’chaim,” she says.

“Chin chin.”

The wine is nice. Crisp, sweet but not cloying. Kurt swirls it around in his glass, trying to remember what he learned in that wine-tasting class he took with Chet. Or was it Aiden? One of the muscle-bound blonds he dated in 2026, anyway. A droplet spills over the rim. Kurt catches it with his finger.

“So,” says Rachel, clearly not in the mood to beat around the bush. “Spill. What happened tonight?”

“It’s complicated.”

“It wouldn’t have to do with a certain young leading man, would it?”

Kurt doesn’t quite know how to describe her expression – it lands somewhere between compassionate and impatient. He also doesn’t know how to respond.

He laughs bitterly.

“What else would it be?”

The change is instantaneous. Her eyes practically melt with empathy. She grabs his free hand in hers and squeezes. Her grip is just as shockingly tight as it always is. He finds it reassuring, in spite of himself.

“Oh, Kurt.”

“I mean, you saw him tonight, didn’t you? You saw him.”

“I admit, the resemblance is uncanny.”

“I kept telling myself – they’re not the same person, he’s just a kid, I need to let it go. But then he’d sing, or he’d laugh, or he’d just stand there and breathe, and I’d look at him, and – and it didn’t matter. None of it mattered.”

“Kurt. Don’t tell me you…”

She trails off, trying not to look horrified.

“No! No, no, no, of course not. I admit, I crossed a lot of lines, but not – I didn’t – I would never do that to him.”

“Thank god.”

“He practically threw himself at me tonight. In the choir room, after the show. He tried to kiss me.”

“What?”

“I didn’t let him, of course. I told him it couldn’t happen.”

“Good.”

“I told him about Blaine. My Blaine.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

“You did?”

“He didn’t take it well.”

“I’m sure he didn’t. ‘You remind me of my dead high school boyfriend’ doesn’t exactly fit in with the whole hot-for-teacher fantasy, does it?”

“It was more than that. He thought – he felt like I was using him.”

“Weren’t you?”

Kurt has a scathingly indignant response at the ready. He stopped himself tonight, he stopped himself from taking something that was freely offered, something that he wanted with every breath in his body, and he did it because he knew it wasn’t right. He stopped himself from using the boy. And yet…

“I suppose.”

“Look, you did the right thing tonight, Kurt. That’s something you can be proud of, even if the rest of it is a tad morally sketchy. Maybe now you can finally…”

She trails off, looking at him meaningfully.

“What?”

“Let go. Find someone real that you can open your heart to.”

She’s said it before, in these words and many others.

You keep yourself so closed off, Kurt, it’s no wonder you have such a hard time with love.

Why are you so afraid of letting yourself be vulnerable?

Come on, the reason you’re 35 and still single isn’t because you have high standards, it’s because you push your lovers away the very second you feel them getting close.

Tonight, for the first time, it strikes him.

“You might be right.”

Rachel’s face blooms with a smile. She hugs him, sloshing a tiny drop of wine onto the collar of his shirt.

“Oops,” she says. “Sorry about that.”

“And now I’ve remembered why we don’t do reds.”

Rachel giggles.

“Well, yes. That and the purple teeth fiasco of 2022.”

It was a whole thing with an unfortunate paparazzi photo gone viral. It seemed dire at the time. Kurt laughs, too.

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Lucky you.”

They let the topic drift where it may, now that Kurt has unburdened himself of his secret. They kill the bottle as they reminisce about their early years in New York, when it was just the two of them (and occasionally Santana) against the world. Rachel cringes over her Brody phase, and Kurt cringes over the department store Santa he almost invited back to the loft in a misguided attempt to “get back in the saddle” that first year in New York. They re-live failures and successes and Kurt’s botched tattoo, which was both. Kurt recites every line he remembers from That’s So Rachel, while Rachel howls with laughter and beats him with a pillow.

“I want you to remember,” says Rachel as they say their good nights. She’s gotten a little sloppy, easier with her affection. Her eyes are wide and dewy. “I love you no matter what.”

“I love you too, Rachel.”

“You’re my family, and you always will be.”

Kurt smiles, kisses her forehead, and sends her to curl up on the couch.

Sleep comes to him easily.

&&&&&

Kurt shouldn’t be surprised at Blaine’s cool, calm professionalism when they see each other the next day, but he is. He was prepared for…well, something, anyway, after the way they left things on Friday. Some sort of passive-aggressive punishment, maybe. But Blaine continues to show Kurt the same respect he would any person in a position of authority. He accepts his performance notes with grace, avoids eye contact so subtly that even Kurt isn’t sure it’s happening, smiles what is clearly a show smile whenever he feels he should. He makes sure to enter the room last and leave first whenever they’re forced to share a space.

Kurt follows his lead. He knows they need to talk again, and preferably soon, but there’s no need to rush it. If Blaine needs time, Kurt can give it to him.

Both Saturday shows go smoothly, but the Sunday matinée is their best performance of the run. Somehow the mix of exhaustion and adrenaline and the knowledge that this is their last chance to perform as a cast – for some, their last chance to perform as a high school student at all – makes for serious theater magic. Nobody is holding back.

It brings Kurt back to his own high school days, when emotions were always Technicolor bright and never too far from the surface. Everything felt so urgent. It was exciting, even if it did create a hot mess of drama. The idea of feeling like that all the time is exhausting, now, but Kurt can appreciate this chance to live vicariously.

Kurt’s parents are here again, as are the Johnsons. Blaine’s smile is huge when he spots them during curtain call, cheering their hearts out from front row center. It shrinks a bit when the time comes to call Kurt, Sally, and Jessica up on stage for their own bows. Kurt makes sure to keep at least two bodies buffered between them. He hates that his presence has dampened Blaine’s joy.

Between after-show duties and celebratory dinner number two, the sun has set by the time Kurt finally makes it back home. He’s so exhausted he can’t fathom doing anything but collapsing on his couch. He toes off his shoes and peels off his outer layers, and he does just that. He turns the TV to Bravo and turns his brain to the off setting.

He only realizes he’s fallen asleep when his phone buzzes suddenly from his back pocket and startles him awake. It takes longer than it should for him to fish it out, fingers as bleary as his brain. He’s all set to hit ignore and stumble his way into the bathroom to get himself properly ready for bed, but then he sees who it is. He freezes.

“Hello?”

“Um, hi, Mr. Hummel. This is Blaine. Johnson. In case you don’t have my number saved.”

“Yeah, I – hi.”

“I wouldn’t normally call this late, or, um, at all, but I kind of need a favor.”

That’s – unexpected.

“What kind of favor?” Kurt asks warily.

“Do you think, maybe…could you give me a ride?”

“A ride?”

“I came here with someone, a friend, but he left, and now I’m kind of – well, I’m stranded, and my wallet is missing, and I don’t feel comfortable walking home from here when I’m – I’m – ”

“Drunk?”

Kurt can hear it, now. Blaine is speaking far too precisely for someone who isn’t putting in a whole lot of effort to do so.

“Yeah,” he says shortly.

Kurt sighs, already heading to the door.

“Where are you?”

“Scandals. You know, the gay bar in – ”

“I know where it is.”

“Okay. Um. See you soon?”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just – wait outside, okay? Near the bouncer, where it’s well-lit.”

Kurt waits for him to agree, then hangs up his phone and stuffs it back into his pocket. He checks the time. It’s after midnight. He allows himself a moment to mourn the sleep he’s about to miss, then heads out the door.

It isn’t a long drive. Just long enough for Kurt’s worry to grow into something unreasonable. Blaine didn’t exactly sound wasted, and he had good enough sense to call someone rather than trying to get himself home on his own – he’ll be fine. Kurt knows this, but it doesn’t stop his mind from racing with worst-case scenarios.

Kurt spots Blaine as soon as he pulls into the parking lot. He’s standing right where Kurt told him to, leaning heavily against the wall in a way that speaks more of exhaustion than anything else. Kurt taps his horn to draw Blaine’s attention. Blaine’s gaze snaps to him. He waves, smiling wearily, and climbs into the passenger seat. He’s moving slowly, deliberately, but otherwise shows no sign of intoxication. The knot of tension in Kurt’s chest loosens.

“Thanks,” says Blaine as he buckles himself in. “I really appreciate you doing this. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Kurt nods in acknowledgment. He pulls out of the parking lot.

“What happened to your friend?” he says.

“Oh. He, uh, he – he went home with someone.”

“I see.”

“It was some college student, the guy he went home with. He seemed harmless.”

“That doesn’t mean he was.”

“I know that.”

“Good.”

Blaine huffs a sigh. Kurt doesn’t say anything.

“I probably could have called one of my other teachers to bail me out,” says Blaine eventually. “They all give out their phone numbers at the beginning of the year. It’s a school policy.” His voice sounds tight, as if his jaw is clenched. Kurt glances at him. His arms are crossed firmly over his chest. He’s staring ahead, face in starkly-lit profile. “Do want to know why I called you instead?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“Because you have a vested interest in keeping my secrets.”

Kurt chooses to ignore the vaguely threatening tone of that comment.

“I wasn’t planning on telling your mother, if that’s what you mean. Or anyone else.”

“Good.”

They sit in silence for the rest of the drive. The things they need to say should be said eye to eye. He pulls up to the curb in front of Blaine’s house. He parks. Neither of them moves. They both know they’re not done.

Kurt turns to him.

“Blaine, I’m sorry,” he says. “I know I’ve said it before, but I don’t think – I’ve been thinking about what you said on Friday. A lot. And you were right.” Blaine meets his eyes, then, hope igniting sudden and wild. “Not about – I mean – I think I have been using you. To relive the feelings I lost when – when I lost Blaine.” Blaine turns away, but not before Kurt sees that hope doused. His heart clenches painfully. “It was selfish of me.”

It takes Blaine a moment to respond, but when he does, he looks Kurt in the eye.

“Yes, it was,” he says evenly. “But you don’t need to apologize. I overreacted. I mean, it sucks that you led me on, but you didn’t mean to. I get that. The way I reacted – I think it has more to do with my stuff than anything you did.”

“Your stuff?”

“I mean, I was pretty convinced you were the man of my dreams. Literally. And I might have some…abandonment issues.”

“Because of your dad?”

Blaine looks at him so sharply that Kurt is about ready to clap his own hand over his mouth. It seems to be a reflexive reaction. Blaine softens after a moment and leans his head against the headrest, drawing the lines of his throat into an elegant arch.

“And every loser my mom has brought home since,” he says, more resigned than bitter. “They tend to stick around just long enough to realize that family life comes with baggage that they aren’t willing to take on. Just long enough for her to start hoping.”

“I’m sorry, Blaine. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

Blaine doesn’t acknowledge this. Kurt doesn’t blame him. It was awfully trite.

“She was engaged, once. To Caitlin’s father. When he found out she was pregnant, he told her he wasn’t cut out to raise a child. I was seven at the time, so you can imagine her surprise. He’d been living with us for a year.”

“That’s awful.”

“One of them had a son of his own. They used to come over every week for Sunday dinner. ‘Family night,’ my mom called it. She was convinced he was going to ask us to move in with him. They only lasted about two months, of course, but the son and I started hanging out. I couldn’t believe my luck, at first. He was a freshman in college, and I’d just turned fifteen. He made me feel…sophisticated. Worldly. Eventually, hanging out turned into dating. I thought we were madly in love.”

Blaine stops there. He presses his lips together against a flare of emotion.

“What happened?” says Kurt, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. It’s written all over Blaine’s face.

“I convinced myself I was ready, we – um – we had sex, and he immediately stopped returning my texts.”

“God, what an asshole.”

“Yeah, well that turned out to be the only part of me he was really interested in.”

It takes Kurt a moment to register the joke. He laughs, more out of disbelief than humor. Blaine smiles. Kurt hates that it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“He sounds like an idiot,” says Kurt.

“He really was. When I told him that Rent was one of my favorite rock musicals, he genuinely assumed it was a show about rocks.”

Kurt snorts, he can’t help it

“He didn’t.”

“To be fair, Caitlin had just been watching Frozen in the next room. I think he thought it was, like, a thing. But yes, that probably should have clued me in that we weren’t meant to be.” He pauses. Kurt waits attentively. There’s more that Blaine wants to say, he can feel it. He doesn’t want to do anything that may discourage him. “So,” says Blaine. “You can see why what happened between us may have stirred up some…stuff.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s useless, but it’s all Kurt has right now. “If I made you feel even a little bit like – like – ”

“You did. But like I said, I don’t blame you. Not entirely. I was projecting onto you just as much as you were projecting onto me. It felt nice, thinking that someone had finally seen me and wasn’t running away. Now, of course, I know it wasn’t me you saw at all.”

“Blaine…” Kurt trails off. The look Blaine is giving him is hard, as if he’s daring Kurt to try and placate him. “I may have been drawn to you because you reminded me of – of him. But that doesn’t mean you’re not spectacular in your own right.”

Blaine stares at him, suddenly wide-eyed.

“Really?”

“Of course. Listen, Blaine, I’m still your teacher. And your friend, if you want. I’m not running away.”

Blaine looks down. His lips are pressed together, a sure sign that he’s feeling something he’s afraid to show.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay?”

Blaine tries out a smile. This time, Kurt believes it.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Blaine unbuckles his seatbelt. Kurt unlocks the doors. Blaine turns to him one last time.

“Good night, Kurt,” he says warmly.

“Good night.”

Chapter 5: Nationals

Chapter Text

“Mr. St. James and his associates will see you now.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. Please, he wants to tell her. I’ve known Jesse since he was throwing eggs at his future wife in the name of a regional show choir competition. I think we’re past the formalities.

“Thanks,” he says tersely, unfolding himself from the lumpy reception area couch.

The receptionist points to the door on her right.

“Right at the end of the hallway,” she says pleasantly.

“Yes, I know. I’ve been here before.”

She smiles and turns back to her computer. She looks as though she might be holding back a few tart comments of her own.

None of this is her fault, Kurt reminds himself. He shouldn’t be taking his stress out on her.

“Thank you,” he adds, more sincerely.

“It’s my pleasure,” she trills.

Wow, okay, so it seems like this one has a chance at actually sticking around. Unless she gets sick of Jesse’s management style and quits on her own. Which is a very real possibility.

Kurt sees himself through the door and walks down the hall. Jesse’s office is impossible to miss, his name splashed as big as a marquee over the frosted glass door. Kurt comes to a stop. He sighs. He’d really rather be at the hotel with the kids right now. They’re not exactly under-prepared, but he’s got the kind of competition nerves that can really only be settled by rehearsing. He needs to ensure that the kids will be fully in control tomorrow, because he can’t be.

Not that the kids were complaining. The idea of three unsupervised hours in New York had them practically shoving him out the door. Blaine was the only one who even questioned where he was going.

“I have a meeting,” Kurt told him.

“With…?” Blaine raised his eyebrows meaningfully, mindful of the ears that may be listening in.

“You got it.”

“Have you decided?”

Kurt nodded.

“I’m going to do it,” he said, with more reluctance than he could hide with a smile.

Blaine’s face fell. Just slightly, but enough that Kurt could read his opinion on the matter. He recovered quickly and gave a bright smile.

“That’s great,” he said.

“Wish me luck?”

“Good luck. Not that you need it.”

It was the closest they’d gotten in a long time to the intimacy Kurt used to encourage so carelessly. Blaine covered clumsily with a bright smile and an encouraging punch to the shoulder, but they both felt it nonetheless.

They’ve been very careful these past two weeks. They’ve maintained the kind of physical distance that would have been considered conservative in Victorian England. They’ve made sure to keep their conversations as easy and breezy as a Cover Girl ad. They’ve done everything in their power to keep from delving any deeper than the surface of what’s between them. Kurt had hoped that this state of affairs would be temporary, necessary only until they both recovered from their more tender feelings. Now, he’s not sure it will be that simple.

He gives a cursory knock and opens the door.

It’s a fairly spacious office, dominated by a large round table that’s clearly intended for meetings such as this. Jesse and his team are seated in trio formation, with Jesse, of course, at the apex. Rachel is there, too, next to the empty chair Kurt assumes is meant for him. She immediately jumps up to greet him with a hug. Jesse just smiles in a manner Kurt supposes he means to be benevolent.

“Hello, Kurt,” he says. “I understand you’re interested in joining our little show.”

Rachel rolls her eyes.

“Jesse, he’s family. You don’t have to do the whole song and dance.”

Jesse’s smile goes tight. He shoots Rachel a look that she meets with an unimpressed arch of the eyebrow.

“Fine,” he concedes. “Kurt, I believe you’ve been introduced to my partners?”

Kurt nods tentatively. He vaguely remembers meeting them at Rachel’s holiday party last year. The one in the glasses is…Patrick, maybe? The redhead has one of those pretentious names, like Trip, or Bart. Something out of Gossip Girl.

“Pat McHewn,” says glasses guy with a curt wave.

Ha. Kurt was totally right.

“Nathaniel Barker.”

Right on both counts.

“Kurt Hummel,” he says.

“I think they gathered that, Kurt,” says Rachel, not trying very hard to hold back a smile.

“We won’t keep you long,” says Jesse, taking back the reins. “I know you must be anxious to get back to the New Directions.” He turns to Pat and Nathaniel and explains, “National high school show choir championship. Very noble use of his talents.”

“Yes, who knows what kind of trouble those kids might get up to in your absence?” says Rachel. She knocks her knee into his and winks. Kurt knows she’s thinking of their own clandestine adventures during that first trip to Nationals. It hits him very suddenly how full circle they’ve come.

“As you know, Kurt, Rachel and I are in complete agreement that the part should be yours. However, I don’t believe in unilateral decision-making.” Now, that’s pretty hilarious. Kurt bites his tongue with herculean effort. “I thought it would only be fair to give my partners a sampling of your talents before moving forward.”

Pat and Nathaniel nod gravely but don’t say a word.

“It’s just a formality,” assures Rachel.

Jesse sends her another look that she ignores.

“Did you prepare the song?” he says.

“I did,” says Kurt.

Jesse nods to Pat, who produces a set of speakers and an MP3 player.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

Kurt stands up, closes his eyes for a moment to get himself in the right headspace. He takes a deep breath. He can feel it, all of the eyes on him, and it’s not even close to the most intimidating audition situation he’s been in, but still, it’s uncomfortable. All of this, for a singing role that consists of a handful of solo lines in a couple of ensemble numbers. None of these men believe in him. Not even Jesse, not really. He’s never fit into Jesse’s rather narrow definition of star power.

Even Rachel, his most loyal supporter, sees this as some sort of favor she’s doing for him.

Screw them.

It’s Blaine’s voice he hears, called up from a memory he’s tried to dash away. Blaine’s eyes, fierce with his conviction.

Show them why Kurt Hummel is a star.

It ignites a fire in him where there’s been nothing but embers. For years, maybe.

It’s time for Kurt to fight for himself.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll be singing a different selection for you today,” he says abruptly.

Jesse furrows his eyebrows in exaggerated confusion.

“What – ”

“Just listen. I’m going to prove to you exactly why I deserve to be cast in this show.”

Kurt holds out his hand to Pat in request. Dumbfounded, Pat glances at Jesse, who looks vaguely intrigued. He nods his permission, and Pat hands over the MP3 player. Kurt scrolls through the playlist until he finds the right track. He hits play and strikes his opening pose.

“Whenever I see someone

Less fortunate than I,

And let’s face it,

Who isn’t less fortunate than I?”

Rachel lights up the very second he starts to sing. She knows exactly what he’s doing. The others have their heads co*cked in confusion. Jesse’s is probably feigned for effect. The others, well – they don’t seem like the sharpest tools in the shed, to be honest.

Kurt owns this song. He’s been singing it since high school, since that first duet with Rachel, when glee club was still no more than an idea to either of them. It was more than a year before they became anything resembling friends, but it was the first time he discovered the joy of connecting with someone through music. The song couldn’t help but become special to him after that. He knows every note, every beat, like they come from his very own heart. He knows exactly how to milk it for every drop it’s worth. This song is his.

If he plays his cards right, this part is his. It always has been. He just needed to reach out and take it.

“La la, la la,

You’ll be popular,

Just not quite as popular as me!”

He finishes with a flourish, and Rachel is instantly on her feet. She’s clapping and cheering and grinning her face off, and Kurt’s pretty sure he sees tears in her eyes.

She gets it. And she’ll fight his corner, he’s sure of it.

“That was very impressive,” says Jesse, once he can make himself heard without yelling. “But I’m not sure what we’re supposed to take from that.”

“You’re supposed to realize that you would be a fool not to cast me as Galinda.”

Nathaniel guffaws.

“I don’t know if you’re familiar with the show, Mr. Hummel, but Galinda is traditionally played by a woman,” he says. He’s smirking, as if he expects Kurt to be embarrassed at his faux-pas.

“Yes, Nathaniel, I’m aware. It would require a certain amount of reworking, of course, but what better way to distinguish this production from the original show?”

“It would be a completely fresh take,” adds Rachel. “Cutting-edge, even.”

This may be a tad over-the-top, but Kurt can tell that it’s struck a nerve. Jesse leans forward in his chair. Kurt takes this an invitation to continue.

“I truly believe that gender-blind casting is the next frontier of innovation on Broadway,” he says. “You have in front of you the opportunity to be true pioneers. To set the trend, rather than fall victim to it.”

“Besides,” adds Rachel, “as you know, Kurt and I have a long history of friendship to bring to these roles. We have wonderful stage chemistry, and we’ve been singing duets since before this one hit puberty.”

She jerks her thumb at Kurt. He glares at her, but it has more affection than heat.

“No one else you bring in for this role would even come close to touching that,” he says.

He can see the gears turning. Nathaniel still looks skeptical, but Pat is nodding thoughtfully. Jesse is looking right at Kurt, expression inscrutable.

“Well,” he says. “You’ve given us a lot to think about. We’ll be in touch.”

Kurt can recognize a dismissal when he hears one.

“Thank you for your time,” he says.

“Come on,” says Rachel. “I’ll walk you out.”

She takes him by the elbow and practically hauls him down the hallway and through the reception area. She lets out a shriek as soon as the front door closes behind them, and she pounces on Kurt with a hug that takes her clear off her feet. He laughs, and swings her around a little before setting her down. She grabs him forcefully by the shoulders.

“Oh, my god, Kurt! How did – I can’t believe I didn’t think of it! Even after seeing your brilliant gender-blind production of Grease. How long have you been planning that?”

“I wasn’t. I can’t believe I did it at all.”

“Well, start believing it, mister. You just scored yourself a starring role in the Broadway revival of Wicked!”

“Whoa, now. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“No, I know it. Jesse may like to put on a show, but that’s all it is. He loved the idea, and he loves you. It’s as good as done.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am. But just in case, I happen to be in an excellent position to persuade him to our cause.”

She raises her eyebrows suggestively. Kurt snorts.

“That is not something I want to hear about.”

Rachel grins, but it doesn’t take long to melt into something sweeter. She hugs him again.

“Oh, Kurt, this is going to be so amazing!”

“Yeah,” says Kurt, starting to believe it. “Yeah, it is.”

&&&&&

Kurt is caught up in a whirlwind of show choir drama the very second he arrives back at the hotel. First, there’s the group who never made it back after their morning off and haven’t been answering their phones – they got lost on the subway, as it turns out, and stroll in just as Kurt is about to call the police in a panic. Kurt then discovers that Jason and Marta have somehow managed to get back together and break up yet again in the space of the past 24 hours, and are now refusing to breathe the same air. Which makes rehearsing together a tad difficult. And then it turns out that both Vicky and Lisa snagged their costumes on their suitcase zippers and ripped very noticeable holes in the seams. All of this on top of the group’s already frayed nerves, and Kurt is ready to excuse himself for an afternoon nap.

This, of course, is not an option.

“Okay, guys, listen up,” he says. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Jason, Marta, I don’t care who did what to whom. You have to stop taking your personal issues out on the rest of the team. For the next 48 hours, you are to put all of that aside and treat each other with the same respect you would any of your teammates. Understood?”

They both nod glumly, looking pointedly away from each other.

“Lisa, Vicky, I need you to speak with the concierge about getting our hands on an emergency sewing kit. If he tries to make you pay, come right back and we’ll figure out something else.”

If all else fails, he can visit the storage unit and pick up his own sewing supplies. It would mean leaving the kids to their own devices for at least another hour, but they can’t go out on stage tomorrow with holes in their dresses. Kurt absolutely won’t allow it.

“As for the rest of you, we’re going to stop obsessing over the competition, and we’re going to run our set until each and every one of you is confident that you didn’t drop your talent somewhere over Pennsylvania. Got it?”

The group mumbles their assent with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“Good,” says Kurt.

Vicky and Lisa scurry to do as they were told, while the rest of the group files into the corner of the conference room that’s been designated as their rehearsal space.

The set opens strong, with Blaine and Leighton on a fun duet arrangement of “Just Can’t Get Enough.” The driving synth beat allows for some high-energy backing choreography and highlights the precision of their harmonies. Blaine and Leighton have surprisingly delightful vocal chemistry, a fact that Kurt would never have learned had they not approached him two weeks ago, when solo auditions for their Nationals set were shifting into high gear.

“I have all the respect in the world for Pink and the mark she made on pop music,” said Blaine, Leighton nodding fervently at his side. “But I strongly believe we should go with something less…expected.”

“We’ve gone through the archives,” said Leighton. “‘Just Give Me a Reason’ has been performed fifteen times since it was popularized in 2013.”

“Depeche Mode, on the other hand, hasn’t made an appearance on the Nationals stage even once in all that time.”

“Not since Vocal Adrenaline’s iconic performance of ‘Master and Servant’ in 2007.”

“You know, before the fall of the empire.”

“Nobody’s had the balls to even try and live up to them since.”

“‘Just Can’t Get Enough’ would be the perfect way to make a strong opening statement,” said Blaine with a sense of finality, driving the point home with a firm nod. The look in his eyes was more hopeful than commanding.

“And I’ve already put together some killer choreo,” added Leighton with a winning smile.

Kurt wasn’t entirely sold, but he let them audition the number anyway. He told them he’d put it to a vote.

The decision was nearly unanimous. The only hold-outs were Lisa and Aiden, who were convinced they were a lock for the Pink duet.

Next up is Sabrina, putting her stamp on Cher’s “Believe.” It’s a number that Kurt designed for her, one that only she can really do justice. A few of the kids made noises about special treatment, but Kurt shut them down pretty quickly.

“Look,” he said. “How many times has Sabrina been passed over for a solo because it just didn’t fit her voice?” The looks on their faces tell him it’s been too many. “Her voice is special – it’s a big part of what makes us special – and it deserves to be heard. Besides, I guarantee that no other group is going to feature a contralto singing lead.”

If the issue was a tad personal to Kurt, it wasn’t something they needed to know.

“Mr. Hummel is right,” said Blaine. “Sabrina is going to kill it. She deserves this.”

He was smiling at Sabrina, but Kurt couldn’t help but feel that the words weren’t meant entirely for her. Perhaps it was the pointedness of his tone or the glance he darted in Kurt’s direction.

His words started a wave of support that drowned out the mutterings of the disgruntled few. Sabrina looked about ready to cry with happiness.

“I won’t let you guys down,” she said. “I promise.”

Their finale is a big group number, a super mash-up of Taylor Swift’s “Welcome to New York,” Madonna’s “I Love New York,” and Sinatra’s “New York, New York” that Kurt is especially proud of.

They run the set three times before breaking. They still seem a little on edge, but it seems to be helping rather than hurting their performances. There are a couple of harmonies that need tweaking and a few kids that could stand to run the choreography a few more times, but those things will be barely noticeable to someone who isn’t intimately familiar with the group. They’ll workshop the tricky spots and run it a couple more times, and Kurt has no doubt that they’ll be performance ready.

They’ve got this.

Lisa approaches Kurt and produces the rudimentary sewing kit she got from the concierge. She tells him she had their dresses sent to his room for repairs. He takes it and tries not to sigh in frustration. She was careless, yes, but it was an accident. He shouldn’t make her feel worse than she already does.

He watches her hurry back to the knot of underclassmen she’s been spending time with recently. The freshmen are all different shades of nervous, the enormity of their first big competition starting to hit them. Lisa seems to relish her role as the experienced sophom*ore, doling out words of wisdom before they’re even solicited. Her caring is genuine, though, and mostly unselfish. She’ll be a good leader, given some time to mature. She’s already made leaps and bounds.

Blaine is with Leighton, laughing at something on her phone. She’s grinning in that entirely unselfconscious way that Kurt knows is rare. They look relaxed, calm. Kurt can feel the way the others look to them, take their cues, and the mellowing effect it has. Even Elise, whose intensity can be intimating on the best of days, seems to have reached a place of zen.

Kurt could use some of that right about now.

And just like that –

“New Directions!” someone calls jovially. “Did you miss me?”

Kurt turns to find Sam, looking tanned and cheery and holding his arms out wide. It’s been about a year since Kurt last saw him in person, and he hasn’t changed one bit. His hair is maybe a touch shorter, but still in that same style he’s been sporting since he hit his early twenties. He’s got the same fine smile lines around his eyes and the very same open grin.

The reaction is instantaneous, a chorus of “Mr. Evans!” followed by a stampede of teenagers. Kurt finds himself jumping out of the way. They pounce on him, piling into a huge group hug with Sam at the center of it all.

“Alright, alright,” says Kurt. “Give the man some room to breathe.”

They back away, albeit reluctantly. Blaine is the last to let go. His face is positively shining with joy.

Sam pulls Kurt into a hug next, the big, back-pounding kind of hug that Kurt typically only gets from his father these days.

“What are you doing here?” says Kurt, once he’s been freed. “I thought you said you couldn’t get away.”

“I made it work,” says Sam. “I couldn’t miss seeing these guys win a third consecutive National championship!”

Cheers erupt at this. Any semblance of calm has officially gone out the window.

The kids are eager to run their set once more, to show off for Sam. Their energy is definitely up from their last run-through, but so are the mistakes. Sam claps with enthusiasm that Kurt can tell is exaggerated.

“Alright, alright,” he says, resorting to his tried and true Matthew McConaughey impression. It’s not particularly culturally relevant anymore, but the kids seem charmed nonetheless. He claps a hand to Kurt’s shoulder. “Clearly, I left you guys in capable hands. That was, like, next level.”

Kurt finds himself preening under the compliment in spite of himself.

“Can you stick around and help us work out some of the kinks?” he asks.

“Just try and stop me.”

Kurt puts Leighton in charge of running choreography while he and Sam work with smaller groups on harmony and tuning issues. Sam seems happy to let Kurt maintain command, which is a relief. Kurt wants to see this thing through to the end.

Sam knows how to talk to these kids in a way that Kurt just doesn’t find natural. He praises them easily, asks after their families and their extracurricular interests, gives notes in bizarre metaphors that Kurt only barely understands but somehow seem to get results. They respond to him like a garden blooming in the sun.

Kurt tries not to be jealous – they may respect Kurt, but they love Sam.

He and Blaine even have their own handshake.

The team is in great shape and even better spirits by the time they call it quits. They eat dinner at Kurt’s favorite pizzeria, this place in the Village with slices the size of his head and floor space the size of his walk-in closet. It’s a popular choice, though maybe not so popular with the owners of the joint. They’re a loud bunch, and full of that manic energy that can only result from the potent mixture of adrenaline and utter exhaustion. Kurt and Sam end up deciding to walk back to the hotel in the hopes of burning some of it off.

They make sure to leave a super-sized tip.

“So,” says Kurt, once he’s made sure the kids are all embroiled in their own conversations. “How’s your dad doing?”

Sam sighs. The cheer seems to drain right out of him.

“You know how it is. It seems like the treatment is making him feel worse than the actual disease.”

“Yeah, but at least the treatment won’t kill him.”

Sam smiles grimly.

“At least there’s that.”

“What are the doctors saying?”

“That it’s a long shot, but there’s still hope. They’re being super aggressive with the radiation, and the tumor’s totally gotten smaller, but they’re thinking they’re going to have to operate. They’re worried about mestata-whatever.”

“Metastasis?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I’m sorry, Sam. That sucks.”

“Yeah. But hey, if that’s what they need to do to get him healthy…”

He trails off. Kurt doesn’t pursue that line of thought.

“How’s your mom taking it?”

“She’s – you know that song? When you’re smiling, when you’re smiling – ”

“The whole world smiles with you,” Kurt finishes.

Sam snaps his fingers.

“That’s the one. She’s pretty much adopted it as her new life philosophy. She thinks the cancer cells feed off of negative energy.”

“Well, I know from personal experience that there’s nothing like a loved one with cancer to bring out your superstitious side.”

Sam nods, seems to chew on that.

“Your dad’s still doing okay, isn’t he?” he asks after a moment.

“He’s probably the healthiest he’s been since before my mom died, actually. Whatever sense of invincibility he had left after his heart attack was wiped out by the cancer. He’s even trying out yoga.”

“My dad’s always been kind of a health nut. He hardly ever even catches colds.”

“It must have been a shock.”

Sam opens his mouth, about to respond, but he’s cut off before he can.

“How’s he doing? Your dad, I mean.”

It’s Blaine, appearing at Sam’s shoulder. Whatever embarrassment he might be feeling at jumping into their conversation is eaten up by the concern pouring out from his wide eyes.

Sam smiles. It doesn’t look as forced as it should.

“Pretty good, considering. He really loved the care package you sent.”

“My mom helped me put it together.”

“Well, I figured that when I heard the playlist. It was a little heavy on the Marky Mark to be your doing.”

Blaine laughs.

“I forgot about that. My mom is convinced that The Funky Bunch has some sort of healing powers.”

“Well, it made him laugh, so I’d consider that a job well done. Be sure to pass on our thanks.”

“It was the least we could do.”

Sam slings an arm over Blaine’s shoulder for a one-armed hug. He jostles him around a bit before letting go. Blaine is grinning so hard it must hurt.

“I heard you brought the house down in Grease,” says Sam. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to see it.”

Blaine ducks his head.

“No, I get it. Family is important.”

They chat for a little while longer, about Blaine’s family, and his summer plans, and something that has to do with X-Men that Kurt can’t follow. Leighton eventually pulls Blaine away, chattering about an “epic” idea she has for their graduation party. Blaine goes willingly, but the parting smile he shoots Sam is regretful.

“He’s a good kid,” says Sam fondly.

“Yeah,” says Kurt.

There isn’t much more he can say.

&&&&&

It’s only due to Kurt’s compulsive organization skills that the team is able to make it out of the hotel on time the next morning. They need to be at the venue by 8:00 if they want to have enough time to run warm-ups before the morning’s performances begin, and that is no easy feat for a bunch of adrenaline-fueled teenagers.

Thank god the venue is within walking distance, because Kurt would not want to deal with herding them through the subway system.

Everything is actually going pretty smoothly. Kurt managed to repair both Lisa and Vicky’s dresses last night before bed, and everyone got themselves fed, showered, and dressed with less than three warnings from Kurt. A few of the girls are regretting their decision to walk to the venue in their performance heels, but they’re all pros at dealing with a little foot pain by now.

They sign in and draw their performance slot – five, which is early enough that the judges will still be fresh and late enough that the kids can get a sense of what they’re up against – and they find a rehearsal space with just enough time to warm up before they need to go find their seats.

They don’t do their pep talk yet, or the traditional show circle. There’ll be plenty of time for that backstage. Instead, Kurt gives a quick talk about being gracious competitors that he’s pretty sure only a handful of them actually need to hear, and they file their way into the audience.

The first few groups are good but not great, the kinds of performances that will run together in the judges’ minds when they go to pick the top ten for this evening’s showcase. Kurt has every confidence that theirs will be the first stand-out of the day. There are sure to be others – amongst them Throat Explosion and Here Comes Treble, the all-girls a capella group from Harlem that’s been lighting up the blogosphere – but theirs will be the first.

They will be remembered.

It’s only as they make their way backstage to prepare for their entrance that Kurt even has an inkling that something has gone wrong.

Sabrina pulls him aside. She has panic written all over her face. Kurt feels his stomach drop.

“I need to talk to you,” she says. Or whispers, really, because there’s not enough voice to truthfully call it anything else.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“My voice. It was like this when I woke up. I thought maybe it was just a morning thing – you know, like acid reflux or gunk from my sinuses or something – but it won’t go away! I tried lemon water with honey, and, like a bucket load of tea, and I put myself on vocal rest, but I can’t sing. At all. I tried, just now in the bathroom, and I sounded like a frog. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, but I thought – I thought it would get better, I thought I could push through. I didn’t want to let you down.”

She’s on the verge of tears, and Kurt wants to comfort her, but more than that, he needs to come up with a plan.

“Okay. It’s okay, Sabrina. It isn’t your fault. Are you still up to doing the choreography?”

She nods, blinking very quickly to keep the tears at bay.

“Good. Then we’ll give your solo lines to Elise and you’ll lip sync the backing vocals. Alright?”

She nods again, but she doesn’t look up to doing much more than curling up in a ball and crying her eyes out. Kurt plants his hands on her shoulders, hoping his touch comes across safe and grounding. She looks him in the eye. She swallows.

“You did the right thing by telling me,” he says. “We can still fix this.”

He’s just not quite sure how.

Sabrina wipes her eyes delicately, mindful of her eye make-up, and she squares her shoulders.

“Let’s go tell them,” she says.

They catch up to the group just before Sam opens the door to backstage.

“Wait!” calls Kurt. They turn to look at him, as one. Those lessons on synchrony have really paid off. “We have a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” says Sam, eyes going huge. His gaze darts around the room, as if searching for clues.

“Sabrina has a severe case of laryngitis, and she won’t be able to sing today.”

Kurt tries to keep his tone matter-of-fact, but the reaction is immediate – outrage, panic, horror, all the drama Kurt knew to expect. He heads it off before it can escalate.

“Okay, I understand that emotions are high, but we’ve got to keep our heads,” he says. They quiet down. “We need to come up with a solution, and fast.”

“We could do ‘Cry Me a River,’” suggests Marta. “It killed at Regionals.”

“Yeah, three and a half months ago,” snaps Jason. “We’d be lucky if we remembered the words now, much less the choreography.”

Marta glares at him, gearing up for her own retort, but Elise steps forward and cuts her off. Elise’s usual confidence seems to Kurt more like bravado right now.

“I could sing the solo in ‘Believe,’” she says. “We’d have to change the key or do some creative rearranging or something, but I can make it work. I know I can.”

Kurt imagines it, and he immediately knows it’s all wrong.

“Thank you, Elise, I’m sure you would do a wonderful job. But this song was meant to showcase one of our unique talents, and I think we should stay true to that vision. Do you have anything of your own that’s performance ready? Something that’s more you?”

Elise shakes her head, jaw working in annoyance. At herself or at Kurt, it’s hard to tell.

Leighton clears her throat.

“Mr. Hummel, I think between rehearsals and finals, we’ve all been too busy to try and work on our own – ”

“I have something,” says Blaine. Every pair of eyes in the room snaps immediately to him. He looks…resigned. “It isn’t – I mean, the feel of it is totally different. I’ve been working on a piano arrangement, so I could accompany myself.”

Thank god. Kurt was heading to the panic place, where he starts suggesting increasingly insane diversion tactics. That’s never a good place to be.

“What song is it?” he asks. It almost doesn’t matter. Kurt would consider an acoustic version of “Ice, Ice, Baby” at this point.

Blaine hesitates, but then he straightens his spine and looks Kurt in the eye.

“‘I Can’t Make You Love Me,’” he says.

Kurt feels suddenly as if his breath has been stolen from his body.

No wonder Blaine was so reluctant – asking him to sing this song is like asking him to pry open his ribs and expose what’s beating beneath. Kurt isn’t sure he can do it. He gapes for a long stretch of a moment, trying to find the words to say no or the courage to say yes.

Blaine doesn’t look away. He lifts his chin, never falters.

Kurt finds himself nodding.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“If you tell me you’ve got this, the stage is yours.”

“I’ve got this,” says Blaine, with every last ounce of grit in his body.

“Then it’s settled.”

Kurt looks around, sees those fresh young faces drawn tight with apprehension, his little lost lambs. The way Sam is looking at him, he may as well be shouting, If you don’t start the pep talk, I will! His eyebrows have nearly reached his hairline.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” says Kurt, with confidence he doesn’t quite feel. “Blaine is going to take the solo. Elise, you’ll do Sabrina’s lines in ‘New York.’ The rest of you will listen to each other very carefully and try to fill in the holes that Sabrina’s voice has left behind. You’ll need to work together to find your new equilibrium.” The kids are nodding along, but they still look uncertain. “You can do this. I know it might not seem like it, but this moment is the one you’ve been working for all year. Every harmony you learned, every high note you nailed, every time you fought and made up and opened yourselves up to each other, all of it was worth it. Because this is the moment that you can look at yourselves, and you can look at each other, and you can trust. And that is worth everything. This is a challenge, to be sure, but it’s one that you can rise above.”

That seems to get the fire stirring in their bellies. Even the most timid of freshmen are nodding with new-found determination.

“Hands in,” says Sam, shooting Kurt a smile. You did good.

The kids gather around, squishing together so that everyone can be part of the circle.

“On three,” says Kurt when everyone is in. “One…two…three…”

“Aaaamazing!”

&&&&&

“And now, give it up for the reigning National Champions – from Lima, Ohio, the New Directions!”

The kids are already on stage, in formation and waiting for the lights to come up. All Kurt can do now is watch and try not to drown in anxiety. The last time he had secondhand stage fright this bad was Rachel’s opening night in Funny Girl.

Sam squeezes Kurt’s shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispers. “It’s like you said. Trust.”

Kurt nods. That might be easier said than done, but Sam’s stolid confidence is admittedly calming.

The music starts, and the lights come up, and this is it.

“When I’m with you baby,

I go out of my head,

And I just can’t get enough,

Just can’t get enough.”

Kurt relaxes. Their show smiles are in place, their moves sharp and on beat, their tuning impeccable. Blaine and Leighton are as charismatic and engaging as ever. No one, looking at this team, would have any clue that they were in crisis mode not ten minutes ago.

The song builds beautifully, energy spiraling higher and higher until the audience is moved to their feet with the force of it. The kids hit their dramatic ending pose with only the slightest wobble from Marta in the back. The audience breaks into cheers.

Sam whoops, too, grinning so hard it looks as if his mouth is staging a hostile takeover of his face. Kurt probably doesn’t look any less ridiculous, honestly. He’s jumping up and down, and clapping with such gusto that his palms sting with the aftershocks.

The kids run off stage as the lights go down. Sam holds his hand out for high fives as they rush past him out of audience sightlines. They comply, grinning.

And then Blaine is out there alone in the dark. A trio of stage hands roll the grand piano to center stage, and he settles himself on the bench. Kurt can just barely make out his profile. His eyes are closed.

The rest of the kids cluster in the wings to watch. The mood backstage has taken a sudden turn, the euphoria of a successful performance giving way to nervous anticipation. None of them have seen him perform this song. Or, probably, anything remotely like it. Kurt can feel it, the weight of their hopes and their doubts. He wills Blaine to shrug it off.

The spotlight comes up. Blaine opens his eyes. His spine is straight as steel, his hands steady on the keys. Kurt releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

The song starts simple, plaintive. It’s nothing at all like the brassy number they had planned. It leaves Blaine nowhere to hide. No flashy vocals, no choreography, no one to share the stage with. He can’t disappear into a character or deflect with charisma. There’s nothing he can do to protect the wounds on his tender heart from exposure.

And maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to.

“Lay down with me,

Tell me no lies,

Just hold me close,

Don’t patronize,

Don’t patronize me.”

Maybe that’s the point.

“‘Cause I can’t make you love me

If you don’t,

And you can’t make your heart feel

Something it won’t.”

Kurt is on the verge of tears by the end of the first chorus. He’s forgotten the competition, forgotten everyone else. All he can see, all he can feel, is that boy out there in the spotlight.

This isn’t a song that Blaine wrote, but in this moment it’s completely his. His pain, his bitterness, his clear-eyed determination to share it with the world.

Kurt is seeing him for what he now knows is the first time. This boy, Blaine Johnson, stripped bare and unobscured by the ghosts in Kurt’s heart.

He’s beautiful.

The realization resonates through Kurt like the clanging of a church bell.

“Morning will come,

And I’ll do what’s right,

Just give me till then

To give up this fight,

And I will give up this fight.”

The song comes to a crescendo, and Kurt’s heart clenches. It isn’t just Blaine’s soaring voice, or his bravery, or his willful vulnerability –

Kurt doesn’t want him to give up.

Maybe that’s selfish, and maybe it’s wrong, but Kurt honestly doesn’t care. This boy – this man – he knows his heart better than Kurt knows his own.

It’s him, not the boy Kurt once loved or the man he would have become, it’s this man that Kurt has been wanting so desperately. It’s this man who’s rekindled the life in him, opened him to feelings he thought he’d lost, inspired him to bat away the clouds covering his starlight.

This is the man that he loves.

“‘Cause I can’t make you love me

If you don’t.”

The soft final notes ring out, until there’s nothing left but silence. It’s a long, tautly-stretched moment before the audience snaps out of the spell they’ve been put under. When they do, the response is overwhelming.

The kids backstage are screaming and jumping up and down and hugging each other, and the audience is on their feet, and Blaine is dazed and touched and grinning. He takes a bow, and then another, and then the lights dim again.

The piano comes off the stage. The kids file out and get into formation, Blaine melting in among them.

Kurt hasn’t moved an inch. He isn’t sure he’s blinked. His head, and his heart, and every piece of him is stuck out there on the stage.

The lights come up again, and the thing is, as urgent as his revelation feels to him, they’ve still got their finale number to get through, and their showcase performance, and they need him to be there with them. The rest can wait.

He shakes himself, refocuses.

Sam grabs his shoulder. Kurt looks over at him, startled. Sam shoots him a tight smile.

“This is it,” he says.

Kurt takes a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden racing of his heart.

“I don’t how you do this three times a year. I feel like I’m about to have a heart attack.”

“It’s easier when you don’t have to do it alone.”

Kurt shoots him a fond smile, just as the music starts.

They’re off. Lisa has the first solo line, but she doesn’t hold it for long. They toss it from one soloist to the next, weaving effortlessly between Taylor and Madonna, with a little Frank thrown in for good measure.

“Welcome to New York, New York,

I love New York.”

It’s wild, and fast, and, Kurt knows, impressive. It’s their power move, and the kids are pulling it off beautifully. They’re performing with the confidence of winners. They own the stage. Kurt isn’t surprised at all when the audience gets back to their feet before the song is even halfway over.

“We’ve got this in the bag,” says Sam, directly into Kurt’s ear.

Kurt is pretty sure he’s right. He knows just as well as Sam does what a championship team looks like.

This is it.

Chapter 6: Graduation

Chapter Text

“It’s getting awfully crowded in there.”

Kurt looks over at Will and grins. It’s true. It took some very creative rearrangement to cram their most recent trophy into the display case. It looks lovely, gleaming beneath the track lighting – almost as lovely as it did raised high above Blaine’s head on the stage at Nationals.

Kurt made sure it ended up next to their Nationals trophy from 2012. He likes the symbolism. Closing the circle and all that.

“You might need to expand soon,” he says mildly.

Will grins, too, and claps him on the shoulder.

“So, Kurt, when are you leaving us?”

“Tomorrow morning, first thing. I would have left today, but I couldn’t miss graduation.”

“I’m sure the kids will appreciate it. I know how much you’ve meant to them.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

Will nods toward the door.

“Shall we?” he says.

Kurt hesitates. He glances at the clock.

“Sure.”

They start down the hall to the auditorium, side by side.

“You know, it’s never too late to pursue a career in teaching,” says Will.

Kurt just barely stops himself from laughing out loud at the sincere hopefulness of his tone.

“True. But, alas, I’ve already got my next project lined up.”

He grins, giddy all over again – it still doesn’t feel real to him.

“Oh?”

“I got the call this morning. You’re looking at Broadway’s next Galinda. Name change pending.”

Will stops in his tracks. His face is doing things that make it clear he’s not entirely certain how to react.

“Wow, Kurt, that’s – I mean, I thought – isn’t that part – ”

Kurt raises his eyebrows. He makes sure the tilt of his head is a little dangerous.

“Yes?”

Will flounders for a moment, then ducks his head, laughing at himself.

“Let’s try that again,” he says. “Congratulations, Kurt, that’s really amazing.”

“Thank you. I’m sure Rachel will block out a row for you and the family on opening night.”

They start walking again, this time in silence. It doesn’t take long to reach the lobby. The crowd of families is starting to thin out. The ceremony will be starting soon.

“Speaking of the family, I’d better go find Emma,” says Will. He takes his leave with one last warm smile.

Kurt should probably go find his own seat, but he’s feeling restless. There’s this mix of dread and excitement tugging his insides in opposite directions. He’s afraid that it will twist him into knots he can’t untangle if he stays still for too long. He’s tempted to turn on his heels and head back to the choir room. He settles for pacing in front of the framed playbills displayed on the lobby wall.

Kurt’s never liked graduations, has managed to avoid them, in fact, since his own turned into the worst thing that ever happened to him. This one feels too much like déjà vu.

It’s been 18 years to the day.

Normally, he’d be holed up in his apartment, saturating himself in golden-toned memories and ignoring the rest of the world. It’s something he’s always done on the anniversary of Blaine’s death – for himself, yes, to indulge the longing he’s always kept shoved brutally to the back of his mind, but also for Blaine. To honor him, to keep alive the pieces of himself he left behind.

But today isn’t about living in the past, or holding onto things that are already gone. Kurt is done with that. Today is about new beginnings.

A fresh wave of anticipation washes over him.

It’s only Kurt and a few stragglers left in the lobby now. It’s time. Kurt takes a fortifying breath, and he goes in.

The ceremony is pretty similar to the one Kurt remembers, from the sea of cherry red robes to the dramatic entrances set to ‘80s music. He only pulls out his hanky once, when valedictorian Olivia Weston starts waxing on about closing doors behind them and opening windows to the future. The sentiment is a graduation cliché, but it means something to her. And, apparently, to Kurt.

Angela and Caitlin Johnson are sitting in the first row. They cheer their heads off when Blaine’s name is called, Caitlin jumping up and down and waving her arms wide for maximum impact. He waves to them as he crosses the stage, grinning hard and laughing at his sister’s antics. His eyes catch on Kurt’s, and his smile somehow brightens.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Will, once the final name has been called. “It is with great pleasure that I present to you the McKinley High School Class of 2030!”

Cheers erupt, and the audience gets on their feet, and the kids throw their caps in the air. It’s a pandemonium of joy that’s hard not to get caught up in. Kurt manages to slip out without getting noticed.

He heads to the choir room to wait.

The room has already been cleaned up and cleared out for summer. The chairs are stacked next to the risers, the piano closed and covered. Kurt’s things are in a small box by the door – Kurt’s favorite sandalwood-scented hand lotion, a program from Nationals signed by the team, a few miscellaneous knick-knacks he brought in to personalize his desk space. He’ll need to take it with him when he leaves today. This is the last time he’ll be in the choir room before he gets on the plane tomorrow.

Kurt runs through a mental checklist of what he has to do this afternoon when he gets back to the apartment. Finish packing, clean the bathroom, toss all perishable foods, wash the sheets and towels, run the self-cleaning oven. He just hopes his own subletter is being as thorough. He’d hate to come home to rings in the toilet.

He doesn’t think about what he’s here to do.

He sits on the piano bench and lifts the keyboard cover. He channels his nervous energy into fiddling with a tune he learned during his childhood lessons. He struggled with it for weeks on end, he remembers. It seems so simple, now.

“Let me guess, you took lessons from Mrs. Bradbury when you were a kid?”

Kurt stops, abruptly, the melody left jagged where it’s been cut off. He turns to find Blaine, leaning in the doorway. He’s still wearing his cap and gown.

“How did you know?”

“That was one of the first pieces I learned. My hands weren’t big enough yet to really do it justice, but I made it work.”

Kurt can imagine it, little Blaine with his legs dangling off the piano bench and his fat cheeks pink with determination. He smiles.

“Why don’t you come show me how it’s done?”

Blaine laughs. He sits close to Kurt, because there’s really no other way to share a piano bench, but he keeps their bodies carefully apart. He takes off his cap and sets it on top of the piano. The movement ruffles the smooth wave of his hair.

Blaine’s fingers move gracefully and competently over the keys. Kurt watches Blaine’s face. He lets his eyes linger over Blaine’s handsome profile, the angle of his jaw and the sweep of his dark lashes. Blaine finishes with a flourish and turns to meet Kurt’s gaze. The red of his gown brings out the amber tones in his eyes.

“Impressive,” says Kurt.

“You should hear me play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.’”

“Oh, yeah?”

“It killed at my sixth birthday party.”

Kurt laughs. He savors the way Blaine lights up in response.

“So,” he says, tweaking Blaine’s gown at the collar. “You’re a high school graduate, now.”

Blaine sobers slightly at this, but he doesn’t look away. If anything, his gaze deepens.

“And an official adult,” he says.

“That’s right – today is your birthday! How could I have forgotten?”

Blaine smiles ruefully.

“You’ve had a lot going on.”

“Still. 18 is a big deal. I should have gotten you something.”

“I don’t think it’s standard practice for an ex-teacher to get his ex-student a birthday present.”

He says it hesitantly, searchingly. The hope in his eyes may just be a trick of the light, but it sets Kurt’s heart thumping all the same.

“No,” he says. “I suppose it’s not.”

“Kurt – ”

“I got the part,” he blurts, because this isn’t the moment, not yet, and because he wants Blaine to know. Before – before anything else, he wants Blaine to know this.

Blaine blinks, startled.

“That’s great, Kurt,” he says gamely. Paired with his expression, it’s a very polite version of Duh.

“No – I mean – you were right. What you said about – about forging my own path. I got there and I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t sit there and beg for a part that they should have been begging me to do. So I auditioned for Galinda.”

“And you got it.”

“I found out this morning.”

“Oh, my god. Kurt – that – oh, my god, Kurt! That’s amazing. You’re – ”

He dives in for a hug, cutting himself off. Kurt wraps his arms around him without hesitation. Blaine tucks his chin over Kurt’s shoulder. Kurt leans his cheek against Blaine’s hair. It’s soft, and sweet-smelling, if a tad crinkly. He closes his eyes. This, the fit of their bodies and the warmth of him thrumming in Kurt’s arms, it feels precious.

“I wouldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs.

Blaine pulls back, but he stays close. He can’t seem to help it. He swallows.

“Is that why you asked me to meet you here? To – to tell me that?”

It’s an out that Kurt could take. He won’t, but he could. Blaine is expecting him to, it’s clear from the skittish darting of his eyes.

“No.”

“Then why did you?”

Kurt takes Blaine’s hand in his. He keeps his hold gentle, and loose, so that Blaine can pull away. He doesn’t.

“I’m leaving tomorrow. I had to see you, to tell you – to tell you – ”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Blaine gasps at that, a sudden, silent inhalation. His hand goes slack in Kurt’s. The only emotion Kurt can read on his face is shock. “I know it might be hard for you to believe that – to believe me, considering our recent history. But I’ve never been more sure of anything. Last week, at Nationals, I had a – a moment, I guess, watching you on that stage. I realized – all that time, I was too clouded with memories and – and grief to see that I was falling in love with you. You’re the one I’ve been looking for, for what feels like forever. You’re the one that I want.”

It isn’t elegant, but it’s sincere. Kurt wills Blaine to see that, wishes there was a way to show him the love pumping through his blood with every beat of his open heart.

Blaine’s hold on Kurt’s hand tightens. The disbelief on his face melts into joy. Tears spring up in his eyes.

“I love you, too,” he says.

He leans in, then, free hand gripping tentatively at Kurt’s shoulder as his eyes drop to Kurt’s mouth. Kurt meets him, arms snaking out to pull him close.

The touch of their lips is soft, at first. Gentle, exploratory. It doesn’t stay that way. Blaine’s mouth drops open, and he makes a sound that could be best described as a whimper, and Kurt is lost to it. Lost to him. There’s a current that’s been lit between them, that’s bringing his entire body to life. He kisses deeper, holds tighter, feels hungry for every piece of Blaine that he’s willing to give. Blaine’s hand comes up and cradles Kurt’s neck. It’s a gesture that feels both achingly familiar and entirely new.

Suddenly, sharply, Blaine breaks away. He’s breathing heavily – more heavily than he should be. Kurt himself is having trouble catching his breath, but Blaine seems to be truly in distress.

“Blaine?”

There’s no response for a terrifying moment. Kurt feels an irrational spike of panic – something’s wrong, oh, god, it’s a heart attack, or – or – I have to call an ambulance, I can’t let him – not again.

He grabs Blaine’s face in his hands.

“Blaine, talk to me,” he says, with all the ferocity he can muster.

Blaine’s eyes are huge.

“Kurt?” he says. He sounds lost. He sounds…

“What is it? What’s going on?”

“I don’t…Kurt.”

It’s impossible. It is. It’s not possible. But the way he’s saying Kurt’s name –

“Blaine?”

Blaine is staring at him like – well, like it’s been 18 years since they last saw each other. He looks at Kurt as if he knows. He smiles, overwhelmed, and makes a squeaky little sound somewhere between laughing and sobbing.

“There you are.”

&&&&&

It’s the same dreamscape. Nebulous, silver-gray, and dead silent. Kurt can move, but he doesn’t. He stays in place, doesn’t even turn his head. He’s waiting.

A figure emerges. A person. The only thing in this place that’s real.

A hand reaches out. Kurt takes it. It’s warm in his, and solid. His heartbeat quickens.

The world around them bursts into vivid technicolor.

“I guess we’ve made it over the rainbow,” says Kurt.

Blaine smiles, in wonder.

“I can’t believe you waited for me.”

“I would have waited much longer than a lifetime for you.”

Blaine squeezes his hand.

“I’m glad you didn’t have to.”

Chapter 7: Epilogue

Chapter Text

The knock couldn’t have come at a better time. Kurt was just starting to reach the point at which nerves turn into panic. He’s checked his make-up, and re-checked, and then touched up the eyeliner he smeared when his dad’s flowers were delivered to his dressing room. It’s amazing how, at the ripe age of 38, a few gruff words from his dad can still make him tear up. He’s done a very thorough vocal warm-up, and every stretch his body can handle. He has nothing left to obsess over but the New York Times critic sitting front row center.

And that could be a very dangerous road to start down.

The door opens before Kurt’s had a chance to do more than call out a quick, “Come in!” It’s the flowers he sees first, the biggest bouquet of white roses he’s ever seen, but he has no doubts as to the identity of his visitor.

“Blaine!” he says, rising from his chair.

Blaine peeks out from behind the bouquet, grinning so hard his eyes have gone squinty.

“Happy opening night!”

Kurt nudges the flowers aside and throws his arms around Blaine.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you right now,” he says, only a little wryly.

Blaine chuckles, but it sounds more confused than amused.

“It’s only been two hours.”

“And I’m in desperate need of a good distraction.”

“Nerves?”

“Do you have to ask?”

Blaine pulls back, and looks Kurt in the eye. The belief there is enough to stop Kurt’s breath.

“You can do this, Kurt. This role is in your bones. You know that.”

When Blaine looks at him like that, there isn’t anything in the world that Kurt feels he couldn’t do. That much has always been true – whoever Blaine is, no matter when.

Kurt nods.

“I know,” he says.

Blaine kisses him, hard and quick, a fortifying kind of kiss. He sets the flowers gently on Kurt’s vanity.

“How are you here so early?” asks Kurt, in sudden realization.

“I may have skipped my last class,” says Blaine. “I had more important places to be.”

“I thought you had a vocal performance midterm.”

“I rescheduled it. Professor Barnes thought it would best to wait until after the laryngitis cleared up. He wouldn’t want me to give myself vocal nodules.”

Blaine’s smile is perhaps a tad roguish. Kurt raises his eyebrows.

“Wait, so you lied to your professor for me?”

“Of course I did.”

It’s moments like these that Kurt remembers – though Blaine may have lived two lifetimes in the span of Kurt’s own, he’s only just recently left his adolescence behind.

It’s the first time in a long time that he’s even thought about it at all, actually. Blaine is Blaine, whether he’s Blaine Anderson or Blaine Johnson, or both at the same time. No matter if he’s technically 18 years Kurt’s junior. Kurt gets that now.

He used to dissect everything that Blaine did – that laugh is Blaine Anderson, that quirk of the eyebrow is Blaine Johnson, that tart comment could be either, but the passive aggressive way he said it brings Kurt all the way back to 2012. He would look at Blaine and think who are you right now?, as if it mattered.

It was a long time before he figured out that he was looking at it all wrong.

“You don’t get it!” said Blaine one day, in a pique of frustration. “You have to stop treating me like I have multiple personality disorder or something.”

Kurt, of course, was adamant that that wasn’t what he was doing at all, but Blaine had reached his boiling point.

“I’m not the person you remember, Kurt. Not ever. How could I be? I’ve lived a whole other life since then.”

He was on the verge of tears, eyes shining bright with them but determined not to let them fall. The last thing he wanted was to show Kurt how terrified he was.

That was what finally did it. That was what made things click for Kurt.

For Blaine, it felt like his memories had been unlocked, like a missing piece of him had clicked back into place. Like he’d become the person he was supposed to be. There was no way to separate Blaine Anderson from Blaine Johnson, any more than Kurt could separate the little boy in a tutu from the Broadway star he was about to become.

There’s a knock at the door.

“Five minutes to curtain, Mr. Hummel!” he hears. It’s Matilda, the stage manager, who wouldn’t normally have any qualms at all about barging into his dressing room to call time. She must know Blaine is here.

“I’d better go,” says Kurt, reluctantly.

Blaine kisses his cheek and takes both hands in his.

“Break a leg,” he says. “And remember to breathe.”

Kurt squeezes his hands and pulls him in for one more hug.

“Easier said than done.”

The nerves come back almost the second Blaine walks out the door. Kurt takes one final look in the mirror. His eyes catch on Blaine’s flowers. He smiles.

This is it. This is the moment he’s been waiting for, the moment he’s been working for since that very first ballet class. It’s his role of a lifetime.

He’ll never forgive himself if he screws it up.

But the thing is, even if it all goes to hell, if he forgets his lines or he goes off-key or his well-tailored costume pants split at the seams, if the New York Times critic makes him a national laughing stock in tomorrow morning’s paper – it wouldn’t be the end of his world. It may knock him down, but nothing could stop him from picking himself up, dusting himself off, and coming back stronger than ever. Not as long as he has those eyes looking into his, holding up a mirror to the best, brightest, shiniest parts of him.

Just knowing that is enough to give him courage.

After all, isn’t that what a soulmate is for?