Blaine watched, muscles tense despite his every effort to relax, as Kurt blinked his eyes open and focused them on the sheet of paper. His irises, with all the colors of the ocean and just as deep, flicked from word to word, but Blaine couldn't read his expression. So he waited. And waited.

Finally Kurt inhaled softly, glancing at Blaine, who resumed without a thought the rubbing of his leg, maybe out of anticipation.

"It's a no," Kurt said flatly.

Blaine's hand stopped and his stomach clenched unpleasantly.

--|--

I don't want to go.

Blaine sighed, crossing his legs on Kurt's bed while Kurt paced the room. He'd been touchy for over a month now and it was starting to wear on Blaine's nerves -- all this tip-toeing around his boyfriend like he was a ticking time bomb didn't feel good at all. And sure, they'd had more than a few moments when Kurt seemed to forget all about his rejection and allowed himself to have fun with Blaine or with Quinn or whatever, but right now...

I haven't even asked you.

But you want to go, Kurt signed back. He hadn't tried speaking once since the topic came up, which was a clear indication of his state of mind. It worried Blaine. I know you do.

Not without you, but I don't understand.

Don't understand what?

Blaine slipped in his signing and huffed out a frustrated breath before grabbing the board from nearby. It's your senior prom, why don't you want to go?

It's stupid was Kurt's childish response, and he seemed to realize it. That didn't keep him from continuing. I'll go to yours next year. I'll be here, anyway.

So the hunt still isn't going well, I take it.

No one wants a deaf employee like me. Kurt shook his head. I can't even be a translator because I don't know this language that well.

Really? Blaine knew enough about sign language at this point to know that Kurt often used choppy, direct translation instead of the language's true structure, but he didn't want to lower Kurt's progressively worsening morale.

Two years and I've never taken a real class. It's not enough.

You never know until you try. Besides, there are plenty of entry-level jobs you could get.

Kurt arched an eyebrow and stopped to stare, challenging, at Blaine. Name one.

... do I get time to do research first, or?

Thought so.

Kurt sat down on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him and towards Blaine, who doodled a quick picture of the New York City skyline. He smiled as, underneath it, he drew a stick figure with Kurt's signature messy pompadour. He wished he had a pink marker.

What are you doing? Kurt signed; Blaine almost missed it, as focused as he was on the drawing. In answer, he turned the board for him to see. Kurt craned his neck and squinted slightly in order to see from his distance, but he soon smiled, a subtle flush rising in his cheeks. I can't believe you still think I'll get there.

It was a squeeze with the drawing still there, but Blaine wrote, It's not a belief, it's fact. You, sir, are meant to be in New York or wherever you want to be at any given time. I don't believe for a second you'll let yourself stay here if your heart is somewhere else.

Kurt grinned but glanced away, apparently embarrassed as he signed, I'm pretty sure my heart is sitting right in front of me.

Blaine's own heart felt like it skipped over a beat or three -- he lay the board in his lap and reached a hand out. Kurt took it and let himself be pulled, first to his feet and then to the bed, nearly tumbling on top of Blaine in the process.

"I keep telling you I'm a romantic," he mumbled, voice rough from not speaking for what had likely been more than a day, "yet you're always surprised." He backed off to let Blaine sign.

Not surprised, just happy. But I love you no matter what.

"So even if hadn't a single romantic bone in my body--"

I love you.

"--or I dropped out of school to become a crude trucker--"

Blaine scoffed. I love you.

"--or I--"

I still love you, Blaine signed one last time. Always.

Kurt nodded, leaned in, and whispered "I love you, too, handsome. Blaine."

Then they were kissing and Blaine found himself on his back, Kurt's forearms bracketing his chest and pressing into the mattress. He melted into it as always, Kurt's nearness grounding and sweet with the smell of him. Too soon, though, Kurt broke the kiss and his lips hovered mere centimeters from Blaine's.

"I almost bought a pack last week," he confessed; when Blaine found his eyes, they were looking off to one side. "I didn't, but it was close. I just needed to tell someone that."

Blaine, with no way to communicate other than to mouth a gentle "It's okay," let his hand find Kurt's cheek. Kurt leaned automatically into the touch and started in for another kiss -- Blaine stopped him, though, an idea leaping to his mind.

"Make it quick," Kurt said, getting to his knees when Blaine indicated the board. "I'd like to taste more than just your lips today."

With a barely-there shiver, Blaine nodded and started to write furiously after he erased the drawing and everything else.

I want to do prom with you

Kurt saw and sighed, "Blaine..." but he held up a finger and kept on.

We don't have to go to school but I want us to have the tuxedos and the dance if nothing else. Like a real slow dance with everything I know you not-so-secretly love.

"Where?"

Wherever you want. We could stay in one of our houses for the night, but we do spent a lot of time that way already. Kurt hummed, thoughtful. 

"You want it to be special."

Everything we do is special, of course. But... personally, I've always loved the symbolism behind a first dance. Call me cheesy for the rest of our lives if you want... 

"You are cheesy," Kurt huffed as Blaine cleared room to continue writing. "It fucks up all the rules of being a jock." Blaine raised an eyebrow at him, then indicated Kurt with a vague gesture. Kurt rolled his eyes. "There aren't rules for whatever I am except for 'thou must fuck well.'"

Blaine snorted. I can assure you that you've got that covered.

"Mm. Sorry for interrupting, keep going."

As I was saying. My last dance with a guy didn't really end up... great... but I want more than anything to have a dance to remember as that time I got the one and only Kurt Hummel to, somehow, love me.

Kurt bit his lip, trying not to smile and failing. "You didn't make it very difficult."

So is that a yes to a two-person prom?

Grinning, Kurt signed Yes and all but tackled Blaine to the bed, peppering him with kisses that quickly turned languid and heated. Before Blaine could get his bearings and ask if he needed to talk about anything else -- it seemed as though he did, somehow -- Kurt murmured, "Would you like me to ride you, pretty boy?"

Guilt settled bitter in his stomach but Blaine nodded, his dick starting to drive his priorities rather than his head. They could talk later, he reasoned with himself as Kurt slid his polo up, the initial bite of cold skin against his fading to needy warmth in record time.

The time passed in a blur, with sharp, clear images sticking in Blaine's mind -- of Kurt sinking down, his face scrunched; of him mapping the skin of Blaine's chest with his hands almost frantically; of the way his back arched, jaw dropped beautifully. Too soon, Blaine found himself wrapping his arms around Kurt from behind and breathing in the sweet scent of him mixed with sweat and sex. The giddy post-orgasm phase had passed and now Kurt was pliant and relaxed.

It was getting late and Blaine knew he had to leave or else risk stern looks or maybe even a lecture from his parents. They meant well, of course, his mom having warmed up to Kurt quite a bit over the past few months, but he was still a teenager with a curfew.

He gave Kurt an apologetic kiss when he grumbled (something ridiculous about needing something warm near his sore ass) and got up. Blaine put his clothes back on as soon as he located them and, when he looked back at Kurt to ask if he needed anything before he left, his boyfriend turned out to be fast asleep.

"I love you," Blaine said, signing it as well out of plain habit. That particular phrase he was sure he'd never, ever forget, even if Kurt disappeared from his life and he had no reason left to use it.

Not that he ever wanted to find out for sure.

In sleep, Kurt seemed younger. He went from a semi-badass, tattooed young man full of defenses to a boy with a lifetime's worth of problems that, through dreams, dissolved into nothingness. Blaine knew better than to worry -- Kurt was strong, had proved it many times over -- but still he worried, because there was something there that wouldn't let go of him, that parasite of perceived worthlessness that everyone has and occasionally notices. Maybe Kurt knew he was amazing, but he didn't trust the world to believe him.

It was a pitfall, Blaine thought, because the world turns coldly, half built of distrust and indifference to its individuals. Kurt wouldn't ever find the world's support because that sort of thing doesn't exist.

But it's built of warmth and caring too, those things being more focused and, in the stony face of society, meaningless at first glance. They matter, though, matter more than anything else. They just come in smaller packages, ready to open when the world is too much.

Blaine shook his head; he was thinking too much and he had to get home. On the way, he passed by a shop of odds and ends, crafts and unique trinkets in downtown Lima. He smiled and pulled over.

--|--

"Hey, wait up!"

Blaine turned around in the hallway and instantly spotted Finn maneuvering between people to get to him. He smiled when he got closer and said, "Hey, congrats on the prom king nomination."

Finn shuffled his feet and grinned. "Thanks, man. But listen, what are you doing for prom?"

"Oh, I'm not going."

"What? Dude, you have to go!"

Blaine shrugged. "I've got next year. Kurt doesn't want to go, so I'm not going."

"Wait, he doesn't want to go to his senior prom? Why?"

"It probably has something to do with this school's attitude towards him," Blaine said slowly. "Just my guess."

"Oh, right. So you guys are just gonna skip?"

Blaine shook his head. "We're having our own kind of prom, just us. I don't really know where or how, but that's the plan. What?" he asked when Finn gave him an odd look.

"Nothing. I'm just really glad you guys are together, you know that? I know I was kinda stupid about it at first--"

"Yeah," Blaine muttered.

"--but he's a good guy that deserves a good guy like you, even if I never really understood all that sleeping around stuff. And, like, the dye and everything."

"Was it really that big of a change?"

"I keep forgetting you only transferred here this year. Yeah, it was crazy at first. He came home one day at the beginning of our junior year with the pink stuff in his hair and his ear pierced and I thought Burt was gonna explode. He dropped outta glee pretty soon after that."

"Do you know what... happened? The accident happened a while before that, didn't it?"

"Yeah. I don't know anything, though," Finn said, hanging his head a little. "I should have asked 'cause it was pretty obvious something was going on, but yeah."

Blaine wanted to continue the conversation but the bell rang. "Shit," he grumbled as Finn looked around with wide eyes as though he forgot he had class. "See you, Finn."

Finn gave him a half-smile. "See you."

They parted ways and Blaine managed to slip into his classroom without getting marked tardy. During class he thought about what Finn had said -- everything he'd said. How Finn thought he was a good guy and how Kurt still held some secrets even from Blaine.

Not that Blaine minded. It sounded like something Kurt would have to tell him on his own, and it wasn't as though it affected their relationship in any direct way. Simply put, it was just another mystery. Still, he couldn't help wondering about it. How did the Kurt he knew come to be? He'd seen one or two photos of Kurt from before, and he almost looked like a different person. Much of it was just him growing up, but part of it was the set of his jaw and, of course, the altered parts of his appearance. And his eyes.

Kurt's eyes then held a kind of sullen ferocity. Kurt's eyes now held anything from cold indifference (usually in public) to deep warmth (usually when he looked at Blaine or his dad). Blaine's Kurt had that ferocity too, but he had that visible wisdom that comes solely from difficult circumstances, as well.

Sometimes he just looked tired, mentally and emotionally so.

Blaine sighed; he glanced up to the front of the room and carefully pulled out his phone. To: Kurt Hey. I love you. From: Kurt Are you feeling spontaneous again? From: Kurt ps I love you, too. To: Kurt Not really, I was just thinking. From: Kurt Sounds dangerous. To: Kurt shhh, I was thinking about you. From: Kurt Especially dangerous, then. try not to pop one in the middle of class okay? To: Kurt I have more control than that, Hummel From: Kurt hmm, are you sure? I'm pretty distracting, if I do say so myself To: Kurt that's... true, but I really was just thinking about you and how lucky I am. From: Kurt Cheesehead. I think I'm the lucky one here, actually. I mean here I am texting my boyfriend, who is so kindly missing out on his education to be schmoopy as fuck when he could do so later To: Kurt ... are you telling me to pay attention? From: Kurt Ding ding ding. I'll see you later, handsome.

Blaine shook his head, unable to keep a smile off his face. God, he was so ridiculously in love he could hardly believe it. He still had questions but they could wait, he'd wait forever for Kurt to be ready if he needed to.

It was the mystery he was first attracted to, but it was Kurt he fell in love with.

--|--

The week passed by slowly, so Blaine was relieved when Saturday evening finally came and he could drive to McKinley. He, however, wasn't going to walk into the building like the rest of the students.

It wasn't as cold outside as he'd expected it to be, thank god. Blaine adjusted his bow tie (handpicked by Kurt; they'd gone out to get their tuxedos together, though Blaine still hadn't seen Kurt wear his) and headed for the football field.

Kurt's idea had been to have their mini-prom under the bleachers -- something private and meaningful but not in either of their houses. Blaine had agreed, of course, but he still held some reservations. It just seemed like an odd place to go for such an event, but Kurt said he'd take care of everything. Blaine didn't really know what that meant, but he trusted his boyfriend's words -- and figured that they'd have a good time no matter what. 

He ducked into the familiar space and stopped, eyes wide.

The concrete floor had clearly been swept and maybe even washed if the way it shone was any indication. Strings of tiny, warm lights hung from the steel bars that held the structure up, lighting the area like fireflies. The dirty old couch was nowhere to be seen; in its place was a simple table draped in navy. Finally, on the table sat a wireless stereo system, one of their dry-erase boards, and Kurt Hummel himself.

Kurt grinned at him and got to his feet, self-consciously brushing off his slacks. He wore his sleek black tuxedo -- and a chartreuse tie that Blaine didn't remember seeing on their little shopping trip, but that complemented his hair. It was strange to see Kurt dressed so formally, but Blaine loved how he looked this way, how he almost looked ready for a grand wedding.

That, of course, was letting his mind wander too far away, so Blaine stopped staring to sign, You look amazing.

Blaine smiled when Kurt ducked his head, uncharacteristically bashful. Thank you, he signed. You look very handsome, as well.

Then, I used to dream about this kind of thing, is that weird?

Blaine shook his head. Of course not. Did you do all this?

Yes. My dad helped. Kurt glanced at the stereo. I brought the music I used to listen to and threw in some of your favorite songs too. If you want.

In answer, Blaine held out his hand and waited. Kurt took it with a raised eyebrow, letting himself be pulled in close.

"Is that a no to the music?" he asked. Blaine traced a plus sign into his hip. He didn't need music -- well, in certain senses he did, but not here. It was more than enough to have Kurt's arms draped over his shoulders and his own hands at his waist as they started to dance to near silence.

After a while, Blaine playfully began to dance to something more upbeat in his head; Kurt yelped as he was unexpectedly twirled.

"Two can play at this," he muttered, and Blaine was perfectly content to let Kurt lead him, spin him, dip him however he liked to the imaginary (or not so imaginary?) music between them.

Eventually they slowed to a stop and Kurt showed him a smaller table with chairs and yet another board. Blaine sat down as Kurt grabbed two glasses and a bottle of sparkling cider.

Who's cheesy now? was the message written on the board when Kurt finally sat down across from Blaine.

"Oh, stop it. Let me live my younger self's fantasies," Kurt huffed. "I'm sure you'll do something to even us out in about two seconds."

Well...

Kurt smirked. "I knew it."

I do have something I want to give you, and you'll probably think it's cheesy but I don't care. Kurt tilted his head, curious. Hang on, it's in my pocket.

Blaine fumbled for his pocket, suddenly fiercely nervous -- what if Kurt didn't like it? What if he thought it was dumb? Or, worse: offensive? He almost wanted to just not give it to him, but he couldn't go back now.

Nearly dropping it, Blaine pulled a small box from his pocket at last. He noticed Kurt craning his neck to peek, so he placed it on the table in front of him.

It wasn't a particularly pretty box -- it had its own kind of rustic charm, but it was really just a pale brown square with a white ribbon wrapped around it. Blaine dragged the board back towards himself.

I found this last weekend after I left your house. I didn't plan on getting anything but it just... reminded me of you? so I got it. And I can take it back if you don't like it, I kept the receipt and everythi

Kurt's hand stopped his on the board and Blaine looked up. "Don't panic, baby, I'm sure I'll love it," Kurt said, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. "Closeted romantic, remember?"

Blaine nodded and smiled back despite his nerves. This was okay. Kurt loved him, so of course it was. His fingers went to the box and opened it with surprising ease given how much they seemed to shake.

Inside the box was a simple cord necklace. A roll of stiff paper made up the charm it was adorned with -- the outer pattern consisted of music notes on a staff in black ink. It wasn't anything particularly expensive or complicated, but when Blaine had seen it in that shop, it had reminded him of Kurt.

Kurt took the necklace with wide eyes, examining it. When he looked back up in wonder, Blaine took a deep breath.

You're my music, he signed. And we're my favorite song.

Returning to the board before Kurt could say or sign anything, he wrote, It's handmade, made out of paper but I thought it could be something for you to take with you WHEN you leave. Not if.

"You... shit, Blaine." Kurt shook his head, seemingly overwhelmed. Give me a second.

Blaine waited for what seemed like hours, his fingers toying with the marker in his hand as Kurt took a minute to collect himself.

"Sorry. Okay. Um." Kurt laughed sheepishly. "Words are kind of fucking with my head right now but I want to say this out loud. I never expected the cute guy that got lost last September to be the one I fell in love with, but, well. I did. Really fucking hard. And I think I just did a little bit more, if that's possible.

"I still don't think I'll be going anywhere next year but I know for a fact I would have given up by now if it weren't for you. So... thank you for that. And for this," he added, indicating the necklace, "because it's perfect."

Blaine grinned. I love you.

I love you, too, Kurt signed back. He put the necklace carefully back into its box and motioned for Blaine to go around to his side of the table.

What are you doing? Blaine asked when Kurt scooted his chair back until they were facing each other, one standing and one sitting, and reached up to untie Blaine's bow tie. Kurt just smiled, grabbing the ends of the tie once he finished and using them to pull Blaine down until he was straddling his lap.

"I think we've had enough cheesiness for one night," Kurt murmured. "And there's another prom tradition that we need to acknowledge."

Leaning back slightly, Blaine signed, Doesn't the sex come afterwards? Not during?

"Oops."

Later, as they headed for his car and ignored their below-the-equator discomfort in favor of keeping their hands on each other, Blaine figured he could easily forgive Kurt that little slip.

--|--

"How long was that?" a voice asks, and a pale, transparent figure steps noiselessly through another gravestone, a grin bright and clear on his face.

"Two years, I think," Kurt answers, brows furrowed. "Maybe three."

"I wish I could go with you."

Kurt smiles sadly, sitting down on the grass and motioning for the figure -- the ghost of a nineteen year-old boy named Blaine -- to sit across from him. "You don't want to be around me all the time," he says, grimacing. "Trust me, it's not pretty."

"Graveyards aren't exactly places of beauty, either," Blaine retorts as he crosses his legs. "And it's a graveyard in Ohio. At least you get to go out and see the world."

Kurt scoffs. "The world isn't as great as it's cracked up to be. Especially not when I have to-- to hurt people."

"Kurt--"

"I'm tired of it, Blaine." Kurt groans, gesturing to himself. "Before this happened, I was terrified of vampires. Now I just hate what I am and it sucks."

"No pun intended?" Blaine asks, quirking an eyebrow but looking instantly apologetic, and Kurt can't help the puff of laughter that escapes him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Don't worry about it. I just... I would give anything to feel human again. To not have to restrain myself from turning more people into monsters like me."

"You're not a monster," Blaine says emphatically.

"Blaine, I have to drink blood or else I go practically insane to the point of murder." Kurt shudders, remembering the one time that had happened. He shakes the memory from his brain; it makes him feel sick.

"But you don't want to hurt anyone." Kurt tilts his head. Blaine shrugs. "In my opinion, a monster is someone that hurts people for pleasure. Like..."

"Like the assholes that killed you." Blaine sets his jaw and Kurt bites back his mini-tirade, suddenly worried that he's said too much. It's always an unsurprisingly touchy subject with Blaine, but Kurt sometimes speaks without thinking.

"They didn't mean to," Blaine says quietly. "Like I said last time, there's no point being angry about it anymore. It's not like I'm going to stop being like this just out of pure hatred."

Kurt thinks he'd hate his attacker if he ever knew who it was; he'd been bitten in the dead of night and turned before he woke up, paler than usual and intensely sensitive to sunlight. It had taken him a few hours of utter panic to realize what he'd been turned into, and then he'd fled from home, terrified of himself and of what his new life meant.

But Blaine's situation had started off far worse. Kurt can imagine it clear as day; three drunk men in their mid-twenties following Blaine, shouting derogatory insults at him as he hunched his shoulders and walked faster towards home in the fading light. They'd caught up to him, though, and something Blaine said angered them enough for the confrontation to turn to violence.

He never woke up from the ordeal, not until he was buried and he found himself still clinging to life as a ghost, unable to go beyond the fence of the graveyard. Kurt stares at the gravestone (Blaine Anderson, 1951--1970) again, doing his best to keep the anger from bubbling to the surface.

If he knew who those three men were, he'd have tracked them down by now. Kurt may hate his monstrous inclinations, but a part of him feels like he'd be justified in at least scaring the guys out of their wits. By now, though, they'd be in their sixties or even older. It shocks Kurt to remember how much time has passed -- he still looks and feels twenty, despite being rather young for a vampire at forty-three years (since being turned the same year that Blaine had died).

Weirdly enough, they had met once before they both had their lives changed so drastically. It was in a cafe and they'd been in line next to each other. Kurt remembers that better than anything, how Blaine had recognized the inspiration for his wardrobe and sparked an energetic conversation between the two of them that lasted for an hour as they sat at a small table.

It had been the first time that Kurt really embraced the fact that he's gay, recognizing Blaine's shy glances and giving a few of his own. The times, though, were not friendly -- they parted without exchanging addresses and Kurt had accepted the fact that it was better that way.

(Kurt sees plenty of same-sex couples on his most recent travels, mainly when he visits large urban areas out of an old love for the city of New York. He often wonders what would have happened had he and Blaine lived their human lives in this time period, but it makes him bitter to think too much about it. He has lost enough without wondering if he lost a love.)

His surprise, then, when he came across Blaine on one of his now-regular return visits to Ohio, was palpable. Blaine had remembered him, too, and despite their unique situations, they've built a lasting, if odd, friendship over the past almost half-century.

"Do you wish you could die?" Kurt cringes. "I mean, move on? Whatever you call it?"

"Sometimes," Blaine says, as conversational as if Kurt had just asked about the weather. "But mostly I look forward to seeing you again too much to want to give it up."

They say that vampires don't have souls -- why something leapt in his chest at that, Kurt doesn't know. But he likes the feeling. "I feel bad for making you wait years, then."

"Time doesn't really mean anything to me," Blaine says with a lopsided smile. "I don't know for sure how much time has passed unless you tell me. Not much changes around here for me to go by, in that regard."

"People visit graveyards, though, don't they?"

"Yeah, but all that changes about them is how they dress and talk. And they don't even talk much."

"Do you ever try to communicate with them?" Kurt knows from previous conversations that Blaine could, if he wanted to, touch a human. He can touch anything that has a soul, being the manifestation of a soul himself. Kurt hasn't tried to touch him, though, or vice versa. He's afraid of the crushing disappointment of Blaine's hand going right through him, confirming just how inhuman he really is.

"No. Well, a little while ago I did, after you left the last time." Blaine smiles, but it's faint. "She was just a little girl, maybe four years old, and I overheard that the person she was visiting was her dad. I guess he'd passed away pretty recently because she was-- not crying, but broken. I could tell.

"Kurt, I wanted so badly to help her, I actually showed up right in front of her. It's a miracle she didn't run off screaming," Blaine says with a small laugh.

"Kids," Kurt says, rolling his eyes fondly despite the tightness of his throat. He misses his dad.

"Right. She just kind of stared at me and asked me what my name was, so I told her. She said her name was Kate and that she liked my clothes."

"Your clothes?"

Blaine shrugs. "She went on to ask me why they didn't fall through my body, so I said that they were just a part of me and that that's why they're all pale and stuff like my skin. We had a nice conversation."

"How did it end?"

"She had to go home, but she asked me where my grave was first and--" Blaine bites his lip, his eyes crinkling. "--she left a flower there. Then she hugged me."

Blaine glances down at the grass between them, obviously a little overwhelmed by the memory.

"I can't really remember the last time anyone put something on my grave aside from when my parents and my brother did it way back when it all happened, so... I don't know. And the last time someone hugged me, god, it felt amazing to have that again for a few seconds. Seriously, if I could hug a tree every day, I would."

"Blaine Anderson, the mysterious tree-hugging ghost," Kurt says dryly, making them both grin. "You'd make headlines."

"If only trees had souls," Blaine hums. "You'd think they would. They're alive, right?"

"Yes, but they don't have emotions as far as I can tell."

"So having emotions means having a soul?"

Kurt opens his mouth to answer but the subject is too painful. Instead he grabs his messenger bag and says, "I have something to show you that I think you might like."

Blaine's eyes widen and he cranes his neck as Kurt, slightly embarrassed, pulls out a bright pink sweater patterned with bats and ghosts. He avoids Blaine's gaze as he slips it on over his usual clothes, readjusting his scarf so that it drapes over the top of it.

"There are crosses on it too, but they don't hurt me in fabric form, I guess," Kurt mutters self-consciously. "I found it in a store and, well. I don't appear on security cameras."

"That's amazing," Blaine says, breaking into a grin wider than Kurt's sure he's ever seen. "So I'm the ghosts and you're the bats?"

"I can't actually fly, but yes."

"I love it," Blaine declares. "You should have brought one for me."

"I thought about it, but I figured it wouldn't stay on." Blaine huffs. "But I'll see if I can find another one for you and bring it next time."

"I don't like that you have to leave again," Blaine mumbles, looking away. Kurt frowns, but his expression softens again when he takes in Blaine's hunched, sad form.

"I always come back," he says. "You know I do."

"Why, though?"

Kurt blinks, adjusting his glasses out of habit. "I like talking to you."

"Enough to come all the way back to a place you hate every other year or so?"

He does hate Ohio, Kurt has to admit. Once upon a time he called it home, but since his family died and he outlived them without a choice, it's just a reminder of the worst things. But Blaine is worth coming back for reasons he can't quite articulate. "Yes" is all he can say, which obviously isn't enough for Blaine.

"I guess I just don't get it."

"If the roles were reversed, wouldn't you do it for me?" Kurt asks, a little afraid of the answer. Blaine nods.

"In a heartbeat."

"Then you do get it." Kurt smiles at him and Blaine mirrors it, the skin of his cheeks a little more opaque. He wonders if that means he's blushing.

They watch each other in comfortable silence for some time, Kurt taking in all the nuances of Blaine that he has had memorized for decades. His hair, his vest and cardigan, his bow tie, his eyes. There's no color to him but it's not a stretch to imagine -- his very personality exudes the brightest of hues. And Kurt can recall the dark honey of his eyes from their single meeting as humans.

Kurt rubs over the two puncture marks in his neck. They don't hurt, he hardly feels pain anymore, but they're there nonetheless. He can't see them in a mirror (or anything else, for that matter) so he has fallen into the habit of touching them as a solemn reminder of reality.

"Kurt?"

He snaps out of his musings and focuses on Blaine, whose expression is unreadable.

"Yes?"

"Is it weird that I really, really want to kiss you?" Kurt swallows and fidgets with the end of his scarf. He can't do this.

"No, but... you can't," he says. "Vampires don't have souls, remember?"

Blaine frowns and holds his hand out, stretching it towards Kurt. "Take it," he says.

"No, I--"

"Kurt. I'm trying to prove to you that you're not some soulless creature. You have emotions, right? You can love?"

"Well-- Yes, but that hardly means anything."

"We won't know until you take my hand," Blaine says, flexing his fingers. "Please?"

Kurt glares at him but it doesn't last long. Curiosity overtakes fear and he reaches for Blaine's hand, resisting the urge to close his eyes so he doesn't have to see it when they pass through each other. But instead he feels something, an odd warmth that isn't quite like touching a human, but it's touching something -- it's Blaine.

"Oh my god," Kurt says as their fingers intertwine and their palms meet. "You're warm." He mentally kicks himself for the stupid remark, but Blaine just laughs.

"Some ghosts are cold," he says. "But apparently it depends on the soul."

"It says a lot about you," Kurt muses. He's resisting the urge to pull Blaine to him and just touch -- he's wanted this connection with Blaine for so long, he doesn't know why they never attempted this before.

"Maybe. But what about you?" Blaine lifts an eyebrow. "Soulless vampire, my ass."

"Oh, shut up," Kurt says, laughing breathlessly. It feels like a weight has disappeared from his back. "I thought you wanted to kiss me."

"I do, but... would that be too much? I don't want to make you do anything--"

Kurt rolls his eyes and lets Blaine's hand support him as he draws himself to his knees. He inches in closer and Blaine seems stunned until he closes the distance between them; their lips meet and it's incredible and familiar and new all at once. Kurt feels warmer himself, a sort of heat expanding in his chest. He rests a hand against the side of Blaine's neck just as Blaine's hand finds his side, and a thought flickers through his mind that maybe, just maybe, Ohio is still home.

"I bet you have a beautiful soul," Blaine says as soon as they've parted. Neither of them really need to breathe, and Kurt's head spins at the thought that they could literally kiss forever, but this works too. "Was that cheesy? That was cheesy."

"Relax, it was perfect," Kurt says gently. "Okay, so, I realize it's taken me about thirty-something years to say it, but I love you."

"I know," Blaine hums happily, eyes wide. "I love you, too."

"And I'll always come home to you, I promise."

Blaine nods. "Can you stay a little longer this time, though? I know you need to-- to feed, but a day isn't enough this time."

"No, I agree. I'll stay as long as I can."

"Good. That'll give me time to tell you how handsome you are since you can't see your reflection." Kurt laughs, giddy, and shakes his head.

"All I need to know is if my hair looks okay."

Blaine smirks and reaches up to ruffle Kurt's hair, ignoring his indignant yelp. "Still looks perfect," he says as Kurt sticks his tongue out at him.

"You're helping me fix it," he warns. But Blaine just kisses him again, a little harder this time, and Kurt soon forgets about the state of his hair.

The first week of work, Blaine quickly picks up on who the regulars are. He learns their names and greets each one with a smile -- whether he gets one in return is irrelevant. However, one regular has mystified him for days now, primarily because the man has never actually ordered anything. Blaine watches him sometimes when he isn't busy, and wonders.

The man dresses in dark colors -- occasionally leather, more often dark jeans and a black button-up that honestly looks like it had been tailored to fit him perfectly. He always sits at the same table, a secluded spot next to a window, leans back, and watches the goings-on of the pseudo-cafe. Blaine isn't totally positive, but he thinks he might have caught the guy smirking in his direction once or twice. The thought makes him flush deeply -- whoever the stranger is, he has to be in his mid-twenties at the very least, and Blaine is eighteen. He doesn't have a chance and he shouldn't even want that kind of chance, and yet...

"Table 15 is asking for you, kid."

Blaine starts and nods curtly at his boss, who huffs and wanders off to the back room. It isn't until he's halfway there that he realizes that table 15 is the table, the one where the man with dark clothes and impossibly gravity-defying chestnut hair and pale skin and--

And he's there, and he's looking right at the man, and up close his eyes are a storm of blues and greys. Blaine takes a deep breath and smiles.

"What can I do for you today, sir?" he asks, willing himself not to react too strongly to the faint scent of cigarette smoke underneath cologne. It doesn't help that the man grins and watches him with a calculating expression.

"Kurt." His voice, not high-pitched but not gruff either, unexpected and strikingly melodic yet somehow perfectly suited to his appearance, catches Blaine off-guard.

"I-- What?" he stammers, fiddling with the notepad in his hand.

"You can call me Kurt," the man says smoothly. "Care to tell me what your name is?"

"Blaine."

"Blaine," Kurt repeats, testing the sound on his tongue. Blaine shuffles a bit on unsteady feet -- that voice saying his name is something he never wants to stop hearing. And he's oh, so deeply into this man, Kurt, it's almost dizzying. He should just walk away (he's so young compared to Kurt, god) but, as it turns out, he's paralyzed by intrigue and attraction. "Do you have a break coming up?"

Blaine's eyes widen. "Uh, sort of? I'm off the clock in fifteen minutes."

"Perfect. In that case, I'll have a tall mocha latte and a second drink of your choosing."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm buying you coffee because you're cute." Blaine stops breathing for a second, just long enough for his heart to skip a beat and for his mind to set off opposing signals of 'he's actually interested' and 'you don't even know him.' "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Not at all," Blaine finds himself saying, schooling the smile back onto his face because a guy just called him cute in public. How often does that happen in Ohio? What kind of cute Kurt means, though, is still unclear. "I'll be right back." Kurt gives him an approving nod and turns to look out the window, allowing Blaine to release a long breath as he walks away quickly.

Blaine has never made two drinks so swiftly in his life.

By the time he returns, he's off the clock and has already changed into his usual clothes. It's difficult to keep his hands steady as he slides Kurt's order across the table to him, those eyes watching his every move with that same intensity.

"What's your order?" Kurt asks after a moment, index finger tapping habitually against the cup in his hand.

"Nothing special," Blaine mutters as he sits down opposite Kurt, careful not to stare directly at him like he's a Greek god come to life. That would be weird, wouldn't it? Probably. "Just a medium drip."

Kurt snorts. "You're right, that's nothing special at all. I expected more from an interesting guy like you."

"Interesting?" Kurt smirks.

"It's one way to put it."

Blaine, suddenly bold, says, "Explain." Kurt seems delighted at the opportunity.

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you this, Blaine, but you're about the most attractive guy I've seen in a long time."

"Do you see many guys?" Blaine asks with a scoff, because really? He knows he's not unattractive, given the Crawford County Day girls' numbers that litter his phone, but he hasn't ever considered himself a guy that stands out in terms of looks.

"I see plenty of guys, sweetheart." The look Kurt gives him, dark and searching, has Blaine reeling backwards and stumbling out of his chair. Concern masks Kurt's expression as he frowns. "Blaine--"

"I have to go," Blaine mumbles. "Thanks for the drink. I'm just gonna-- yeah." He gives Kurt a halfhearted wave and leaves the building as quickly as he can without running.

He's not... that guy, he thinks as he walks home. The guy that goes home with a stranger just because he thinks he's cute and he buys him a drink. A coffee, but still.

He feels vaguely dirty later that night when he starts thinking of blue eyes and sure hands and skin that reddens easily with each scratch of his blunt nails, but he refuses to regret jerking himself off in the shower no matter what or who he's thinking of. Blaine bites his lip hard when he comes a few minutes later -- because the name on his tongue would definitely be something to regret.

--|--

Blaine spots Kurt out of the corner of his eye a few times over the course of the next few days, but he avoids direct contact at all costs. Twice he's had a request to see the customer at table 15, but both times he has managed to delegate the task to another employee.

The fifth day, Blaine's on his way out the door when he hears someone clear his throat. Against his better judgment, he turns to see who it is and sees no one other than Kurt, who's half-leaning, half-sitting on a silver-painted motorcycle. Some of the paint has stripped off, but it's impressive nonetheless.

It's actually... really hot. Blaine's face heats up as he imagines Kurt riding it from god-knows-where to the cafe, and it occurs to him that he doesn't know where Kurt lives. It's really not something he should know, but somehow it feels like it is.

"Do you like it?" Kurt asks, and Blaine nods before he has a chance to think. "My dad and I fixed it up a couple years ago. He owns a garage and I help him sometimes."

"Where?" Blaine asks -- he winces as soon as he says it.

Kurt cocks his head to one side. "Lima."

"Wait, you come all the way from Lima? Why?"

"Why, indeed," Kurt hums, and there's that intensity again. "You don't have any guesses?"

"I do, but it... you wouldn't come here just for m-- for coffee, would you?"

"Of course not. The Lima Bean is more than satisfactory."

"So..."

"So it's all about the environment. The people, in particular... or just one person."

"I'm not following," Blaine says, stalling because he can see where this is going and he hasn't made up his mind yet on whether or not he likes it. He thinks he just might.

"Uh-huh. You're making this more difficult than it should be." Kurt sighs and stands up, stepping closer to Blaine. "I want to take you on a ride."

"Kurt--"

"Don't run off yet, let me finish." Putting his hands in his pockets, Kurt smiles, softer than before. "Nothing sketchy, I swear. Sure, I think you're drop-dead gorgeous, and you have an ass to die for, but I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

Blaine narrows his eyes, unsure. "Is this something you're willing to pinky-swear on?"

Kurt laughs out loud at that, suddenly not intimidating at all but just as breathtaking. "If that's what it takes."

"It is."

"Then I'll sacrifice my pride for it."

The brief touch has Blaine tingling, but it isn't long before he's mindlessly clambering onto the bike behind Kurt -- a guy he doesn't know, what the hell is he doing? -- and wincing as he slides a helmet over his head. The gel is probably ruined, but he forces himself to forget it.

Kurt turns and taps the helmet, grinning when Blaine glares at him. "You good?"

"Just fantastic," Blaine says. "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere," Kurt says simply. "I can drop you off at home, if you want--"

"No!"

"Hm?"

"I don't want to explain this to my parents," Blaine says. Kurt's eyes widen by the smallest margin and Blaine wonders if he realizes how old he is. The next thing Kurt says confirms his suspicions:

"How old are you, Blaine?"

"Eighteen."

"Shit," Kurt mutters under his breath, turning back around. "And you're still okay with coming with me?"

"I already put the helmet on."

Kurt nods and starts up the motorcycle without another word. The loud roar jolts Blaine in his seat and he wraps his arms around Kurt before he can stop himself. He almost thinks he hears Kurt chuckle as the bike pulls out of the parking lot and into the street.

The hum of the bike is too loud for conversation, so Blaine forces himself to relax as Kurt takes him out to a road he's never heard of before. It's wide-open and empty; on either side are rows of trees through which sunlight streams. Blaine expects Kurt to accelerate but he never does -- the motorcycle goes along at a rapid but bearable pace, allowing him to sightsee. It's relaxing.

At one point Kurt pulls over and Blaine nearly panics because they're at the edge of a forest with no sign of human life in sight. He's seen the movies and heard the news stories -- but all Kurt does is stretch and ask Blaine if he's okay.

"I'm fine," Blaine says, calming down. Kurt keeps his eyes downcast, but he smiles.

"Good. I wasn't sure if it'd be too scary for you or not."

Blaine rolls his eyes. "It's just a glorified bicycle."

Kurt clutches his heart in mock-distress. "That hurts, Blaine."

"So does my ass," Blaine mutters as he slides off the seat, realizing too late that it probably takes time to adjust to this kind of thing. Kurt glances up at that with a smirk and, this time, Blaine doesn't let it worry him. He returns the expression with an eyebrow raise, challenging, though what he wants he doesn't know yet.

"You'll get used to it."

"We'll see."

After Blaine stretches and assures Kurt that, yes, his ass is fine and he can sit on the motorcycle again, Kurt turns them back towards Westerville. All too soon they're back at the cafe -- Blaine almost asks Kurt to take him home just so he can hold on that much longer, but he refrains. The risk is too great.

"I'm twenty-five," Kurt says without preamble when he parks and lets Blaine off.

"And?"

"And I'd like to see you again."

Blaine surprises himself when he doesn't reject Kurt right away. He thinks about it, actually thinks, and finds that he doesn't want to never do this again. He wants more, as terrifying as the prospect seems just now.

"Okay."

"You're-- That's okay?" Blaine grins at Kurt's uncharacteristic stuttering, and nods when Kurt keeps looking at him almost helplessly. "Good. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"I don't work tomorrow," Blaine says with a frown. Kurt shrugs.

"I'll see you tomorrow at the park," he repeats, and Blaine's mouth drops into a perfect 'o.' "There you go, gorgeous."

Blaine flushes. "Tomorrow, then."

Kurt smirks, swinging his leg over his bike to stand and walk up to Blaine. "Can I give you a parting gift?" he asks in a low, gentle voice. "Just a kiss, that's all."

"Yeah," Blaine breathes, can barely get it out because Kurt's so close, but then their lips are touching and a shock rattles his nerves with energy and more, please. It's nothing like any other kiss he's ever had, at least.

He expects the kiss to deepen but again Kurt surprises him by backing off. "See you tomorrow, Blaine."

Blaine grins. "She was going to go home, but I -- well, we -- gave her a choice. She could have gone home, and we wouldn't have judged her for it, but she could have stayed and let us clean her up so she could go out there and own her moment."

"Sounds familiar," Kurt says with a little smile, his fingers straying to the ring. Blaine notices with a quick glance; his smile grows. "So I'm guessing she stayed."

"She did. Kitty let her use her prom dress and -- Kurt, she looked beautiful."

"I'm still waiting on the prom pictures from you, mister," Kurt says with an exaggerated pout. "But I believe you. I just wish I could have been there."

"You spent plenty of time in Ohio. You had to go home."

"It's still a little weird to call New York home. It's not that it isn't home, it's just that... a part of me is still in Ohio with you."

"I get it," Blaine says, the grin fading. "But it's only a few more months. I'm going to graduate--"

"About time, too--"

"--and then I'm going to go home to you," Blaine finishes. Kurt's heart jumps a little in his chest. "We can have our own prom. Just you, me, Rachel, and Santana in the loft."

"And Dani."

"And anyone else that wants to join us."

"No spiked punch, though."

"And no kings or queens."

Kurt sighs, staring at his ring. It's still so surreal, the constant weight of it on his finger a reminder that they're growing up. He still wonders, sometimes, if they're too young to get married -- but then he forgets it because he's undeniably, beautifully in love and, even after all that has happened, Kurt's sure they'll make it. He's no longer naive enough to believe that it won't be difficult, but he has faith in his relationship with Blaine. "Whether we do a New York loft-prom or not, you owe me a slow dance."

"Of course, my king," Blaine says. He looks unsure, suddenly, and Kurt frowns.

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know, I just-- I thought about our first prom, and how you came out of it just as triumphant as Tina. You were stunning, and amazing, but the fact you even had to go through something like that is just horrible."

"It was years ago now, honey," Kurt says. "I'm fine."

"It's not that." Blaine stares at a spot over Kurt's shoulder. "I want to speak out. Against bullying, against humiliation, against everything you and I and our friends have had to experience firsthand."

"You mean in public?"

"Yeah. Not, like, right now, but someday." Kurt smiles. He desperately wishes he could hug his fiancé, but he'll have his chance to do that eventually. If they remember that they'll always come back to each other, that they'll always talk, things will be okay. "I don't want to be a politician like your dad, but I want to do something."

"If I may," Kurt starts, "you have a real presence, Blaine. I'm not talking about your stage presence, but your ability to make people listen and believe. I mean, look at me!"

"Kurt--"

"Don't Kurt me," Kurt says with a fond roll of his eyes. "Who told me to get off my ass and move here even when I had no school or job to go to? Who bombarded me with one-word text messages for days right after I met him, all because I just needed someone to care about me?"

"You would have made it without me."

"We'll never know for sure. But I'm personally grateful for your contagious enthusiasm and unrelenting charm. That's the kind of thing that other people respond to, too."

"You really think so?"

Kurt grins. "I know so. And, you know, I would love to plan a massive rally in Central Park for Mr. Blaine Last-Name-To-Be-Decided, New York's most charismatic spokesperson."

"And the doting husband of Kurt Last-Name-To-Be-Decided, New York's biggest stage and fashion icon."

Kurt laughs and Blaine follows suit until they're both giggling at nothing in particular. "Seriously, though. I'm so glad you guys helped Tina like that, even if she has been a little crazy lately."

"We're a family," Blaine says with a shrug. "All the graduates, seniors, and new additions included."

"Hummel! I need your help!"

Blaine frowns. "Is that Santana?"

Kurt nods, turning to look. "I think she wants me to help her pick out an outfit for her date with Dani." Blaine raises his eyebrows. "I know what you're thinking, but you haven't seen her when she talks or thinks about this girl. I have never seen Santana so flustered in my life. She reminds me a little bit of me from when we first started getting to know each other."

Blaine chuckles. "You should probably go, then, before she shuts the laptop on us again."

"I'm still holding a grudge against her for that," Kurt grumbles, but he nods. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay. I love you, Kurt."

"I love you, too, my fellow king," Kurt says, quirking an eyebrow as he closes out of Skype. He shuts down his laptop with a happy sigh, touching the ring again out of habit. He's not sure he'll ever get used to having a ring on his finger. He's not sure he ever wants to get used to it.

"Stop being all dewy-eyed over your dwarf prince husband-to-be and come help me," Santana calls, and Kurt stands with a shake of his head.

A few minutes later, while he's waiting for Santana to try on a possible outfit for him, he gets a text.

From: Blaine Do you think we're kings in one of our lives?

Kurt huffs out a laugh and can't hold back his wide smile.

To: Blaine Probably. But I think we're kings no matter what.

From: Blaine I like that.

Kurt almost tells him about the dream. But at the last moment, he decides it's something he can hold on to for now. "I woke up unexpectedly, I guess. But I'm not going anywhere."

"Good because it's, like, four in the morning and I love you but I'm not getting out of bed until at least eight."

"Understandable. Come on, let's go back to sleep."

Blaine's hand finds Kurt's and his fingers run over the silver band there. Both of them smile shyly at the touch. Then Blaine turns over and Kurt pulls him to his chest again, snuggling close.

Blaine's asleep within minutes, but Kurt stays awake, thinking.

--|--

Blaine, dressed in Cheerios' gear, slips underneath the football field's bleachers with a furtive glance around him. There he meets Kurt, pink and purple streaked through his hair and a number of piercings glinting white-silver in the sun that manages to sneak between the metal seats.

"You came," Kurt says shortly, his expression lighting up in spite of his dull tone. Blaine nods. "I didn't think you would."

"If you really thought that, you wouldn't have waited," Blaine points out. Kurt doesn't respond. "Look-- I don't know what I'm doing."

"You're choosing to potentially lose every good thing in your life if we happen to be seen together."

"You're a good thing, though," Blaine insists. "You're one of the best. And I know we've been dancing around each other for a while--" Kurt scoffs, the tips of his ears reddening at the memory of the last time they 'danced.' "--but I want all of you, and damn the consequences."

"And what if you fall in love with me?"

"Honestly? I think I'm already there."

Kurt blinks at that, glances down at the ground between them, and laughs softly. "I think I might be, too."

--|--

He's late. He's so late, his boss is going to kill him if the model he's supposed to be meeting right now doesn't do it himself. Kurt has his camera in hand and he's sprinting down the hall, taking a right and then another right and he's there, breathing heavily.

"I am so sorry," he says to the room before realizing he's alone.

Or not. A handsome man in a well-fitted suit -- one he knows inside-out -- stands from a chair off to the side.

"Blaine," Kurt breathes out, a smile growing on his face out of habit. But he stops it, remembers why he hasn't seen Blaine in two weeks.

"Hey." Blaine rubs at the back of his neck; even in the suit, he looks young. He looks barely twenty. Untouchable. Forbidden. All of which he is. "I guess we've been assigned to each other again."

"Absolutely not."

"Kurt--"

"No, just because you're a stellar, fresh-faced model and I'm the most experienced photographer this company has doesn't mean I can just..."

"Take my picture?"

Kurt sighs. "You know how this goes by now."

"I do, and I want it to keep going, whatever it is."

"I'm in my thirties--"

"You don't look it--"

"I'm too old to love you like I do." Kurt stops abruptly, eyes wide. Blaine's lips are parted in surprise, but then his expression softens.

"I'm old enough to love who I want, no questions asked," he says, "and I want to love you, if you'll let me."

Kurt shouldn't, he really shouldn't. He has evidence that this could go badly in the eyes of his coworkers, even in the eyes of his own friends. But he's thirty-six, damnit. He can't wait around.

"Okay. Let's be..."

"Boyfriends? In title?"

Kurt grins. "Boyfriends."

--|--

"I'm home."

Kurt looks up from the textbook he'd been reading and frowns. "What's gotten into you, roomie?"

"Don't call me that," Blaine huffs, tearing off his dark jacket and flinging it onto the bed. "Bad night."

"Bummer," Kurt mumbles between his teeth. Blaine won't appreciate concern; he mistakes it for pity. And no one pities Blaine Anderson, the bad seed of NYU. Not even Kurt, his dorm mate.

Blaine glances at him before flopping onto his bed with a loud groan. "I can't believe-- I got stood up."

Kurt can't help but ask, "You had a date?" 

"Not really. It was more like a standing agreement to fuck."

"Of course."

"He wasn't at his apartment. I called him and all I got was 'sorry, I forgot to tell you, but I made plans.' Apparently he has a boyfriend now."

"I would be sympathetic--"

"Please. You don't know a damn thing about me."

"I know that you hate being unwanted almost as much as you pretend to hate my Broadway playlist, even though I've heard you singing Fiyero's parts in the shower. I know that you've never had an actual relationship and that you're too scared to get into one."

Blaine scoffs. "Not scared. They're stupid. Either you get hitched or you get dumped, and I don't feel like doing either of those things."

Kurt closes his book and stands, walking over to Blaine and settling cross-legged on the floor in front of him. "So you are scared. Of commitment and of getting cut off."

"Whatever. You're overanalyzing again."

"I'm trying to figure you out, Anderson, because you're a complete mystery to everyone I know."

"Not to you, though. Not completely."

"No. Does that bother you?"

Blaine starts to nod but instead he freezes. Kurt raises an eyebrow. "Well, you're Kurt."

"And?"

In answer, Blaine drops from the bed to his knees on the floor and grabs Kurt's face in a searing, bruising kiss. It doesn't last long but enough time passes that Kurt finds himself getting dizzy; when Blaine pulls away, he leans in.

"Blaine, you know I won't do your weird little fuck buddy thing for you."

"I know."

Blaine's looking at him with such intensity that Kurt has to look away. "In that case, I'm going to need you to take me on a date."

"I... I can do that."

"Really?"

Blaine shrugs. "I'm getting over my so-called fears. Who better to help me than my dear roomie?" There's more to it than that -- Kurt can see it in the set of Blaine's jaw and the softness in his eyes. But he accepts the explanation for now. It'll be worth it later, he hopes.

--|--

Blaine sits in an office, grey hairs at his temple and glasses on his nose. Kurt steps inside, taking his Bluetooth off carefully, and the smile he gets when Blaine notices him is nothing short of breathtaking.

--|--

They're in medieval garb, Kurt dirt-smudged and the blacksmith's son, Blaine dressed neatly with a royal crest sewn into his tunic. It's secret, hidden, but Kurt's reservations amount to nothing when he gets to see Blaine without his family around him, influencing him.

--|--

Kurt scales the wall with practiced ease, murmuring, "Come on, come and get me," until he reaches the top of the building. He owns New York when he's in this skin-tight suit, it feels like.

Blaine isn't long in coming, landing with a soft whoosh behind him, and, god, flight is such a cliché superpower but Kurt can't bring himself to care because he, of the shadows, is in love with Manhattan's superhero.

--|--

Stepping into the classroom, Kurt draws Mr. Anderson's attention immediately. It's soft, passionate, sweet, all at once and it's honestly overwhelming.

He wonders what the hell he's doing, knows that Blaine wonders the same thing when they finally part at the bell. But he wouldn't give what they have up for the world.

--|--

He's watching Blaine on a dark-yet-bright stage, clothes being torn off him layer by layer, and pretends not to notice when the man catches his eye and winks.

--|--

"You move me."

--|--

Back to reality, Kurt sucks in a deep breath; all he smells is Blaine and that tiny scent of hair gel that never quite goes away no matter how diligently Blaine scrubs it out.

"And when you leave me alone in bed when it's clearly a day to do nothing but cuddle and keep warm."

"It's only October."

"The landlord said that the heat's broken," Santana cuts in. "For some stupid reason they're keeping the air on, probably so he can charge us more like the greedy asshole he is."

"That would explain it," Kurt mumbles. He leans into Blaine and shivers; no wonder he's cold, he's still wearing the t-shirt he'd slept in. Blaine has already dressed, is wearing an old sweater that he couldn't bring himself to leave behind when he moved. "You're warm and fuzzy."

Blaine laughs, soft and easy. "Go put something warm on. The tea will be done by the time you get back and then we can sit out on the fire escape with it."

"Aha!"

They both look at Santana, startled. She grins at Kurt.

"Your puppy of a boyfriend is wearing socks," she explains. "I knew there was something different about him."

"My feet were cold," Blaine protests weakly. "But I didn't have any socks that were thick enough to make much of a difference, so I kind of... borrowed a pair?"

Kurt glances down at Blaine's feet and, sure enough, he's wearing socks, but they're a little too big. Not by much, but just enough that they slide down his ankles a bit and wrinkle. He's not big on feet as a rule, but Kurt thinks it's one of the cutest things he's ever seen.

All of Blaine just gives off an air of comfort and warmth that spreads even though Kurt has taken a few steps back towards their room already. He really wants to forget the tea and ask Blaine to come back to bed with him -- and Blaine would do it, he knows, but he also wants their perfect New York City autumn morning.

He turns around after giving Blaine (who seems worried that he's done something wrong) a reassuring smile and pulls the curtain out of the way again. There's the perfect sweatshirt for the occasion in his closet; Blaine once said that it was his favorite because it hangs baggy and loose on Kurt's body, not nearly as skin-tight as much of his wardrobe is.

Kurt finishes changing, fixes his hair, and returns to the kitchen. Santana has left, presumably to meet up with her latest girlfriend, and it's just Blaine in the kitchen pouring tea into the two mugs. He looks up and beams at Kurt when he notices the sweatshirt.

"Now you're the fuzzy and warm one," he says, handing one mug over. "Shall we?"

Kurt nods and lets Blaine lead him by the hand to the fire escape, where they sit opposite each other. The metal bars don't dig into his back as much as Kurt had expected, probably because the sweatshirt is too thick to let them. There isn't much room between them, though, so Kurt bends his legs at the knee so that Blaine's legs fit between his.

The air, crisp and fresh with autumn's familiar bite, breezes cool over Kurt's skin and reddens his cheeks. It does the same to Blaine, who takes a deep, lazy breath. He's smiling, though not at Kurt or anything in particular. Kurt understands -- it's the city, the way it wakes up with the sun and churns back to life. Because even New York slows down, if only for an hour or two in the dead of night. It's a surreal moment that still hasn't lost its appeal even to Kurt, who has figured out by now that the big city isn't always all it's cracked up to be.

Blaine scoots in closer to Kurt, leans back against the metal bars, and sighs again. "I love mornings like this," he says. "First I get to wake up to you, then I get to wake up a little more to... this," he finishes, gesturing at the street below them with his free hand. "But my favorite part is you."

Kurt nudges Blaine's leg, guides it over his until Blaine's right knee crosses over Kurt's left thigh. It doesn't bring them any closer in distance, but they're a little more tangled this way, like interlocking pieces. Blaine sips his tea with his eyes closed, humming pleasantly. Kurt lets his mug rest on his knee as he watches him.

He has to agree -- his favorite part of waking up when Blaine is here is... well, Blaine. And now Blaine's out here, sharing what was once solely Kurt's place to go when he needed time alone with nothing but city lights and sounds for company. Blaine fits in, he thinks, with the city's morning. He can't quite explain it -- it's the gentle but cheery warmth of his presence, the softness of his voice (especially when he says Kurt's name), and the dark amber of his eyes that seems to reflect the rising sun as its rays jump off of Bushwick's less-than-extravagant architecture.

Kurt is New York's dusk; Blaine is its dawn. 

"I love when we have whole days to ourselves," Blaine muses after a while. "It almost never happens."

"I know," Kurt says. "You work, I work, we both have classes..."

"This is kind of special, isn't it?" Blaine asks, and it's probably more of a rhetorical question than anything but Kurt answers it regardless.

"It's nice. Like it's just us and the city, you know?"

Blaine nods. "I wasn't sure how much I'd like it here," he admits. "Being in the city, I mean. I'm not you, I haven't spent years dreaming and hoping for New York."

"You've dreamt of performing, though," Kurt says, because he knows Blaine almost as well as he knows himself by now. It's a little frightening but a lot freeing, that they can talk about practically anything. It's one of those things that has rung true since their days at Dalton and has only gotten better.

"I have, except I never really thought about where I would be performing, exactly. It just... was. But I think this is where I'm supposed to be. It feels right."

"New York is really something," Kurt comments, taking a moment to sip his tea. It has gone a little cold since they've been out here, but it's not unbearable.

"I doubt I could ever wear New York as well as you do, though."

"What do you mean?"

"You belong here, Kurt," Blaine says earnestly, eyes bright and eager. "You could always draw attention at McKinley, but here, even among all these people, you turn heads. It's not what you wear or anything like that, though that's part of it too."

"What is it?"

"It's..." Blaine struggles with his thoughts for a moment. Kurt waits patiently, the sun flashing golden against Blaine's skin as it rises a little more. "You're everything this city means for so many people -- equality, success, an escape from old to new -- and, I don't know, you can just feel it."

"I think you're a little biased, mister," Kurt teases gently.

"Do you remember when we took the subway together last week?" Kurt nods, tilting his head with a slight frown. "I had to catch up to you after we got off, and that's because this guy, kind of old but he seemed nice, he asked me if I knew you. I said yes, and then he told me that you breathe New York. I thought he was a little crazy at the time, but I think I get it."

Kurt, unsure of what to say, settles for squeezing at Blaine's leg just behind his knee. "And who was it that told me to come here in the first place, even though I hadn't been accepted to NYADA?"

Blaine chuckles, shrugging. "I'm sure you'd have found your way soon enough."

"Well, I'm still grateful. Even if it didn't... go too well at first."

"Yeah," Blaine says quietly. He stares at the wall of the apartment complex, and Kurt knows it's coming before he starts. "I'm s--"

"You've apologized enough," Kurt interrupts, squeezing harder to emphasize his point. "What happened, happened, and there's no going back. But that doesn't mean we can't keep moving forward, right?"

Blaine looks like he wants to argue at first, and Kurt's in the middle of assembling a short speech in his head when he smiles. "Right. You're right, as usual."

"Of course I'm right," Kurt huffs, grinning. He reaches for Blaine's hand, the one not holding his mug, and pulls him away from the bars and towards Kurt, who leans forward to kiss him, mellow and brief. "I love you, sweet prince. Even when you steal my socks."

Blaine tries to kiss Kurt again but misses, lips meeting Kurt's nose instead. He laughs, sheepish. "I love you, too."

The tea turns nearly ice cold in the chill of October, but Kurt can't bring himself to care. He's anything but cold himself now, and it's only partly due to his sweatshirt. It doesn't take much longer for the city to wake up completely, the sun white-gold against blue sky, but they stay there for most of the morning, either talking or enjoying each other's presence.

"If they haven't in the last ten years, I doubt it," Blaine says, his eyes on the road in front of them. They have a rental car for this trip since Burt and Carole couldn't make it to the airport to pick them up. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

Kurt nods, distant as he watches Lima pass by outside the window. They'd been here for a whole month soon after their honeymoon, but since then they've been so busy that two years went by before they could arrange a trip. And yet, Lima is still Lima, if not the slightest bit newer in a few reconstructed buildings and repaired streets. It's both soothing and disconcerting. Soothing because it's still home, even if they have their own home now.

Disconcerting because, though the feeling is much more subdued than it used to be, Kurt finds himself avoiding eye contact with the drivers of cars next to them as if they'll somehow just know he's gay and somehow show their disapproval of him. It's stupid -- they've been married for over two years now, he shouldn't feel like this. But again, it's Lima. Nothing changes.

Once they reach the Hudson-Hummel house, though, Kurt forgets about it. Here he knows without a doubt that they're accepted, they're safe. Burt and Carole welcome them with open arms, and there's only the slightest pang of something missing. It gets a little easier to push through every time.

"My boys," Carole says fondly, hugging each of them in turn. "Never wait this long to see us again."

"We won't," Blaine mumbles, his voice muffled in her shoulder. Kurt smiles, accepting a hug from his dad.

"You okay, kid?"

Kurt rolls his eyes. "I'm twenty-three, Dad."

"Yeah, well, you're still my kid," Burt argues, clapping him on the shoulder. "As far as I'm concerned, both of you are." Blaine ducks his head, but Kurt can still see his shy, giddy smile. Blaine always seems so surprised to be called a part of this family no matter how much time has passed since he made his vows.

"Well, I'm okay. More than okay, as usual."

"I'm glad to hear it. C'mon, I actually helped Carole make dinner."

Kurt raises an eyebrow and glances at Blaine, who shrugs. "And it's safe, right?" he asks Carole, ignoring Burt's offended noise.

"I think you'll be surprised," she says with an easy smile, leading them to the dining room. "I've taught him a few things."

Dinner turns out to be delicious, and the chicken is far from raw this time around. Kurt admits that his dad did a good job while Burt high-fives Blaine. It's a tiny change, and Kurt's proud of his dad for learning something new, even if he's positive that Carole did most of the work. So maybe not everything is the same.

"Happy to be home?" Blaine asks later, when their limbs are tangled underneath the covers and Blaine's finger is tracing random patterns in his shoulder and his chest as they face each other.

"I think so," Kurt says honestly. "How about you?"

Blaine grins. "Your family is home. Well, our family," he amends, drawing a smile from Kurt. "Of course I'm happy to be here."

"Good." Blaine turns over to let Kurt spoon him, his skin warm and comforting against Kurt's. "I love you."

"Love you too," Blaine hums. "Goodnight."

--|--

"We should go to the Lima Bean," Blaine says, and it takes Kurt a moment to wake up fully enough to register it.

"The Lima Bean?"

"Yeah. We didn't go there once last time we were here. I kind of miss it."

"How are you so awake already?" Kurt groans, rolling over in bed as Blaine starts to get dressed. They've both taken a shower already, but even that somehow hadn't woken Kurt up.

"It's the thought of coffee," Blaine says. He sits on the edge of the bed after he pulls on a pair of pants and pokes Kurt's shoulder. Kurt grunts unintelligibly. "Come on. Coffee, Kurt. You like coffee."

"There's coffee here."

"We can get our old coffee orders. My medium drip and your nonfat mocha."

"How do you still remember that? I haven't ordered a nonfat mocha from anywhere in years."

Blaine shrugs. "You still remember mine, right?"

Nodding slowly, Kurt says, "I do. I guess it's just kind of our thing."

"I like all our little things," Blaine says happily. "Now get up. We have caffeine to consume."

After some more prodding and even some tickling, Kurt finally gets up. He dresses as quickly as he can in his groggy state and lets Blaine drag him out the door and to the car. The drive isn't long, but they turn on the radio and sing along to as many songs as they can anyway. Kurt resolutely tries not to think about how people will react to them -- obviously married as they are. It's not as though they've ever had trouble at the Lima Bean; on the contrary, it had once been a sort of haven. But that doesn't mean that they never got nasty looks from people.

And now they're married, and it may be a few years since they've been in high school but Lima just... doesn't change like that.

After all, for as quiet and peaceful as the Lima Bean is, neither Kurt nor Blaine have ever felt comfortable enough to kiss each other inside the place. Not even on the cheek. They've held hands, they've said "I love you," but never have they kissed.

"Kurt?"

Kurt snaps out of his thoughts and glances at Blaine, who seems worried.

"I'm just thinking," he says quickly, before Blaine can say anything else. "It's nothing important."

Blaine frowns but he doesn't push it; instead he orders for both of them and points out their table -- their table, the one they always used to sit at. Kurt smiles and heads over to sit down and wait for Blaine to bring their drinks.

"So," Blaine says when he arrives, eyebrows raised, "what were you thinking back there?"

Kurt sighs. "Honestly? I'm a little nervous. It's ridiculous because it's been, what, four or five years since we came here regularly? And I still don't feel like I can just kiss you right now like we do sometimes in New York."

Blaine hums, sipping his coffee. "I understand. We're so used to New York that it seems like it's too restricting here. But I don't know if it is."

"What do you mean?"

"Like you said, it's been years. And I know it doesn't change very much on the outside but the entire world is slowly coming to terms with equality, and that includes Lima."

Kurt looks around; no one's paying attention to them, as usual. And he feels silly -- he's a Hummel, he's Kurt, he has never apologized for who he is or actively tried to hide it since he came to terms with it all back in tenth grade. Maybe it's just the stark, unsettling contrast between New York City and Lima that has him worried, but that doesn't change the fact that he doubts that Lima has changed all that much in the way Blaine seems to think.

Blaine tilts his head, watching him, and suddenly Kurt's reminded of a young boy in a blazer who bantered playfully with him -- and who soon left the comfort of Dalton for the uncertainty of McKinley. Maybe that's why it doesn't surprise him when Blaine says, "Let me kiss you."

"Here?"

"Here. I want to kiss my husband in the exact place where I first told him I loved him."

"And if people don't like it?"

"Screw 'em," Blaine says, echoing a phrase Kurt has used on multiple occasions for multiple reasons. "What's not to like about us?"

"We are pretty fabulous," Kurt agrees, and then Blaine's leaning across, coffee in one hand while the other lays flat on the table to support him. He hesitates, giving Kurt a chance to back out. When Kurt doesn't do anything to stop him, he closes the distance between them, lips soft and tasting of coffee.

It's not heated and doesn't last much longer than a second or two, but it's one of those kisses that Kurt's sure he'll remember for the rest of his life just because it's them, wholly and completely, without apology or a care in the world.

Blaine breaks the kiss first but hovers close to Kurt, his breath puffing across Kurt's cheek. Kurt can't help but glance around the room even as his hand remains on the side of Blaine's neck; he notices a young woman who blushes and gives him a thumbs-up, then an older couple that seems to be regarding them with a kind of fondness. But what catches his eye most of all is a teenage boy in a McKinley letterman jacket, whose gaze passes over them but doesn't change, as if he doesn't mind. As if, to him, it's normal.

"Good?" Blaine asks, settling back in his chair. He's grinning in the way he always does after kissing Kurt like this, like he still can't believe he gets to kiss him.

"Perfect," Kurt says quietly, unable to keep his own smile from growing.

On their way out, Kurt decides on a whim to kiss Blaine again, this time just outside the door. When, once again, there are no negative reactions, he feels weirdly giddy.