#dreamykurt

There’s a loud bang and a bright shower of sparks flies up in front of him, then suddenly, darkness. The machinery goes quiet.

Cautiously, Blaine takes off his headset and steps around the dashboard console. Suspended on a network of tubes and wires in the centre of his workshop, Android K-05 glows a dim blue, still.

He approaches slowly, examining the tilt of his head and closed eyelids. The android betrays no movement.

“Kurt?”

He reaches out and touches the cool side of his cheek--it’s soft, a perfect synthetic skin, if not for its blue glow. “Kurt? Can you hear me?”

There’s no response. With a sigh, Blaine drops his hand and returns to the console, checking the readings for K-05’s vitals and processor levels. Everything is perfect. Everything apart from the fact that the ultimate goal of his years of experimenting is still unreached. Kurt still has no mind of his own.

Morosely, he picks up the headset to speak into it. “This is Blaine Anderson, speaking at 2:13 am EST. Neural loop test number nine failed. I--.” He sighs, glancing down at the blinking record light. He had said he would stop after five attempts. Then six. Seven. And so on. After nine failures, he feels close to losing hope. “I have not yet planned another attempt. K-05 is still unresponsive. Maybe I’m just going to have to…” He trails off, not wanting to say the words “give up” out loud, and drops the headset.

He flicks off the various apparatus at his dashboard before heading over to Kurt, still suspended on his support network. He finds the remote for the main arms holding him up and levers him onto the large steel work table, lying on his back, arms and legs at his sides. With his eyes closed and the soft whirr of his internal cooling system hovering on the air, he could almost be sleeping.

Blaine unplugs the thick charge cables before methodically pulling out the little wires around his head, completely fried from the amount of energy flowing through them. It will be another two months before he can have more delivered to do another test.

He takes one last look at K-05’s glowing form before switching off the lights and heading upstairs into his apartment.

His stomach grumbles as he enters the kitchen to get himself a drink, and he opens the fridge, groggily rubbing his eyes. God, he’s exhausted. He’s been in the workshop almost non-stop for the past week preparing the test. He can’t remember the last time he actually lay down in his bed to sleep.

There’s not much in the fridge. A couple of beers, an out of date milk carton, and some unspecified takeaway containers. He grabs the nearest one and sticks it in the microwave, not even bothering to check what’s inside. He folds his arms on the countertop and rests his head on them as he waits for the ding.

Wearily, he takes the carton of what looks vaguely Indian over to the table and eats it with eyes unfocused on the blank wall in front of him. He had so much hope that this time, this time it would work. His parts were better quality, he had designed a more intricate neural relapse system, he had even done more updates on Kurt’s synthetic organs.

But he had still failed.

By the time he’s lying in bed in the dark, it’s nearing 3am, and he can feel exhaustion wracking his body. Thank God he doesn’t have a day job that means he has to get up at the crack of dawn every day.

*

He’s woken up by a loud crash.

He sits up too quickly, blood rushing to his head and vision still groggy from sleep. His apartment and workshop aren’t in the nicest part of town--anyone could be in his house right now--

He grabs the baseball bat he keeps in his closet in case of emergency and creeps out into the hallway, peering around the dark apartment. The glow from the light on the microwave lights up part of his kitchen, empty. The couch and TV on the other side of the room are equally deserted, lit by the streetlight coming in through the window and bouncing off the shiny top of his piano.

(And God, he hasn’t played that in months--)

There’s another loud shatter and with a pang of alarm he realises that it’s coming from downstairs, in his workshop. Everything most dear to him is in that room, the thing most dear to him is in that room--

He throws open the door, armed with his bat and ready to take out anyone who thinks they can steal his precious designs.

To his surprise, the basement is lit with an eerie blue light--brighter than the soft glow which emits from Kurt’s body--throwing into sharp relief the console and stacks of parts and tools.

“Hello?” he calls. “I--I’ve got a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it.”

There’s another crash, followed by silence. Then--

“Hello?”

Blaine nearly drops the bat in shock. He knows that voice. He designed that voice. Sure, he’s only heard it say pre-programmed phrases before, but it is unrecognisably--

“Kurt?”

He rushes down the stairs, turns the corner to where Kurt’s table is. And holy shit.

Kurt is standing in the middle of the workshop, arms by his side, nighttime charger cable hanging loosely from his shoulder. He’s glowing, brighter than he’s glowed before when Blaine was designing him--he didn’t even know the alloy used for the skin could go that bright. His face is--he’s actually expressing, brows a little furrowed and lips parted in confusion.

The attempt didn’t fail. He’s alive.

“Blaine,” Kurt says matter-of-factly, head tilted slightly to the side. “I am Android K-05, nicknamed Kurt.”

Blaine can’t help but let out a strangled noise of relief, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You’re alive,” he exclaims awe-fully, going up to Kurt and peering into his bright white pupils. “You’re--you’re--”

“My systems are functioning and neural relapse system is up and running,” he says, and Blaine can’t believe it, because there’s a teasing tone to his voice. “Yes. I am ‘alive’.”

“Oh my God,” says Blaine, reaching out to take Kurt’s hand. Kurt watches him, head still tilted, as Blaine feels the skin begin to react and warm up where it’s touching his--a feature he had added purely for his own satisfaction, because what good was having a homemade friend if they couldn’t even give you warm hugs?

“May I hug you?” he asks.

Kurt stares at him for a second--Blaine wonders if he’s scanning his database for the word “hug”--then nods and opens his arms. Blaine steps forwards and wraps his arms around Kurt’s shoulders gently, grinning. “This is amazing,” he says, stepping back. “And do you--know who I am?”

Kurt looks at him again before smiling--actually smiling!--and nodding. “You are Blaine Anderson, inventor and android engineer, aged 24, and you created me.”

Blaine giggles happily. He’s glad he had thought to pre-program certain aspects of knowledge into Kurt’s head before the eighth attempt--knowing who he was and where he came from seemed the most important.

“Kurt--that’s amazing. I’m so…” He trails off, looking up at this being he created in adoration. Kurt definitely seems to have a mind and personality, something that most commercial AI androids show a severe lack of. He can’t believe that he created something so… intricate. Almost human.

“How are you feeling, Kurt?” he asks hesitantly.

Kurt looks at him with his lips pursed. “Cold,” he says, and Blaine’s heart drops a little, because ‘cold’ isn’t an emotion. “I think… a little confused? Excited?”

“You… you feel excited?”

“Yes. I am finally seeing the world properly with a mind to process it, and derive my own opinions and emotions from what I discover.”

The additional aspect of feeling and emotion was the main reason he was standing here now--he had always wanted to create something with a soul of its own. Blaine can hardly believe it’s worked, that Kurt is talking about processing things into emotions and being excited--it’s a dream come true.

For a moment, he hesitates on what to say. There are so many things he wants Kurt to see, to teach him, to discuss, but it’s nearly five am and his brain is getting fuzzy from a mix of excitement and exhaustion.

“Are you fully charged?” he asks, unplugging the cable from Kurt’s shoulder and dropping it onto the table.

“Yes. Are you?”

Blaine almost laughs at Kurt’s genuinely curious tone, he’s like a child discovering a new concept for the first time. “As a matter of fact, I’m not, not really. But it’s okay. I’d really rather stay up, now that--well.”

“Okay,” says Kurt simply. He watches as Blaine goes around the console to add his new success to his previous recording. His fingers are still shaking slightly from shock.

With the recording done and the lights switched on in the workshop, he checks Kurt over for any errors or touch-ups. Just like earlier though, he’s pretty much perfect, and Blaine catches his eye and smiles at him when he tells him so.

“Can you show me around the workshop?” Kurt asks when Blaine is putting away his microboard reader.

“Of course,” Blaine offers, and shows him over to the console, pointing out what each of the different screens are showing and how to operate them. Kurt is transfixed, and Blaine can’t keep his grin to himself. His life definitely just took a turn for the better.

*

Three weeks later

Blaine is standing at his stove, cooking. Actually cooking. There are diced onions sizzling away in one pan and butter melting in another. He’s got his ingredients--all fresh and organic--laid out on the counter beside him. The radio is on and he sways his hips to the tune it’s playing.

Behind him, the regular chopping noise stops, and he hears a soft grunt of frustration. He stirs the butter a little and turns round. Kurt is sat by the plate of chicken, fiddling with a long string of sinew that has got caught in the joint of his finger.

“Do you need a hand?” Blaine asks.

“No, it’s--fine,” Kurt huffs, shaking his hand in an effort to dislodge it. He looks up at Blaine wearily. “Yes please.”

Blaine smiles and comes across, gently taking Kurt’s hand in his, feeling the skin warm up at his touch. He pulls the sinew out of Kurt’s joint, drops it onto the chopping board, and smooths over his pale blue fingers. “Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

Blaine pats his hand and goes back to his roux.

Later, they’re sat side by side on the couch, Blaine reading on his Kindle while Kurt scans at breakneck speed through his tablet. He stops occasionally, mouthing a couple of words, and then starts again. Blaine’s pretty sure he’s reading Huffington Post articles online.

Then Kurt stops for longer, scans up and down the page slowly, and turns to look at Blaine.

“Blaine,” he says bluntly, holding out the tablet to him. “What are these people doing?”

Blaine looks down at the article Kurt’s been reading and--okay, yes, it’s normal that he would have questions. “They’re up, kissing,” he says. “Passionately.”

He doesn’t know why Kurt is reading Hottest TV Couples: The 2028 Picks, but it seems that one of the pictures used for a couple is them, well, making out.

“Kissing?” Kurt asks.

“Yes,” Blaine replies, because surely Kurt has--

But then, he did only originally program him with a knowledge of simple greeting gestures and situations. And Kurt’s spent a lot of time in the workshop since he woke up, so he hasn’t even really seen any movies which would have kissing in--

“Oh,” says Blaine, kicking himself for his oversight. “Um. When two people are really--attracted to each other, when they like each other a lot, they might kiss. It’s usually romantic. Like how when I told you about the characters in the book I’m reading.”

“When they’re in love?”

“Yes.”

Kurt is quiet for a moment, then--

“Can I feel love, Blaine?” His voice is very, very soft, and he’s staring down at the coffee table like it might hold the answers to all life’s most mysterious questions.

“I, um, I don’t know, Kurt,” says Blaine kindly. “It’s like an emotion but--more. It’s in your heart.”

“But I don’t have a heart,” Kurt says. “I mean, not a real one.”

Blaine feels a pang in his chest, and puts his Kindle down, kneeling up on the sofa and scooting over so that he’s next to Kurt. “I’m going to hug you now,” he says, and does. Kurt relaxes into it. Blaine wonders what it feels like, to be hugged, when you’re an Android with a neural loop for a soul. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and Kurt nods and pats his arm.

“Thank you.”

*

Three more weeks later

Things progress. Kurt learns more and more about the world everyday, and starts to work his way through Blaine’s film collection. It’s a little awkward at first when Blaine has to explain to him what happens in the car during Titanic, but Kurt just giggles his way through it and glows an even brighter blue. Blaine wonders if he somehow gave Kurt the ability to blush.

Then Kurt starts asking for things. A new hairstyle, firstly--apparently his original style wasn’t fashionable enough, and Blaine finds it almost hilarious that he’s being lectured on fashion by an Android he gave intelligence to himself. After that he wants to be able to sing, which is trickier, but he had good quality vocal chords in the first place. Blaine just has to do an update first.

Kurt comes into the workshop one day carrying a large box and a smile on his face. “I ordered something online,” he says. “Look.”

He opens up the box and pulls out a pair of dark grey slacks and a red button up patterned with little screwdrivers. “I thought it would be appropriate for me,” he says in way of explanation.

Blaine watches him mostly in shock, because Kurt really does have a mind of his own, even if he doesn’t have a bank account of his own yet--Blaine gave him his ebay login a couple of days ago.

“Wow, Kurt,” he says, smiling as Kurt tugs the pants up his legs and does the fly up. “They fit perfectly.”

Kurt twirls and looks over his shoulder to check the back. “I know,” he says. “I ran a calculation on the exact sizes of the garment from the photos online, and it just turns out that I’m lucky enough that you made me an exact clothing size.”

“Well, I think you look fantastic. Try the shirt on?”

The shirt hugs his shoulders like it was made for him. He grins at Blaine, fiddles with the cuffs. He looks incredible.

“Kurt--you--”

“You like?”

Blaine swallows. Kurt is an Android, for God’s sake, and one he designed himself no less, he should not be having thoughts like these--

“Yeah--yes. It, um. It fits you really well.”

Kurt giggles and twirls again, catching his reflection in the polished metal of the generator. Blaine’s eyes are drawn to the dip of his waist, the width of his shoulders, his thighs in the tight slacks, and he accidentally sets his glass of water down far too hard, sloshing it over the brim and onto the worktop.

“Sorry, I just need to--” He darts away before finishing the sentence, running upstairs and locking the bathroom door behind himself. He runs the tap, stares at himself in the mirror--he looks less disheveled now that Kurt is, well, alive, hair tamed with gel and neatly buttoned polo. “What the fuck are you doing,” he says to himself, and splashes water in his face in an attempt to cool the red flush there.

He’s been in the bathroom for a little while when there’s a tentative knock at the door. “Blaine? Are you there?”

He takes a deep breath, dries off his face again, and lets Kurt in. “Sorry,” he says, fishing for an excuse. “Upset stomach.”

Kurt’s face scrunches up, and Blaine sees his eyes scanning over his body, probably checking for symptoms of something. “Can I get you anything?” Kurt asks. “Water? Toast?”

“No, you’re alright, thanks,” Blaine replies, settling a hand in the dip of Kurt’s back and leading him out of the bathroom. “Do you wanna go put a TV show on?”

Kurt bounces a little with excitement. “I’ve already scanned the channels, Project Runway is on, can we--”

Blaine laughs, shakes his head fondly. “Of course, go on.”

*

The next day, Kurt has his first minor injury. If that word can be applied to the situation--breakage? Error? To Blaine the words sound too critical, too harsh, dead. Injury happens to something that is alive, like Kurt.

He has him strip, glancing away as Kurt removes his new jeans--though it’s hardly necessary, as Kurt is perfectly comfortable in his bare skin, but it just feels like he should.

Kurt’s left hand is having issues after he dropped a pan of soup on it at lunch. Kurt is not the type to be clumsy, and the accident had mostly been Blaine’s fault. But while Kurt is generally water-resistant, he is not soup-resistant, and so a repair is necessary.

Blaine detaches his arm with great care, lays it on the table, finds a screwdriver to adjust the energy capacitors that he can power the arm with separate to the rest of Kurt’s body. Kurt sits patiently on a stool, watches him work with his detail tools and tablet set up, resting his head on the palm of his remaining hand.

“You’re beautiful when you work,” he says out of the blue.

Blaine stops, puts his tiny brush down without looking up. His stomach is doing a weird flip.

A delicate blue hand enters his field of vision, brushes over the top of his fingers. He looks up. Kurt’s eyes are somehow deeper than usual, his bright white pupils boring deep into Blaine’s.

“Kurt,” he says, for lack of anything else. Kurt’s fingers twine around his.

Kurt stands up, moves to the edge of the workbench, pulls Blaine onto his feet. He’s still holding his screwdriver, for goodness’ sake. “Blaine,” Kurt starts, and his voice is soft. “We watched that film, with the dog, remember?”

“Marley and Me?”

“Yes. That one. Blaine, those two people, they liked each other very much.”

Blaine’s heart flutters, and he takes a step closer. “I remember,” he says simply.

Kurt looks down, and for once he’s seems to struggle to speak, brow drawn. “Blaine,” he starts, fingers twitching in Blaine’s hand. “Blaine, I don’t--I don’t understand how it works. But I think I like you very much.”

He glances up, and he looks nervous, as if Blaine would say anything to deter him right now. But all he can do is hardly keep his face from splitting into a huge smile, and step right into Kurt’s space, sliding an arm around his back and tilting his head up to meet Kurt’s bright gaze. “Kurt, I like you very much too.”

Kurt lets out a little gasp, and Blaine can almost read his thoughts, calculating the situations, Blaine’s movements, and the point where he throws all caution to the wind and his eyes slip shut.

“Blaine,” he murmurs, and Blaine settles a hand on the curve of his shoulder, brushing their noses together. Kurt’s skin is warm. His breath between them is hot, and he tilts his head a little more, pressing forward and touching Kurt’s lips with his.

Kurt inhales deeply at the touch, then kisses back, a little noise in the back of his vocal chords, and in that moment Blaine takes back every regret he’s ever had about the life time journey to creating Kurt, every dollar overspent, every sleepless night, every frustration and trial and error. It was all worth it, for this. For Kurt.

His lips part, and they pass the kiss back and forth a little, his hand cupping the side of Kurt’s jaw, the screwdriver loose in his fingers.

They part with a sudden gasp when it clangs loudly to the floor.

“Are you trying to sell me drugs while we’re literally sitting in a government facility?” Blaine asked, leaning as far away as his tiny, unbalanced chair/desk would allow. He was mostly certain that a man this pretty wouldn’t be a drug mule, but he was still on edge after his panicked train of thought and had seen a few too many Lifetime movies recently to be completely trusting.

“Wh- no,” the man said, brows furrowed in an expression Blaine could only classify as ‘judgmental confusion.’ “It’s about my eye color.”

“Huh?” Blaine said, ever eloquent.

“I never know how to answer that question,” the man explained. “And I’m kind of perpetually afraid of being arrested for identity theft if a cop thinks my eye color doesn’t match what my license says.”

“So you’d like me to…?”

“Look at my eyes and tell me what color you think they are?” the man said, wincing away slightly. “I know, it’s a little weird, feel free to say no if it’s too much!”

“No, I don’t mind,” Blaine said easily. “I mean, it’s not a question I tend to expect, but in the grand scheme of things, this cannot possibly be the weirdest question I’ll ever be asked.”

“Thank you,” the man said, visibly relieved. “Uh, here, let me get a little closer to the window.”

He got up and walked across the office to the row of windows that lined the front, giving Blaine a full view of his muscular yet slim body for the first time.

Blaine had to swallow hard before moving to follow him.

“Oh, I’m Kurt, by the way,” the other man - Kurt - said once Blaine was closer. “Just thought you should learn my name before we gaze tenderly into each other’s eyes.”

Blaine snorted gently before saying his own name, earning a stunning smile from Kurt. “You ready?”

“Lay it on me,” Kurt said teasingly. He stood still by the window, about an arm’s length from Blaine, giving him a perfect view of his eyes.

Blaine suddenly understood why Kurt could never pin down an eye color.

At first glance, Kurt’s eyes were blue, rivaling the sunny sky outside in intensity. As Blaine looked closer, however, he saw swirls of green near Kurt’s pupils, rings of gray along the outside rim of the irises, and even a couple tiny flecks of gold that drew Blaine’s own eyes upwards to the echoing subtle highlights in Kurt’s brunet coif.

He couldn’t help but scan over the rest of Kurt’s face at that, noting barely-there freckles smattered along his nose and cheeks before zeroing in on his loosely pursed pink lips.

They stood there staring at each other for God only knew how long before the sound of an employee dropping her stapler on the ground and cursing vigorously snapped them out of their haze.

“Wow,” Blaine said softly, unable to help himself.

Kurt sucked in a shaky breath, looking faintly rattled. “Did you manage to decide on a color?”

“Um, my first impression was blue,” Blaine said, trying to figure out how to put Kurt’s eyes into words. “But there was also green and gray and even gold - I’m not surprised you’ve never been able to know for sure what answer to put down.”

“You saw gold in my eyes?” Kurt asked. “Funny, that’s the overwhelming impression I got from yours.”

“You thought my eyes were multicolored? I’ve always thought they were a pretty basic hazel,” Blaine said, surprised.

“Basic? Hardly,” Kurt said. “I felt like I kept seeing the colors shift every time you switched focus.”

“Would you maybe like to continue monitoring each other’s eye colors over dinner some time?” Blaine said rapidly, almost unaware of what he was doing. He didn’t want to assume there was a connection when there wasn’t - not after the Gap Attack, as his high school buddies called his most embarrassing moment - but something about Kurt made him want to learn more, and he couldn’t let that desire go unexplored.

Kurt’s eyes widened for an instant before he replied, “Yes. Yes, that sounds wonderful, Blaine.”

“Really? I mean, great, that sounds great, when are you free?” Blaine said, hoping he didn’t sound overeager.

“I was planning on grabbing brunch after getting my license changed over, if you’d care to join me,” Kurt said. His voice was shy, but his eyes sparkled with hope, distracting Blaine all over again.

“Brunch would be lovely,” Blaine said, coming back to himself. “Um, why are you getting your license changed?”

“I just moved here from Ohio for school,” Kurt said. “Now that I have a permanent address in Bushwick, I needed to get my license updated.”

“You’re from Ohio?” Blaine repeated. “I’m from Ohio. I’m starting college too.”

“You’re kidding,” Kurt said, looking surprised yet pleased. “How much more can we have in common?”

“Lord Blaine,” the butler, Schuester, greeted. The address was not technically correct - Lord Westerville was Blaine’s proper title - but the servants at Dalton never referred to their masters formally unless speaking to an outsider. “I know I speak for the entire staff when I say that we are all thoroughly grateful that you have returned to Dalton.”

“I cannot believe how fortunate I am,” Blaine replied seriously. “This war took too many promising lives, and I was certain my own would be one of them after….”

His voice trailed off there, memories of his nearly fatal accident still too fresh in his mind to discuss casually. Thankfully, Schuester was perceptive after his many years serving the Anderson family.

“I sent Kurt up to your room to ensure it was prepared, my lord,” he said, deftly changing the tone of the conversation. “He shall once again be your valet whenever you require one.”

“Thank you, Schuester,” Blaine said, smiling almost imperceptibly at the mention of Kurt. “Is Mother expecting me for supper?”

“She is, as are Lord and Lady Lopez,” Schuester informed him. “Lady Santana will not be in attendance, though.”

“I will be ready,” Blaine said, nodding to Schuester before making his way slowly up the grand staircase. He couldn’t help but emit a light sigh of relief as he left, grateful that he wouldn’t have to encounter that particular thorn in his side so soon after returning home.

Instead, he focused on getting to his room in one piece, pausing briefly to call out a cheerful hello whenever he passed another of his cherished house staff in the long passageway that led to his suite. He hesitated on the threshold, suddenly afraid of how Kurt might react when he saw him.

He had no reason to fear.

The second he opened the door, a tall brunet tornado hurled itself at him, engulfing him in an embrace so tight Blaine thought he might swoon.

“Blaine! You’re home, you’re back, you’re alive,” Kurt said, a little hysterical.

“I promised you I’d return,” Blaine said, pressing his face into Kurt’s neck and muffling his words slightly. “I don’t break my promises, especially to you.”

“And you’re not hurt?” Kurt asked, pulling away - much to Blaine’s disappointment - to run his hands all along Blaine’s body frantically and check for himself.

“I have all my limbs, mercifully, but my right leg may never fully recover,” Blaine said, grabbing Kurt’s hands and stilling them over his own chest. “I was almost unable to walk up the staircase, truthfully. I should have put my pride aside and left my cane out of my luggage.”

“Yes, you should have!” Kurt chastised. “You’re supposed to be the smart brother, Blaine, Lord Cooper’s the one-”

He cut himself off abruptly, flushing a vivid pink and looking down at the floor.

“It’s all right, Kurt,” Blaine said softly, rubbing a hand over his arm. “Sometimes I forget he’s gone, too. If they had ever found his body….”

They fell into another, more comforting embrace. Blaine could tell he was using Kurt for both emotional and physical support at that moment, as his bad leg was threatening to give way beneath him. Finally, Kurt broke away, pushing Blaine toward his bed.

“Sit down before you collapse, dear heart,” Kurt said firmly. “I could feel you shaking against me, and not because you were crying, either.”

“How do you know it wasn’t because your mere presence causes me to tremble?” Blaine teased, needing to distract himself from the grief that was always so close at hand.

“Then your bed is the perfect place for you to be,” Kurt rejoined, smirking. “I even plan on undressing you, though I’ll be reclothing you immediately.”

“Pity,” Blaine said, pouting playfully. “I could claim my rights as lord of the manor, you know.”

“The droit de seigneur was abolished ages ago, Blaine,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes. He knelt down to unbutton Blaine’s shirt as he continued, “Also, Lady Pam would come up here and kill you herself if you were late for dinner with her bosom fr- bloody hell.”

He shoved Blaine’s shirt off carelessly, staring at the jagged red scar that now ran from his breastbone to the left side of his ribcage, the most permanent marker of the plane crash that had nearly taken his life.

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Blaine said, flushing lightly with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you see, I’ll make sure I’ve always got a shirt on-”

“Blaine, no,” Kurt interrupted, looking him directly in the eye. “I’m not disgusted. I knew you had been injured on a flight. I simply didn’t realize how close I came to losing you until I saw this scar.”

He leaned forward and kissed it, lips pressing against the part closest to Blaine’s heart.

“Thank you for coming home,” he whispered.

“Thinking of you is why I made it through,” Blaine replied, pulling Kurt up to sit next to him so they could kiss properly. “You give me strength, Kurt.”

They kissed hungrily until the sound of tires on gravel alerted them to the imminent arrival of the Lopezes and Kurt had to help Blaine finish dressing.

“Can you be with me tonight?” Blaine asked softly before leaving his room. “Is it possible for you to get away?”

“I already requested to move into the chambers adjoining yours in case your injuries needed constant care,” Kurt said, straightening Blaine’s lapels. “I wanted to be as close to you as I could once you returned.”

“Your cleverness is one of the many, many reasons I love you,” Blaine said, leaning in for one last, brief kiss. “Until tonight, darling.”

“Until tonight, my sweet.”

___________________________

Unfortunately, the bliss of returning to Dalton and Kurt couldn’t last forever.

“Blaine, dear, I need you to join me in the library for a moment,” Lady Pam called out, a month after his homecoming. When they had taken their seats in two of the plush armchairs by the bay window, she continued, “I don’t mean to be intrusive, and I apologize for what I am about to ask, but...did your injuries leave you incapable of, mmm, continuing the Anderson line?”

Blaine flushed at the question, but answered in the negative.

“Then it really is time for you to look into taking a wife,” Pam said, all business. “The war left us all devastated, of course, but how better to console ourselves than a wedding?”

“Mother-”

“And while you will naturally be able to choose your own bride, I must admit that ever since you and Santana were born in the same year, I have secretly hoped that one day, you two would come together as one,” she said, speaking over Blaine. “Maribel has mentioned similar desires to me, and it would put you in the impressive position of controlling both Dalton and McKinley Hall one day, as Santana is their only child and McKinley is not entailed.”

“The land isn’t-”

“But if you are already thinking of another prospect - Lady Quinn, perhaps, or Lady Rachel - I won’t stand in your way,” Pam finished, looking quite pleased with herself. “As long as you are happy, Blaine, then I will be as well.”

“I haven’t begun to think about a wedding yet, Mother,” Blaine said, happy to finally have a chance to speak. “I’ve only just returned to Dalton, and I’ve been focusing on making sure everything is in order after my years away.”

“An admirable task, dear, but surely you’ve almost finished it by now?” Pam asked. “I see no reason why you couldn’t set up an engagement with someone and finish doing the accounts while she plans the wedding.”

Blaine pressed his lips together, out of excuses for wishing to remain unwed - he very well couldn’t tell his mother the truth, after all.

“I’ll pay a call to Santana tomorrow,” he said, hoping his unwillingness wasn’t obvious. “We have always been fond of each other, and maybe with time….”

“I suspected as much!” Pam said merrily. “Oh, you two will be the most gorgeous pair. Do you think she will want a winter wedding? Only think of how lovely all the white would look.”

“You will have to ask her tomorrow,” Blaine said, making to stand up. “If you’ll excuse me?”

His mother nodded, and he left, feeling an ache in his body that had nothing to do with his old wounds. He immediately called for Kurt when he arrived back at his bedroom.

“My mother has informed me that I am to marry as soon as possible,” he said when Kurt appeared, hoping not to prolong the torture. “Tomorrow, I will go to McKinley Hall and ask Lady Santana if she would be willing to make the dreams of our parents come true.”

“Willing?” Kurt asked with a snort. “She’ll be as willing as you are, and for the same reason.”

“What?” Blaine said, stunned.

“It’s well known - at least to the help - that Lady Santana spends her days in the gardens because she favors Brittany, the gardener’s daughter,” Kurt explained. “She may tell her parents it’s because she prefers to make the arrangements herself, but one of their footmen came across the girls having relations in one of the bowers once. The only people who are unaware are her parents and your mother, I suppose.”

“I can already see how love-filled our marriage will be,” Blaine said bitterly. “It will be a miracle if we can produce the heir my mother so desperately wants.”

“Will you...I’ll understand if you try to find me a place somewhere else, my lord,” Kurt said, soft and hesitant. “If my presence would keep you from doing your duty with Lady Santana….”

“If you want to leave, then I will do everything in my power to help, but I will not send you away,” Blaine said, taking Kurt’s hand in his. “I came home for you, Kurt. Even if I must wed another, my heart will always be yours.”

“And mine, yours,” Kurt said, eyes misty. “I don’t want to go, Blaine.”

Kurt’s renewed use of Blaine’s given name inspired Blaine to surge forward and kiss him eagerly.

“Your place is here, just as mine is with you. We will work something out. Perhaps Santana and her Brittany will be as interested in formulating a plan as we are,” Blaine said, doggedly optimistic.

“We can start a foundation. ‘Lord and Lady Westerville’s Home for Aristocrats in Love with Their Same-Sex Servants,’” Kurt said, laughing.

“There you go again with the clever ideas,” Blaine said, chuckling along. “This is why I could never let you go, my love.”

“Is that the only reason?” Kurt teased, a familiar glint in his eye.

“The only one I can recall currently,” Blaine replied, a smirk on his face.

Hours later, Blaine could remember a few other reasons why he could never be parted from Kurt.

_____________________

“Courage, Blaine. You can get through this. You must,” Blaine muttered to himself as he paced across his bedroom. “She won’t reject you, if what Kurt said is true. Her parents have likely pressured her as much as your mother has you.”

He made sure his tie was straight and made to leave the house, grateful that Kurt was having his day off. If he had had to get ready with Kurt’s assistance, he wouldn’t have been able to go through with the proposal.

As he crossed the entrance hall, Blaine noticed a large, black sedan pull up the driveway. His brow furrowed with confusion - no one was due to visit, and he didn’t recognize the car at all.

Blaine watched from the window, seeing a chauffeur escort a small, blonde woman from the backseat before helping a dark-haired man out and bracing him against the woman’s shoulder.

Realization hit Blaine instantly.

“Cooper!” he screamed, running out the front doors like a bat out of Hell. “Coop!”

“Blainey,” Cooper replied, smiling beatifically. He let out a grunt as Blaine collided with him in a vigorous, long overdue hug. “Oh, little brother, it is so good to see you.”

“How?” Blaine asked, only able to get out one word through his tears.

“I was knocked unconscious when my plane was hit in an airstrike,” Cooper said. “Kitty found me on her father’s farm and had him carry me to their barn, where I woke up a week later. Since then, I’ve been focusing on getting well enough to come home.”

“Is that all you’ve cared about?” the woman who must be Kitty teased.

“Well, and you, darling,” Cooper said, turning to drop a kiss on her forehead.

“That’s what I like to hear,” she said, beaming up at him.

“So...you’re home and you’ve found someone to marry?” Blaine asked, dumbfounded.

“Is that a problem?” Cooper replied, confused.

“No! No, it’s just - I was about to - tell Mother I’m not going to McKinley today,” Blaine said, beginning to dash off. “She’ll understand, especially when she meets Kitty.”

“Blaine!” Cooper yelled, but it was too late. Blaine had other things to do.

“Kurt!” Blaine called when he reached Dalton’s gardens. “Kurt!”

He stumbled upon Kurt sitting and reading among the rose bushes, startled at Blaine’s unexpected arrival.

“Blaine? What’s happening?” Kurt asked, alarmed. “Shouldn’t you be at McKinley?”

“Cooper’s back,” Blaine said. “He just came home, he’s going in to see Mother right now.”

“Cooper - Lord Cooper is back?” Kurt repeated. “But he-”

“He didn’t die, he told me - but that’s not the point,” Blaine said, finally regaining his breath. “The point is, I’m not the Earl of Westerville anymore. I don’t have to marry Santana.”

“But your mother-”

“-Will be thrilled that Cooper is home and can carry on the Anderson line,” Blaine said. “That’s the only reason she wanted me wed. Now that the true heir is back, I can do what I want. I can be a lifelong bachelor in the eyes of society.”

“And what will you be in actuality?” Kurt asked, a knowing look in his eyes.

“In actuality, I will be fully committed to my gorgeous, loving valet, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine said, moving to sit next to Kurt on the stone bench. “Do you think he will be amenable to that?”

“I think that’s all he’s ever dreamed of,” Kurt replied.