#kblreversefic

Kurt stayed for just a moment longer, almost surrendering to the seductive pull of the mattress inviting him to stay, ignore reality just a little longer….but forced himself to roll over and sit up on the edge of the bed.   He took a moment to point and flex both feet, then roll them in circles, testing out the stiffness of an old dance injury. It still caused him problems occasionally.  

After going through the minimum necessities in the bathroom, he took a deep breath and left his room, as prepared as he was going to be to face the day. The living room was empty but he could see his parents’ backs as they sat on the porch and then, oddly enough, heard their laughter. He paused en route to the coffee pot and instead went to the glass door. He hovered on the inside, reluctant to disturb them where they had their heads bent together over a photo album, but Carole saw him and waved, calling him to join them.

He slid the door open and stepped over to peer down at the book. Very few people kept photo albums anymore, but Carole liked them. She’d put together several after Finn’s death, chronicling the last years of his life much as she’d made baby albums detailing his first few years.  

This one seemed to be focused mostly on the Glee Club.  There was himself in the second row of a posed group shot, all of them in their Regionals costumes.  Finn was on the back row of course, with tiny Rachel improbably in the back row with him—but Finn was holding her up so she wouldn’t get hidden by those taller than her, which was everyone.

Kurt smiled at the picture, then walked around to the front of Carole’s chair, bending down to give her a hug.

“That’s from me and from Rachel,” he said to her surprised face when he pulled back. Her eyes softened as she understood. “She’s already texted me this morning.”

“She’s grown into a fine young woman,” Carole murmured, with all the might-have-beens etched on her face. “I have to admit that back then I doubted whether she’d ever become a little less insufferable, but she did. If things had turned out differently, I’d have been proud to have her as my daughter-in-law.”  Her voice caught a little and Burt reached over to hold her hand. “All you Glee kids turned into wonderful adults. I’m proud of all of you.”  

Kurt smiled, getting an idea. “Let me get some coffee, and I’ll be right back. We can go through that photo album from the beginning, okay?”

He stepped back inside and pulled his phone from his pocket, quickly scrolling through his contacts to create a massive group text.   After shooting off his message, he turned the ringer off and poured his coffee, returning to the porch to pull up a chair and join his parents in reminiscing about the son and brother they’d lost.  

By the time they’d proceeded chronologically through Finn’s high school years, which was dominated by football and Glee club, after Kurt had dredged up memories that even his usually-good memory had relegated to the mental attic and covered over with dust, when their coffee cups were empty and the three of them sat in silence looking out over the endless horizon, Kurt pulled his phone from his pocket. His former New Directions friends—and even those ND members who came later and he hadn’t known that well—had risen to the occasion.

From Unique:

Finn cast me as Rizzo, and stood up for my right to play the role, when no one else at McKinley would treat me as a girl.

From Quinn:

Finn stepped up, ready to take care of my baby, even though he was 16 and I knew he was terrified. I’ll never forget that, and I’ll never forget how his mom let me stay at their house after my parents kicked me out.

From Mike:

A loyal friend who stood tall on his two left feet.

From Sue Sylvester:

I’ll never forget that Finn and Kurt packed up my sister’s belongings, and arranged her funeral. They had every reason to hate me, but instead chose to be kind. There’s a lack of kind people in the world, and we lost one of the biggest—literally—in Finn Hudson.  

From Santana:

Finn was nice to everyone, even a bitch like me. Until the day I needed someone to bitch right back at me, then that’s exactly what he gave me.

From Brittany:

His anthems were always the perfect length for his really long legs.  

From Sheldon Beiste:

Finn lived a good line. And my line has been better for knowing him.

From Marley:

Finn believed in his students. Really believed.

From Puck:

Best bro of my life. I’ll never have another friend like him.

From Ryder:

Finn was the one who recruited me into Glee Club, and in that club I made some of the best friends of my life.  

From Will Schuester:

I always tried to be a role model for Finn, show him how to be a man. But I learned just as much from him.

From Tina:

I hear the name Finn and I still tear up, all these years later. That should tell you what kind of person he was.

From Artie:

When the football jocks bullied other kids, Finn was the only one to say it was wrong. He stood up for everyone, popular or not.

From Mercedes:

That boy had one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met. Earth became a little poorer, and heaven a little richer, on the day he left us.

From Kitty:

He always gave everyone a chance. And a second chance.  

Carole read down the list with care, her eyes filling with each new text bubble. By the time her tears were on the verge of spilling over, Burt had grown concerned and crowded in next to her to see what she was reading. She handed the phone to him wordlessly and turned to Kurt, laughing through her tears when he had a tissue ready for her.  

“You Glee kids were always so close,” she sniffled as she wiped her face. “You were like, well, siblings really. You all fought and drove each other crazy, but you always stood up for each other too.”

“We did.” His voice cracked a little and he swallowed. “And we remember our own, Carole. Not a single person who was ever in New Directions with Finn, as a teammate or a student of his, will ever forget him.”  

Burt looked up from where he was scrolling through the texts.  “Uh, Kurt. You’ve got an incoming video call.” He handed the phone back so Kurt could get Rachel up on the screen, then hold the phone out where they could all see.

“Hi, guys.” Rachel’s smile on the small screen was tremulous but genuine. “I couldn’t just send a text, I needed to see you.”

“Of course,” Carole responded. “You always call me on this day each year. How are you, honey?”  

“Oh, using up a lot of tissues, and being even more of a diva than usual,” Rachel admitted with a laugh. “I’m so lucky Jesse puts up with it.  How are you?”

Carole looked to her left and right, taking in the Hummel men on both sides. “We’re all remembering together, crying a little and laughing a little. We’ll get through it, we always do.”

Rachel only nodded, clearly not trusting herself to speak.

“Rachel…” Burt turned the phone slightly more toward himself to be sure she saw him. “You take care of yourself, okay? Today and every day. It’s normal to cry a little, but Finn wouldn’t want you to waste too much time weeping over him. You live your life, it’s the best tribute you can give him.”

She nodded before the sob she’d clearly been holding back finally broke loose, snatched back in again almost as quickly.  A hand appeared from off screen to circle her shoulders before the screen turned again to show Jesse St. James leaning over.  

“Burt, Carole, Kurt…I think I’d better get her off before she really melts down.” The picture shook before they could see the back of Rachel’s head, buried in Jesse’s shoulder. His hand stroked her hair, before she pushed away from him, wiping her face.

“No, no. I’m fine. I mean, not fine but I can say goodbye.” She wiped her face before looking into the phone’s camera again, and Kurt crowded in close to Carole to see her.  “I know I say this every year, Carole, but thank you. Thank you for raising Finn to be the person he was, who made my life happier in the time I knew him, and my life is still better for having known him. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey. And thank you for loving him. I’m so glad you call each year.”  

Kurt leaned in, turning the phone toward him. “Rachel, I’ll call you again tomorrow, when we’re both a little happier. We’ll talk about the latest theatre gossip, and happy things.”

“It’s a date,” she smiled through her tears, still holding Jesse’s hand on her shoulder.  

“Oh! Ask him about the date he had yesterday--” Carole grabbed for the phone but Kurt stood quickly, holding the phone out of her reach.

“Oh my God, Kurt! What date? Tell me!”

“Bye, Rachel!” he waved as he disconnected, the picture blinking to black on her indignant face.  He looked down at his stepmother who was nearly giggling, hand over her mouth. “Really, Carole? You had to tell her?”

“Oh, let her have her bit of fun, Kurt.” His dad was being no help, grinning widely.  

Kurt groaned.  “You realize I’m going to get the third degree from her tomorrow. She’s going to spend the whole night compiling a list of questions for me.”

“Exactly, Kurt. Which means she won’t spend the night crying.” Carole winked at him, her smile at odds with the tear tracks still showing on her cheeks. “That’s worth a small amount of embarrassment for you, isn’t it?”

He was struck, once again, by how lucky he’d been in his parents. All his parents.  He sat beside Carole again, taking her hand.  “Yeah.”

“Not like you weren’t going to tell Rachel everything anyway,” his dad said.

“It’s always nice to talk to her each year. She never forgets to call. I’m happy for her that she’s moved on and gotten married, that she’s happy now…but I’m happy that she hasn’t forgotten Finn either.”  

“She won’t. Ever. No one who knew Finn is going to forget him,” Kurt assured her.

“Y’know, some people can live four times as long as Finn, and not have the impact that he did.  You should be proud of the mark he left on the world. 

“I am. And you should be too, you played a part in making him the man he became.” Carole wiped her eyes one more time before sitting up straight, aiming a watery smile at both of them. “Well. I wanted us to take some time today to remember Finn, and we have. But it’s too pretty a day to spend it sitting here crying. What do you boys say to a walk on the beach?”  

“Anything you want,” Burt said easily, while Kurt just nodded.

“I’m just going to wash my face.” She disappeared inside, leaving Kurt and his dad looking at each other over her empty chair.

“Doesn’t get much easier, does it?” Kurt sighed.  “Every year on this day, it just…” He slumped back in the chair. From the corner of his eye he could see his dad shrug.  

“It does get easier in some ways. In others, nope. Hasn’t so far and I doubt it ever will.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. He took off his ball cap and ran a hand over his shiny pate. “But I’m not sure I want it to get easier, y’know?”

The all-weather cushion squeaked under Kurt’s head as he turned to look at his dad. “Why wouldn’t you want it to get easier?”

“Cause if it stopped hurting, that would be like we stopped caring. Like we started to forget. Think about it.” His eyebrows raised in challenge. “Your mom’s been gone twenty-three years, Kurt. Has that stopped hurting?”

“No, Dad. Of course not.” He couldn’t imagine that he’d ever think of his mom without a touch of sadness. Even his very best memories of her—faded to mere impressions over the years—were tinted with her loss.  

“Does it hurt the same way now, that it did when you were eight?” his dad asked. 

He shook his head with a small smile as the door slid open again and Carole stepped out. “Ready to go, gentlemen?”  

Having learned his lesson the day before, Kurt didn’t wear his nice shoes to the beach for their walk.  Instead he slipped on sandals, then ended up taking those off and carrying them in his hand before they’d gone very far.  The sand was damp and slightly cold under his feet, just as it had been during yoga yesterday, but it was still a source of astonishment to him that he could go barefoot at all in late March.

“I’m surprised you’re letting your toes get that dirty, Kurt.”

“Would you believe that I sat down in the sand yesterday, Dad? Of course, there were brownies on offer.”

“Being offered by a really cute guy, hmm?” Carole looped an arm through his and forced him to slow his long strides to match hers as they walked together.  

“Cute, totally hot, adorable, easy to talk to…were you trying to set me up all along, Carole?”  

“I can see I’m going to be left behind in this conversation real quick,” Burt muttered, ambling along on Carole’s other side.  Kurt leaned forward to look past her at his dad.  

“Did you know about Carole’s plans to set me up, Dad?”  

“I know nothing, kid.  Totally innocent.”

“Well, you haven’t mentioned dating anyone seriously for a while, Kurt. And we happened to be down on the beach early one morning when he was jogging and got talking to him. He seems like a nice young man. You must have gotten a good first impression too, since you ran off to a lunch date with him before you’d even been here a full day.”  

“Hey, I apologized for not being here yesterday. And I’m here today, right?”

“Yes, you are, and I’m thankful.  Glad to have one of my sons here.” She sighed, and Burt threw an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close against his side, bending his head down to talk to her softly.  

Kurt stepped away on pretext of picking up a peach-colored shell fragment, turning it over in his hands as they stopped walking, heads still close, their backs to him. Kurt waited a few feet away. They were hardly unaware of his presence but they needed a moment alone.

It never ceased to amaze Kurt, how his Dad was such a rock for Carole on this day each year. He knew his dad had his own pain. He’d thought of Finn as a son and mourned his loss as well, but he put his own grief aside to be strong for his wife. But then, Kurt had also seen what a rock Carole was, for him and his dad, on the anniversary of his mother’s death each year.

Seventeen years, the two of them had been together.  Kurt had never had a relationship that lasted seventeen months. Seventeen weeks?  Maybe?  It was hard to remember, it all blurred together.  He’d dated lots of guys in New York.

He could barely remember the fresh-faced, naïve boy he’d been when he’d gone there with Rachel, so desperately hoping to find what everyone else had seemed to have so easily in high school, and all around him in Lima. All his friends dated, and hooked up and had sex, and were able to attend their prom in couples….except him. As the only out gay boy at his school, he’d been outside all that.

He’d wanted so badly for things to be different during his college years. He was in New York, after all. Surely he’d find the epic love story he’d dreamed of since he was small? 

But reality turned out to be rather different, as Kurt gradually came to understand that his lack of dating opportunities hadn’t been due solely to the scarcity of out gay boys in Lima. It was also that romance seemed to be dead. Instead of a three-hour Technicolor film, what he got was a commercial for condoms. It wasn’t so hard to meet guys—half the male students at NYADA were gay—but he always got the feeling they were looking for a quick hook-up, and his eighteen- year-old self resolved to hold out for something real, something that could lead to seventeen years of marriage and the kind of support he saw his parents demonstrating in front of him now.  

And then Finn passed away, and Kurt drowned under the tidal wave of emotion surrounding the funeral, and the cleaning out of Finn’s room, and all the other rituals of death that he’d been too young to really notice when he’d lost his mom.  And when he returned to New York to finish out the semester, he felt hollowed out, wrung dry of all emotion. It was difficult to even fake sufficient emotion for his assigned scenes in acting classes….but those emotions weren’t his. They belonged to the character he was playing. He could manage that. His own emotions, though…

When Adam, who’d asked him out several times before Finn’s death, asked him again, Kurt had accepted. And woke up the next morning in his bed, a bit freaked out by what he’d done but nevertheless remembering the night before and knowing that he’d felt something. His emotions weren’t broken.  He could still feel.  Maybe it was only a shadowy imitation of what he’d once hoped for from his first time, but then again, how could he really know what he was supposed to feel? He had nothing to compare it to.  

That morning had been awkward at first, but Adam had been kind and patient. Kurt didn’t feel any great rush of romance for him, but he was grateful just to have someone to hold him close in the night.  

They’d dated for a few months, until Adam decided to move back to his native England and try launching his career on the West End.  Kurt had been relieved in a way. By then he knew that he’d never have his epic love story with Adam, but he had no concrete reason to break up the relationship either.  It was just comfortable, that’s all.  

And after Adam….Kurt sighed, flipping the shell in his hand one last time before tossing it out in the ocean.  There were a thousand more shells just like it at his feet, just like there were thousands of gay boys in New York. He’d dated, flirted with, and hooked up with quite a few of them.  He’d felt guilty sometimes, recalling his Dad’s words on the humiliating day they’d had The Talk. Don’t throw yourself around like you don’t matter. Because you matter, Kurt. But it hadn’t felt like throwing himself around. It was more like reaching out, over and over, taking the hand that grabbed his and hoping, this time, that the other person wouldn’t let go.

“Hey, Kurt! You coming?”

The moment seemed to be over.  Kurt tried to summon up a smile and rejoined them to continue the slow amble down the beach.

Carole, eyes still a little watery but forcing a smile, took his arm again. “So, Kurt…where did you go on your lunch date with Blaine? I want all the details!”

“Maybe not all of them,” his dad muttered.

“Relax, Dad, it was completely G-rated,” Kurt assured him, knowing he wasn’t entirely comfortable with what he knew of Kurt’s dating life in NYC. He turned back to Carole, willing to provide her with a play-by-play if it would provide the distraction she clearly needed. “What would you like to know?”  

“Where did you go?” She squeezed his arm once.

“Have you heard of Fort Macon?”

 *

 The late afternoon sun was slanting through the floor-to ceiling windows when Carole excused herself, saying that she had a slight headache and wanted to lie down for a bit.  Kurt watched his dad’s eyes track her out of the room. He was clearly concerned but willing to let her have her space.

Kurt was feeling a bit drained himself. It had been an emotionally exhausting afternoon, filled with memories of Finn, the messages from his high school friends, and the video call with Rachel. Kurt was starting to wish the day would end already, so he could go to bed and then wake up tomorrow morning, on a day that was not the anniversary of his brother’s death. Just a normal day.  

His dad slumped in the largest recliner across from him, letting his always-present cap slip down over his eyes, as Kurt curled into the end of the couch.

“How’s your show going?” Burt asked idly.

“Fine. We’re probably closing at the end of our originally scheduled run though.”

“Don’t sound so fine to me.” Hazel eyes regarded him from under the hat brim. “If it’s going fine, why are you closing?”

Kurt sighed. “Shows close for all kinds of reasons, Dad. Doesn’t always mean it’s not a good show.  This show—it’s amazing, but it’s….” He trailed off. How to explain this to his dad, who even after all these years didn’t have the most extensive theatre knowledge? “It’s a very thinky show, Dad.  And it has its heavy side. It’s not the light-hearted, spectacle-laden blockbuster musical that’s going to run for years and years so that every new wave of tourists can flock to see it.”

“Hmm. So what’s next for you then? Auditioning for the next show?”

“I suppose, if anything comes up that I’m suited for.”

“It will,” Burt said without hesitation.

Kurt let the silence stretch between them for a moment before he said it. “I’m not so sure, Dad.”  

“What do you mean?  You’ve never had too much trouble finding your next job.” His dad sat up slightly in his chair, paying more attention now.  

“It’s just…I’m not even sure if I want to look for that next job.” The words sounded strange, now that they were out, and Kurt realized it was the first time he’d said it out loud. He’d been thinking about it for a while, but hadn’t broached the topic with Rachel or any of his other theatre friends.  With the single-minded focus on ‘making it’ on Broadway, he didn’t think the conversation would get too far. But his dad though, he’d always been Kurt’s safe place.

“You’ve told me before that if you can’t land that next role, you can’t pay rent. So what are you thinking you’ll do if you aren’t working on stage?”

“Oh, you know…go home to Ohio, move back into my old room, mooch off you and Carole.” He gave a careless shrug to the ceiling.

Burt harrumphed, not impressed in the slightest. “That’s one thing I don’t worry about, Kurt. I lost you to New York before you even moved there. The longest relationship you’ve had in that city, has been with the city.”

Kurt chuckled despite himself. “I’ve never thought of it that way, but you’re not wrong, Dad.”

“So what are you thinking, Kurt? You gonna leave behind the bright lights? Do something else? You know I’ll support you in anything you want to do, but I have a hard time imagining you doing anything else.  You’ve worked so long for it.”

“But that’s just it, Dad. It’s been a decade now. I didn’t even think about it till I was talking to Blaine yesterday, and realized just how long it’s been. And if I thought I had anything to prove, that I could ‘make it’ on Broadway as a career or whatever, I think I’ve done that. A decade of paying my own bills by working on Broadway, nothing left to prove there, is there?”  

His dad waited a moment, knowing he wasn’t done, then finally prompted him. “But?”

Kurt sighed again. “But if my goal was to ‘make it’ on Broadway, in the sense of being a household name, or having my name in lights on the marquee, or winning a Tony…at this point, I’m not sure any of those things are going to happen. It’s been ten years, Dad, and I’ve had more dance injuries than I can count on my two hands, I’ve been rejected a hundred times for every one time I’ve gotten a paying job.  I’m tired, Dad. Feels like I fight all the time, and when I was twenty the fight was exciting. Now…it’s just exhausting.”

“Knew it,” Burt muttered, but there was a certain triumph in his tone.

That wasn’t the response Kurt expected. “Excuse me? Knew what?”  

“I said when I picked you up from the airport, that you were tired, that you’ve been tired for months. I….was…right!” A finger wag accompanied the last three words.

“Oh my God, Dad.  I pour my heart out to you and all you can say is ‘I was right’?”  

Burt spread his hands. “Just sayin’”

Kurt rolled his eyes, straightening his legs down the length of the couch. “Are you done congratulating yourself?”

“Yeah, I’m done.  So back to my question—what are you going to do with yourself if you’re not working on Broadway?  I don’t believe for a second that you’re going to move back to Ohio, so I’m assuming you’d want to stay in New York?”

“Yeah. It’s home now, Dad. Not that Lima isn’t home,” he hastened to assure him, “but Lima is home because you and Carole are there. New York is home because…” He smiled. “It’s mine.”

“I get it, Kurt. So what else is there for a NYADA grad to do in the big city? Do you want to teach theatre?”

“God no, I’d never have the patience for that.” Kurt shuddered at the thought. New York kids were some of the brattiest, most self-indulged kids he’d ever seen anywhere. And the theatre kids were the worst—pretentious and full of themselves. He’d never been like that, had he? He looked up and realized that his dad was still waiting. “Actually, umm…I’ve been thinking about a different career in the theatre.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well, you know how I’ve always had an interest in fashion?”

Burt’s turn for the eye roll. “Yeah, I seem to remember buying you a subscription to Vogue for a year or two…or ten.”

“Well, I’ve always gotten along well with the costume designers and other wardrobe staff at every show I’ve worked on. I can actually talk to them about the clothes, unlike most of the cast who just wear the costume and don’t give a second thought to the design of it, or construction, or the fashion history of the time period in which the show is set.”

Burt was nodding. “I think I see where you’re going with this.”  

Kurt bit his lip, smiling a little. “I’ve had more than one costume designer or wardrobe head tell me throughout the years, that if I wanted to make the switch from on stage to backstage, they’d find a job for me.”  

Burt nodded, eyes serious on him. “And do you think that would make you happy?”

“Won’t know till I try, but…I think there’s a good chance, yeah.”  

“Well, like I said, you always have my support.” Burt clapped his hands to his knees and stood up from his chair.  “I should go check on Carole.”  

Kurt closed his eyes, listening to the soft shush of footsteps across the carpet, the opening and closing of a door down the hall. He focused on his breathing, on relaxing muscle groups one at a time, trying to recapture that sleep-loose feeling from this morning. Maybe he could nap. He hadn’t had an afternoon nap in years.  

He yawned, rolled over on his side, pulled the throw pillow under his head almost nuzzling into it…his phone vibrated in his pocket. His only reaction was to sigh internally. He could answer the text later.  It vibrated again. And again.

Dammit. Probably Rachel. She couldn’t wait for tomorrow to grill him. He gritted his teeth, reaching into his pocket without opening his eyes, only squinting with one eye once the phone was in front of his face.  

From Blaine:

You doing anything tonight?

From Blaine:

I know you wanted to spend today with your family, but if by chance you’re done, my cousin and I are playing music at The Dock House in Beaufort tonight.  

From Blaine:

Love for you to come.

Kurt blinked his eyes fully open, sitting up to unlock his phone and type a response.

I think I can get away. Time? Address?  

He headed for his room without waiting for an answer, already thinking about which clothes he’d brought and how to tell his dad he was leaving for the evening. Maybe this day could have some good in it after all.  

***

The patter of bare feet on smooth, stone floors.

Giggles in the dark.

A rustle of cloth.

A kiss on the cheek - a moan as kisses travel.

The sounds of infatuation and excitement filled the air in the resplendent palace of the virgin King, recently crowned and newly married.

But not virgin for too much longer.

The wedding of Blaine Anderson, King beyond the Sea of White Sand, had all the makings of an epic love story – a noble King, his beautiful Queen, and a first night filled with passion and the blossoming fruit of love.

Ever since his thirteenth birthday, when boys of every status were proclaimed men, Blaine had had concubines made available to him, as was his right, but he never availed himself to them. He refused to lie where he did not love. As Prince and sole heir to the throne, that decision was seen by many as childish and immature, though none would ever give voice to such traitorous words. But it was still troubling. How could Blaine keep a clear mind to his duties with the poison of lust building up inside him, bringing him beneath its sway? Many felt that want of carnal pleasure would make him weak. But Blaine held strong, and over time, those with nagging minds saw him as that – strong. And since he had the strength of mind and purpose to remain unsullied, he came to be considered wise, trustworthy, and above all things, just - a perfect ruler.

He had the sex slaves of the palace sent away, compensated and re-distributed to areas in need of their services. He did not want their presence to offend any who may be propositioned to become his bride. His father might have seen that as a failure, not providing the kingdom with a successor should Blaine fail to find a match, but Blaine would not spread his seed out of obligation.

He wanted to make a gift of his virtue, to one he felt he could respect, trust, and love, and receive that same gift in return.

Several months after his twentieth birthday, Blaine believed that the Vizier had finally found such a person.

A princess of fierce wit and intelligence, crowned by a singular beauty – skin pale as the fair desert sand, hair a cascade of gold over slender but strong shoulders, and eyes that shone like emeralds, twin gems worth more than all the riches on Earth, above and below.

A rare and exotic treasure for Blaine to pledge himself to, to bequeath his loyalty…and his desire.

She would come only second in his life to his kingdom, and forever be true and precious in his heart.

Her name was Quinn.

Quinn, given to him as a gift from a far-off land. Quinn, whose name meant ‘counsel’, in whom Blaine would always confide. Quinn, who would be his sustenance, the blood in his veins, the air that he breathed, whose well-being he’d put above his own.

Quinn, whom Blaine would defend and protect above all others.

Quinn, who would always have Blaine’s devotion and affection.

She belonged to him the moment a dowry exchanged hands, but he courted her anyway. He gave her gifts and sang her songs. He filled her room with flowers, and with fragrant pots of rare oils and spices. He bought her fine clothes and jewels. He indulged her unquenchable thirst for reading, and filled a corner of her room from floor to ceiling with whatever books he could find. He put ego aside, and served her in a manner befitting a Queen.  

Quinn was receptive to his attentions, and took pride of place at his side, till it became unusual to see one without the other.

Their wedding, weeks later, was like none before it. Even the nuptials of Blaine’s parents, the late King and Queen, were not as glorious. Ambassadors from other countries and affluent families from miles around came to congratulate the couple, whom most saw as divinely favored – two kindred souls finding one another from the distant reaches of the world. It was like a fairy tale, and the storytellers recited it over and over in the streets so that the people of the kingdom might revel along with their beloved King. Casks of the King’s best Shiraz were opened, squares of wedding cake handed out, and everyone from businessman to beggar made merry.

Gifts of tremendous wealth were bestowed upon Blaine and Quinn, and a magnificent feast served in their honor. Performers of all disciplines filled the palace. Nearly every floor was bursting with musicians, acrobats, jugglers, sword swallowers, and fire breathers.

But Blaine saw none of it. Nothing that was brought before him tickled his fancy. A sitar player, one of the finest in the kingdom, paused before the throne to play for the royal couple, only to continue on his way with his song unfinished. Blaine had eyes only for his young bride, and she, it seemed, only for him.

It could be called fate, kismet, destiny, luck, but no matter. It did not need a name. No greater blessing shone down upon him, and in that moment when the two left the festivities early to consummate their marriage, Blaine couldn’t imagine himself any more content.

It seemed like a dream, one he hoped to never wake from.

They could not wait until they were in the solitude of the King’s chambers to touch and kiss and hold one another, but they had no fear of being seen. There was no one about, every person kept away from this part of the palace to ensure their privacy. Blaine’s hands fumbled, pulling gently at delicate veils and casting them aside until he could look fully upon the face of his bride. She was grace and dignity, and he knew that she would fill his palace with lusty sons and fine daughters, but Quinn was so much more to him than that. She made him feel human; she made him feel equal and whole. As her kisses fell upon his lips, Blaine thanked God and those in his service that he could wed one so clever, so radiant, so exquisite – one whom he could talk to openly, one who made him laugh.

One whom he could grow to love.

He wasn’t entirely certain that he wasn’t completely in love already.

After tonight, they would be one, King and Queen together. They would be adored and praised more than any other rulers before them. They would be the shining example that love conquers everything, bears everything, means everything.

A King without love was like a day without sun, a night without the moon and stars.

It meant everything to Blaine.

Blaine led Quinn with a hand to the small of her back and kisses along her shoulders. He held her in his arms and laid her down gently on his bed, which he had prepared special, covering it from end to end with the softest pillows he could find. As he undressed her, revealing her inch by inch – her ample bosom, her flawless skin, her flat stomach - a modest blush colored her flesh, and Blaine prayed for courage. He prayed for fortitude. He prayed that he should make of himself a pleasing offering to his lady bride. He prayed that years of inexperience would not deprive his beloved of a magical first time in his arms.

Naked as she was before him, the pink of awareness on her skin darkened to an enticing scarlet, but she did not turn away, and Blaine smiled. She might have strength enough for both of them then. He could learn a thing or two from her bravery.

He took too long in his admiration of her, and her smile faded.

“What is it, my King?” she asked, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek. “Why do you seem so…dismayed?”

Blaine swallowed, turning into her hand to kiss her palm. Her skin was soft against his lips, and warm – a warmth he longed to feel all over his body. He was not as prepared for this as he thought he should be, but he regretted not a single one of his decisions. He did what was right for him; he had nothing to apologize for. But he was still nervous, and in that nervousness, he felt afraid. She frowned, waiting patiently for an answer, but Blaine was hesitant to give it. It was not the habit of a King to express weakness to anyone, especially his wife. But if Blaine could not admit his fears to her, then whom should he admit them to?

“I…I’ve never done this before,” Blaine said with a shy laugh, gazing at the goddess that lay before him. “I…I don’t want to mess this up.”

Quinn gave him an understanding smile, the light from the lanterns twinkling in her eyes like the sun on a new spring day. Her hand moved from Blaine’s cheek to the collar of his tunic, tracing the weave of the fabric down his chest till her fingertips reached the hem.

“Well, my King,” she said softly, “then we shall learn together, yes?”

Blaine nodded, mesmerized by the way she could calm his fears so quickly. She tugged up on his garment and he obeyed, moving to take it off. Few had seen the King unclothed, none who mattered as far as he was concerned, but he’d never felt this vulnerable, this exposed. He worried what she would think of him, but that lasted only a second. Quinn’s eyes went wide at the sight of him, filled with wonder, sweeping over his skin as if she couldn’t look enough upon him. He reached for her and her breath quickened. Her body rose to meet his hand, pleading to be touched, but he pulled back.

“I don’t know how this works,” he confessed. She gasped in surprise, then tittered lightly, the sound of her carefree, unsuppressed laughter flooding his body, making him feel carefree, too. “I mean…I know how it works, I just…am I going to…hurt you?”

Quinn raised her hand to his face and stroked his cheek with gentle fingertips.

“My mother told me that my body will accommodate yours,” Quinn said, voice trembling. “You just have to trust it. You have to trust me.” Quinn’s other hand hovered where the proof of Blaine’s need pushed against the front of his pants. “Do you trust me?” she asked in a whisper.

“I do,” Blaine said. “I do trust you.”

“Good,” she said, smiling encouragingly. “That’s all you need.”

Blaine stole a glance down the length of her gorgeous body, a bit more confident but unsure where to start, but his Quinn, the other half of his heart and soul, seemed to know.

“Will you touch me, my King?” she begged, her dainty fingers wrapping around his wrist, her eyes locked boldly on his. He let her lead his hand to the nest of curls at the juncture of her thighs. He took over then, slipping his fingers inside her, massaging this sacred hollow of her body, which moistened at his touch. It felt sinful touching her there and watching her react. Her eyelids fluttered shut. Her hands grabbed at the pillows beneath her. Her moans filled the air around them, a distinctive music mixed with the sound of the celebration taking place levels below them and his heart beat pounding in his ears. But there could be no sin in this, nothing wrong.

Not about his beloved Quinn.

“Kiss me?” she whispered, their lips already a breath apart, not much more needed to bring them together than that one question. He let himself go when his lips pressed against hers, but it was her fervor that overwhelmed him. She chased his mouth, her tongue slipping between his lips, mirroring the movement of his fingers between her legs. Her mouth tasted sweet, like sugared dates and honey, along with the sip of wine she drank when they exchanged their vows. Blaine wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he couldn’t get enough of the flavors here, where only he would be able to sample them.

Quinn helped the King off with his pants, her hands shaking as they slid down over his ass and his legs, his desire for her springing free.

“Are you…?” he asked, not finishing the question lest he be vulgar. “Can I…?”

“Yes, my King,” she said, restless hands clawing lightly at his chest, at his shoulders, urging him to move. “Please.”

Blaine guided her legs open with careful hands, watching her breathing stop as he lined his sex up with hers. His body quaked as he entered his bride, the first brush of his engorged cock against her heat nearly doing him in. After that, there was no hesitation, on his part or hers. They were connected, body and mind. He kissed her, she touched him. He whispered her name, she opened up for him, wordlessly begging him to take her. And he did, accepting that which she offered and giving her everything he was, everything he had, telling her in unspoken words about the life he dreamt of sharing with her, his promise to always be faithful, that nothing in the world could tempt him to stray from the rapture that was her and him as husband and wife for the rest of their lives. His body surrendered to hers, filling her with life – life from within him. Ecstasy washed over them both, and a tear slipped down his cheek as he pictured the children that life would bring. The future of not only them, but of his kingdom.

Their claim to immortality.

Elsewhere in the palace, the night had continued on without them. They could hear it in the form of music and laughter wafting through the windows, but for Blaine, time had stopped, and he was glad. How much longer would their life be if every time they made love time paused and waited for them to catch up?

If that was the case, Blaine would be sure to worship his wife’s body at least three times a day.

Weary but blissfully spent, and with joyful laughter simmering in his throat, Blaine looked at his Queen, hoping the experience was as remarkable for her as it had been for him. She gazed up at him, breathless, but she seemed to have no words for him, and his heart began to sink. In his doubts, he thought that perhaps she meant to spare his feelings by not giving him an opinion, but for the sake of securing her happiness, he needed to know.

“How was…how was that, my love?” he panted, brushing the hair from her face so he could better see her vibrant eyes.

Her lips parted and she shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he feared he had failed her.

“Perfect, my King.” She ran her fingers through his hair, then brought his forehead down to her lips and kissed his sweaty brow. “I couldn’t have wished for anything better.”

Blaine sighed with relief and kissed his wife deeply, taking a last taste of her before they yielded to sleep. He took comfort from her words. His heart settled, finding an easy rhythm with hers that it could keep. He laid his head upon her breast, and with a touch of his cheek against her skin, he fell into a satisfied slumber.

***

Blaine felt a wisp of cool air dance across his skin. It fled quickly, and he became warm again, but that single chill kept him on the brink of waking, even when he thought he’d fallen swiftly back to sleep. Soon after, he felt the pillows around him move, felt a body draw up close to his and curl into his arms. He smiled sleepily and opened his eyes, expecting to see his wife wrapped in his embrace, her flaxen hair draped over his pillow, the silken strands tickling his nose, snuggling against him to evade the cold.

He snuffled and blinked, shooing the sleep from his brain, but he could tell before his vision cleared completely that it wasn’t Quinn who roused him from sleep, but the striped tawny and white cat his mother had kept. Blaine had rescued it from entombment after his mother’s passing. From that day forward, it seemed to prefer Blaine’s chambers over his mother’s old room.

“Mau,” he murmured, scratching the purring beast behind her ear. “Where has my beloved gone, hmm? Have you seen my Quinn? Do you know where she is?”

Mau meowed, turning its head toward the doorway as strange noises echoed down the corridor outside Blaine’s room. They were muffled, indistinct but alarming, making Blaine sit up and take notice. There should be no one outside his room, none but the guards at this hour, and Blaine was immune to their footsteps pacing the halls as he slept. If there were any revelers left in the palace, they would have been ushered off to the guest wing by now. But these footfalls, fading into the labyrinth of walkways, were lighter than would be those of a tired, drunken partygoer, and seemed urgent, running away from something, eager to leave it behind.

Blaine was not bothered by whatever or whomever might be lurking about. It was not his place to worry. He did want to know where his wife had gone, however, and threw on his clothes to set out in search of her. It could be that she retreated to her own room. Though he had hoped she would stay with him, his mother had warned him long ago that women were mysterious creatures, in their ways and in their thoughts, and sometimes, as men did, needed time to themselves. Blaine could respect that – it would be difficult, but he could. Still, he had an uneasy feeling as he turned the corner leading to the chambers set aside for the King’s concubines and his spouses. Blaine decided that this once he would call on her. He would not linger long if she did not wish it. Once he saw that she was okay, he would leave her alone.

“Quinn?” he called softly, not wanting to alarm her by showing up unannounced. “Quinn, are you here?” He heard a scuffle followed by a yelp that caused his feet to speed their pace. “Are you alright, my love?”

He turned down the final corridor and laughter struck his ears – a hushed chuckle, wicked and sultry.

Unmistakably feminine.

Suddenly, he did not rush toward the sound so swiftly.

Still he walked, moans and whimpers luring him further on, drawing him forward, with Blaine powerless to stop, even as every step siphoned his soul away drop by excruciating drop. Those feverish moans turned his insides cold as death, filling his veins with ice till he became numb to everything – numb to love, numb to compassion, numb to forgiveness.

Blaine knew that voice. He’d heard it sing for him hours before – a breathy alto, gasping for pleasure, begging for completion.

“Yes, yes, yes!” it cried. “Please, God, harder! Fuck me harder! Please, make me cum…”

No, Blaine realized. Not the same. This time it sang with a greater pleasure, a more honest enjoyment of the act. Blaine might be inexperienced, but he was far from stupid. He could tell the difference.

It took only a second for everything inside Blaine to change, for his heart to harden, for his brain to sharpen its focus, for him to banish the hopeless romantic within him to a place deep within his psyche, where he would never have to bother with it again. Where it could rot and die the death befitting of a naïve, addlepated fool.

Blaine squared his shoulders, pulled himself straight, and stormed into his wife’s chamber. He should have been shocked by what he saw, and perhaps a part of him was, but he was too livid to feel anything but anger. He found his wife the way he knew he’d find her the moment her gasps hit his ears – lying on her back and mounted like a whore. Their eyes met, but there was no more love in Blaine’s gaze, no more affection, and no mercy.

Quinn didn’t look ashamed, she didn’t look repentant, but she had the good sense to be afraid.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Blaine wasn’t about to let her. He never wanted to hear her speak again. He needed his last memory of her voice to be those moans of pleasure that did not belong to him so that she could not persuade him to forgive her.

Had he a knife on his person, he would have lurched forward and cut out her tongue.

“Guards!” Blaine screamed, his golden eyes burning into those of the woman with the dark-skinned servant between her thighs. She stared back at him, pleading silently, her green eyes no more the precious jewels he had believed them, but the calculating eyes of a treacherous snake. “Guards! Come to me! I need you immediately!”

“Yes, Great King!”

Blaine woke to the sound of four spear ends hitting the floor in unison, his body shaking, his palms sweating, the perfumed air around him a festering reminder of his first wife’s betrayal. It had been several long years since that night, since that viper claimed his innocence and crushed it underfoot like a ripe fig. He had been plagued by these nightmares too many times. They needed to end. He needed to drive that memory from his brain.

Meeting Kurt this morning had re-energized him in a way he hadn’t felt for a while. He loved his life here in Carteret County, he loved his family and his job and the kids he worked with….but something had been off in his life lately. He felt stagnant, like murky sea water caught in a tidal pool after the water had long since ebbed out. Meeting Kurt was like the tide coming back in, bringing all the oxygen of the sea with it

He chose a spot on the wide grassy top of the outer wall of the fort, close enough to the path that he could see Kurt come in.  From here they could look down into the grassy moat between the double layers of thick walls, or look out over the water. Beaufort Inlet was clear and calm today, and with the blue skies and white clouds, Blaine couldn’t have asked for more cooperation from Mother Nature. 

He spread out the blanket and was just opening the cooler when a shadow fell over him. He looked up, then up some more past long legs encased in tight jeans and a slim waist broadening out to a very nice chest and shoulders, the throat covered by a neckerchief. Blaine blinked and forced himself to make eye contact, grinning at his new acquaintance.  “Hey.” 

Kurt was studying him like he was a puzzle to be figured out.  “You look…different.

“I was going to say the same about you.” Blaine glanced down at himself, realizing that although this was his typical style, Kurt would hardly know that after only seeing his sweaty windblown jogger look this morning.  “This is my Mr. Anderson persona.” He touched his throat self-consciously. “The kids especially like the bow ties,” he offered, waiting for Kurt’s verdict. 

“Well then, your kids have good taste,” Kurt smiled as he lowered himself to the other side of the blanket and sat with his legs folded to one side. It didn’t look like the most comfortable position and he realized that Kurt probably couldn’t sit any other way in jeans that tight. Think about something else, Anderson. “I think the suspenders are probably my favorite of the ensemble,” Kurt commented, still openly checking Blaine out. 

Blaine shrugged, laughing at little at himself. He knew what he looked like. “It’s not the typical look for around here, but I find it works for me, especially when I’m teaching.” 

Kurt looked out over the stone walls.  “What is this place?” 

“Fort Macon.  It was last used during the Civil War.  Site of a major battle and everything.” Blaine pulled two water bottles from the cooler and passed one to Kurt. “We can walk down after lunch and read the information boards if you want, and there are some interesting displays set up in the rooms downstairs, showing what it would have been like to live here as a soldier.”

“Why’d you want to meet here?” Kurt asked.  “I mean, it’s unique, but just wondering why you chose it.” 

“Well, it’s a nice day and I thought an outside picnic sounded nice. Besides, I’ve always felt a connection to this place.” Blaine was taking containers out as he talked, taking the lids off, sticking plastic utensils into the food. “One of my ancestors helped to build it.

“Really?” 

“Yep.  My four-times great-grandfather was head of the stonemason crew.  He also worked on Cape Lookout Lighthouse.” 

“Is that around here?” Kurt asked, looking out over the water. 

Blaine laughed.  “It’s close by, but you won’t see it from here.  You have to get on a boat. I’ll take you there if you want.

“Hmmm.  Maybe,” Kurt said noncommittally. He looked down at the spread as Blaine handed him a paper plate, and seemed to really look at the food for the first time. “That’s…umm, that’s a lot of shrimp.”

“You’re not allergic, are you?” Blaine asked, panicking.  “I should have asked you that.

“No, not allergic.  It’s just….it must’ve cost you a fortune.” 

“Didn’t cost me a cent,” Blaine said smugly.

Kurt stared at him.  “Did you rob a seafood market? Because--

Blaine laughed, unable to hold it in anymore.  “Look where we are,” and waved an arm at Beaufort Inlet.  “The seafood is right there, all you have to do is go out and get it.  Or know someone who can get it.  Half my local family are fishermen, including my uncle who caught all the shrimp.  So dig in.”  

“That much shrimp in a New York City restaurant would probably cost thirty dollars,” Kurt said. “Just the shrimp, not including the rest of the meal or drinks or tip.

“Not here,” Blaine shook his head and held out the container

“Okay then.”  Kurt took a large spoonful of chilled boiled shrimp and some potato salad, and Blaine relaxed.  Then Kurt pointed at one container and asked, “What’s that?” 

“Oh, you’re going to want to try that.  It’s a shrimp-cheese spread.  You put it on crackers usually, I have them right here.” Blaine plopped a large dollop of the spread on Kurt’s plate, and held out a sleeve of Ritz crackers for him to take a few. “There’s fruit salad too. And if you like to dip your boiled shrimp, take some of this.”  He put another spoonful on his plate, this time of a salmon-colored sauce.  “It’s a family recipe.  I swear, it was only a couple years ago that they let me learn the ingredients.  When I first got here, I innocently asked what was in it and thought I’d be tarred and feathered and run back to Ohio on the first train.” 

“Wait—Ohio?” Kurt looked up, food forgotten. “You’re from Ohio?” 

“Well, I grew up all over,” Blaine said, filling his plate. “Military brat. But Ohio was where I lived for three years prior to moving here, which was the longest I stayed in any one place for my first twelve years.  So it felt as much like home as anywhere, before this.

“Where exactly in Ohio?  I grew up in Lima.” He started to answer, but Kurt was just dipping his shrimp in the sauce and taking a cautious bite. He closed his eyes and popped the rest in his mouth.  “Wow, you weren’t kidding.  This sauce is awesome.” 

“Told ya so,” Blaine laughed.  He’d been waiting for Kurt to try it.  “I lived in Westerville.” 

“That was about an hour and a half away,” Kurt mused.  “So not exactly next door, not like we would have run in to each other at the mall.” 

“No. But it’s still odd that we lived that close to each other, and then met on a beach in NC.” Blaine moved, using a leg to hold down one side of the blanket that was flapping up in a slight breeze.  

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt agreed around another mouthful.  They sat and ate quietly for a moment.  “So…what was it like, growing up in a military family?

“It was fun in my early years, I never knew any different than a life of moving around a lot. I was born in the Philippines, that’s where my parents met.  Mom was born there, Dad was stationed there for a couple years.  They got married and I think my mom regarded all the travel from base to base as a big adventure, so she made it into one for me too.  She always stayed at home with me full time, gave me all her attention. I was a total mama’s boy when I was little.” He gave a self-deprecating huff of laughter. “That’s probably not the most brag-worthy thing for a grown man to admit to.

“Hey, my mommy was my best friend when I was little.” Kurt raised his bottle of water. “A toast, to mommies and mama’s boys everywhere.” 

Blaine chuckled as he tapped his water against Kurt’s.   

“No siblings?” Kurt asked, reaching for more of the shrimp cheese spread. Blaine offered the crackers again and waited for a large family with several loud kids to pass by into the fort before he answered. So much for the fort being quiet 

“One half-brother.  My dad was married before, early in his military career, and he said his first wife just wasn’t cut out for the military. They had a son together, Cooper. He’s…well.” Blaine hesitated, always unsure how to explain that he had a brother but didn’t feel like it. “He’s ten years older than me, and always lived with his mom, so I only saw him once or twice a year.”

“So you were practically an only child.” 

“Yeah.” He felt the small twinge of regret that he associated with his brother, the wish that they could have known each other better. “What about you?

“I grew up as an only child too.” Kurt hesitated and Blaine thought he was about to say something else, but instead he speared another shrimp. “Where does Cooper live?

“He’s in California mostly, unless his work takes him somewhere else. He’s an actor, but on screen, not stage. And uh…not a very good one really. He spent a couple years in New York and tried to be a theatre actor, but when he couldn’t get his big break there he went back to LA. He does mostly commercials, but you’d think he had ten Oscars on his shelf the way he brags about his career.” Blaine stabbed at a pineapple chunk on his plate, leaving fork indentations in the Styrofoam

“Has he done anything I’d recognize?”  

“Uh, yeah,” he answered, reluctant. He chewed and swallowed and made himself say it. “His most successful commercial aired nationally, that one for the credit rating company?” Kurt shrugged so Blaine started singing the jingle and had barely gotten the first line out before Kurt gasped.  

“That’s your brother?” He set his plate down to gesture wildly with his hands, and Blaine recognized the sitting-down, over-enthusiastic version of the choreography from the TV ad. “The Free Credit Rating Today commercial? That guy? Oh my God, he’s gorgeous!” 

“Yeah, he is. That’s my brother, the gorgeous successful actor who lives in glamorous LA and has everything.” Blaine looked down at his plate, and picked up a cracker to spread cheese and shrimp on just to give his hands something to do.

“Well, one thing is very clear,” Kurt said softly, breaking the tense silence that had settled between them. Blaine glanced over to him. “Good looks run in the family.” He stretched out one long leg to tap his shoe playfully against Blaine’s, and winked, making it impossible for Blaine to do anything but smile back. “Sore spot?” Blaine see-sawed his hand in a ‘sort of’ motion. “I’m sorry if I ruined the mood.”

“You didn’t, it’s fine.” Blaine smiled, trying to show that he meant it. “My brother and I aren’t close, and it’s something I regret. But it’s a pretty day, and I’m eating a picnic lunch with a cute guy, and I’d rather talk about happy things.”

“You think I’m cute?” Kurt batted his lashes.

Blaine grabbed a grape from the fruit salad and threw it at him. “Oh, don’t even try to pretend you don’t know what you look like!” He laughed as the fruit bounced off Kurt’s carefully coiffed hair. He smoothed it and sent a glare Blaine’s way

“Oh, this is Southern hospitality, huh? Getting attacked by food?” He grabbed a cracker from his plate and threw it. Blaine ducked and the cracker flew over him, followed almost immediately by the screech of a gull

“Oh, you’ve done it now.” Blaine looked over his shoulder as several gulls swooped down from nowhere, fighting over the cracker and creating a din with their high-pitched calls.  “Should’ve thrown further, Kurt,” he told him as he turned back, to find that the other side of the blanket was empty. Kurt stood several feet away, staring at the flock of birds. The tension in his stance suggested a field mouse hiding under a leaf, hoping if it stayed still enough the hawk wouldn’t see him

Blaine stayed in his seat on the blanket, grinning now. “You don’t have birds in New York City?” he asked

“Not like those,” Kurt answered, wide eyes still on the flock who’d stopped fighting now that one had flown away with the cracker. But several of them were still there, strutting around and poking their beaks into the grass in search of another tasty treat.  “We have pigeons in Central Park. They’re not that big or noisy.”

“We saw the same type of birds on the beach this morning, you know.”

“They weren’t that close.” Kurt was still watching them as if ready to bolt if the flock moved any closer.  

“They’ll get bored in a minute and fly away, once they realize we’re not going to throw any more food their way. Come on, come back and sit down.”

“I think I’ve had enough to eat. How about we see the fort?” Kurt suggested, still watching the gulls.  

“Okay. Let me pack up.”  He put everything back in the insulated cooler with its ice packs and motioned for Kurt to follow him to his truck so he could put it away.  “Let’s go see the house that Tyler built.”

They walked down the bridge into the center courtyard of the pentagon-shaped fort, and Blaine led Kurt inside the stone-walled hallways to show him the rooms that were furnished the way they would have been during the Civil War, with mannequins in period-appropriate military uniforms. He noticed that Kurt asked the volunteer on duty several questions about the costumes. He wanted to know what material the uniforms would have been made of, and what the rank insignia meant on each mannequin and even what the undergarments would have been like for a soldier. After he’d bemused the old lady with his questions about underwear, Blaine led him back out to the courtyard so they could inspect the canon, then they climbed the stone steps up to the top of the inner wall, giving them a view of the water.

“It really goes on forever, doesn’t it?” Kurt asked, his eyes scanning the horizon.

Blaine chuckled. “Not quite forever, but pretty far, yeah.”

“I’m surprised there aren’t more people on the beach, on such a pretty day.”

“Well, the water’s still pretty cold this early in the year, and classes are still in session for most schools. Come back in July, there’ll be hundreds of people out there. Would you like to take advantage of the quiet and go for another walk on the beach? Just us this time, no wild dog getting into stinky dead things?”

Kurt shuddered. “Don’t remind me. But sure, we can walk on the beach.”

They passed through the courtyard again, and Kurt paused to read an information board that he’d missed the first time through.  Blaine stepped away, to the wall of the fort, and placed his hand on one of the many stones that created the structure. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the chatter of the few tourists, focusing on the timelessness of that single stone beneath his palm. He knew, logically, that the fort had been rebuilt and repaired any number of times since its initial completion. The chances of that particular stone being the same one that was laid in the 1830s were slim. All that aside, he did this every time he came to the fort.

“Blaine?”

He blinked his eyes open to see Kurt looking at him quizzically.

“Little tradition of mine,” he shrugged, dropping his hand. “I like to touch one particular rock for a moment. I always wonder if my ancestor touched that same exact rock.”

Kurt nodded in understanding, though Blaine felt he was just humoring him.  

They stopped by Blaine’s truck again so he could dig around in the cooler and pull out two bottles of water which he put in a messenger bag, then walked up the steps that led from the parking lot to the loose sand of the dunes.

“Tell me, Blaine…”

“Hmm?”

“Am I going to have beach sand in my shoes for a week after this vacation? 

He looked down at Kurt’s admittedly fabulous looking, but not very practical, Doc Martens. “No…you’ll have sand in your shoes for a month.”

“Wonderful.”

Blaine snorted a laugh. “Not much of an outdoorsy person, are you?”  

“Let me think…..” Kurt stopped in the path and feigned deep thought, staring off into the distance and tapping his chin. “No, I’m not. There’s a reason I live in New York City.”

“I figured you lived there to be close to Broadway.”

“That, too.”

The white sand of the dunes that slipped and crunched under their feet gave way to the more solid damp sand closer to the water. They headed down the beach, staying in that narrow strip between loose sand and the continuous motion of the waves.

“So you told me what role you’re playing right now,” Blaine said. “Tell me another role you’ve played recently, or a favorite role. I know! Tell me your very first Broadway role!”

Kurt laughed. “Which is it, Blaine?”  

“Okay then, dealer’s choice.” He kicked a shell out of the way and told himself to calm down. He didn’t want to scare Kurt off by being an obsessed fanboy.  

“Well…it wasn’t my very first Broadway role, but it was my first big role where my character actually had a name and I wasn’t just a face in the ensemble. I played Jack in Into the Woods.” Kurt smiled fondly at the memory.

“I love that show!” Blaine gasped. “And that’s a great role, I’ve played it myself!”

“What?” Kurt stopped to stare at him, the ocean breeze just barely ruffling his hair. He must have a ton of hairspray in it. “You didn’t say you were an actor.”

“I’m not,” Blaine tried to downplay it. He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. “Not like you, not professionally. I’ve done some community theatre, that’s all.”

“But that’s awesome!” Kurt’s face split in a wide grin. “We’ve played the same role, we have to compare notes. Final note on ‘Giants in the Sky’…any problems?”

“My range is better than that, thank you,” Blaine scoffed. “I never had—nope, hold on, I did have trouble with it one night, but I was coming down with a cold. I still got the note out but it wasn’t as strong as I wanted and I cracked a bit at the end. I was mortified but my director said it was okay, it played off as high emotion. Did you have problems with the note?” he challenged.

“Oh please, I’m a countertenor. I can hit that note and keep going up the scale.” Kurt affected an arrogant manner, making Blaine laugh before he remembered something else to share.

“The chicken…what kind of chicken did you have? Ours was a remote control one and it was being operated by the stage manager in the wings, and I swear she couldn’t drive it. One night I had to dive for it because the S.M. was about to run it off the stage and into the orchestra. I barely caught it…can you imagine the conductor getting bonked in the head with a fake chicken and having to hand it back to me?”

Kurt laughed at the mental image, the first out-loud, uninhibited belly laugh Blaine had heard from him. And it was a beautiful laugh, snatched away too soon by the breeze.

They strolled along the beach for a while longer, still telling stories about their experiences with that role, till Blaine suggested they stop to enjoy their dessert.  

“You brought dessert out to the beach?”

“I did,” Blaine said smugly. He plopped down on a stretch of sand and opened his bag to pull out not only the water, but a Tupperware container with brownies in it and napkins. He realized Kurt was still standing. “C’mon, Kurt. It’s just nice clean beach sand, your jeans will wash.”

Kurt sighed but lowered himself to the sand gingerly, then shook his head a little when Blaine took the lid off to reveal the treats.

“What’s wrong?” Blaine asked. “You don’t like brownies?” He handed Kurt a napkin and was glad when he took it. Why did he look like that, didn’t everyone love brownies?

“Oh, it’s not that. I love brownies. I was just thinking about my parents trying to fatten me up this week. I’m starting to wonder if you’re not in cahoots with them.”

“I have a feeling there’s more to that story, but only if you want to share it.” Blaine was taking the lid off a Tupperware container as he spoke, and offered it to Kurt so he could pick his brownie first.  Instead, Kurt took the container from his hand, took out one brownie, and set the box in his lap. “Umm…” Blaine waited for an explanation.

Ignoring him, Kurt took a bite, closing his eyes as if in appreciation. “This is a very good brownie,” he said without opening his eyes.  

“Thank you. I made them myself.”

“Well done. This brownie is so good, in fact, that I think it should be earned. Therefore, whoever can tell the biggest sob story about their life—truthful sob story—gets to have all the brownies to themselves.”

Blaine bent over, face almost touching the sand as he chortled.  “Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re pulling that stunt!” He straightened up and tried to compose himself.  “Well, assuming I want to go along with this, you’ve already started eating. You didn’t earn that bite, mister!”

He scrutinized the small square in his hand. “You’re right.  So I’ll tell one sad fact about my life to earn the bite. I can tell you that I was bullied in high school for being gay.  Tossed into dumpsters on a daily basis.” His nose scrunched as he made a face.

“Gross.  I never got the dumpster tosses, thank goodness.” Blaine shuddered.  

“Are you telling me you have no sad facts to tell me, to earn your bite?” Kurt held the brownie—still with only one bite taken out of it—out to him enticingly.

“Oh, hardly. I only said I wasn’t dumpster-tossed. Gimme that brownie.” Blaine took it before breathing deep and stating as blandly as he could, “Shortly after I came out, I was gay-bashed at a Sadie Hawkins dance, and so was the boy I was with. We both ended up in the hospital.”  

“Oh, no.” Kurt leaned closer, placing a hand on Blaine’s knee. “Obviously you got better. Was he okay?”

“Yeah, eventually.” Blaine shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“It’s never too late to drown your sorrows in chocolate. Go ahead, you’ll feel better after a bite.”  

Blaine humored him and took a bite before handing it back. “Your turn. One sad fact.”

“My dad had a heart attack when I was sixteen and spent several days in a coma before waking up. I thought I was going to lose him and it was probably the scariest, loneliest week of my life.” Kurt took a bite, and chewed contemplatively before turning back to Blaine. “This is an awful game. Why are we doing this?”

Blaine stared at him, then cracked up. “You suggested it!” he accused.  

“Well, I’m obviously an idiot. Why didn’t you stop me?” Blaine didn’t answer, too busy trying to stifle his laughter.  

“Why did you suggest it, Kurt?” Blaine wiped tears from his eyes, still laughing but he really wanted to know.

Kurt made a face. “I thought it might be a shortcut? To us getting to know each other better?”  

“Or you could have just asked?”

“Too obvious. Too easy.” Kurt passed the Tupperware to him. “Let’s just eat our brownies. They really are too good to ruin with tears. Let’s pick a different topic.”

“Okay.” Blaine took a brownie and napkin and chewed a bite while thinking.  “We were having fun talking about theatre. Tell me about being on Broadway, what it’s actually like to be a professional stage actor. I only know the amateur side of it.”

“Oh, God….that’s a loaded topic. I could go on for hours about the good and the bad. Want to narrow it down a little?”

“Tell me about…” Blaine thought for a moment. “Tell me about the first day of rehearsal for the show you’re currently in.”  

“Oh. That one was interesting, because on the very first day we didn’t even rehearse, really. Hardly touched the scripts. Instead we played a lot of those getting-to-know-you games, and trust games, to help us bond as a cast. Then we all sat on the studio floor and our director asked us to talk about the turning points in our lives, the moments that defined us and made us who we are, especially those moments when things didn’t just happen to us, but we made deliberate choices that changed our lives.”  

“And what did you tell about?” Blaine asked, curious.  

“One I already told you about, when my dad had his heart attack. But when the director pressed me to name an event that I proactively chose, that would have to be moving to New York when I was eighteen.”

“Eighteen, wow.  That was brave.”

“Well, I went with my best friend Rachel. So at least we had each other. I don’t think I could have done it by myself.”

“Still, you made the leap. I admire that.”  

“How about you?  What were your defining moments?”

“Umm…” Blaine stalled while taking a bite and chewing. What big choices had he made in his life? “I guess, when I decided to live here, that was a pretty big turning point.”

“And how old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

“I’m sorry, what? You moved here on your own at fourteen? Where were your parents?”

“Not on my own, I had family here.”

“But you said that you decided to move here. Not your parents. I’m confused, Blaine. What happened?”

Blaine sighed, and gave up on any pretense of eating. He set the brownie back down in the plastic box and sealed the lid.  “I suppose I should back up and explain from the beginning, huh?”  

Kurt nodded, and set down his napkin as well, turning more fully toward Blaine and giving him his full attention.

“When I was about twelve, things got….hard.” He glanced at Kurt, and found him listening, gaze intent on Blaine. “We’d been in Ohio for about a year I guess, and I came out to my mom.  Just my mom, because I was afraid of my dad’s reaction. You know, military mentality, gotta be macho and tough, all that.”  

“How’d your mom react?” Kurt asked.

“Oh, she was great. Turns out she’d suspected for a while, but waited for me to be ready to say it.  And when I did say it, well….she just gave me a hug and said nothing would ever make her love me less.” Blaine smiled at the memory, even as he felt the old familiar pain that he associated with his mom.  

“That’s great,” Kurt said softly. “My dad was great too. I wasn’t as brave as you, I waited till I was sixteen.  But when I finally did it, I couldn’t have asked for him to be more supportive than he was.”  

“Your mom wasn’t supportive?” Blaine asked.  

Kurt hesitated.  “My mom died when I was eight,” he said.  “So it was just me and my dad for several years.”  

“I’m sorry,” Blaine said, always feeling stupid to say sorry to someone for losing a loved one, but what else was there to say?  Nothing made it hurt less, as he knew well enough.  

Kurt shrugged. “It was a long time ago, and not that I wouldn’t give anything to have her back, but my dad remarried when I was in high school and my stepmom’s great. So I could have had it worse.” Silence for a moment.  “I’m sorry, I hijacked your story. You were telling me about coming out to your mom. When did your dad find out?”

“Well, turns out you and I have more in common than a love of Broadway,” Blaine huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “I lost my mom too, about a year after I came out. I didn’t find out till after her funeral”—his voice broke and he fought to steady it—“that before she died, she told my dad herself. And he said she told him if he wasn’t 100% supportive of me, she’d come back and haunt him.” He laughed again, and this time it felt genuine, because it just sounded so much like his mom, he could hear her voice saying it.  Sweet and demure she was most of the time, but she could turn into a force to be reckoned with when it concerned her family.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt whispered, his voice barely carrying over the sound of the waves.  “Sounds like she was amazing.”  

“She was.”

“And….was your dad supportive?” Kurt asked after a moment.  

Blaine hesitated. “He tried. But….I don’t know, it’s like he didn’t know how to relate to me any more, as if I was a different person once he found out I was gay. And without my mom there to be a buffer, a connection between us, without her there to smooth the way, our relationship was never the same again.”

“So how did you end up in North Carolina?  Did your dad get stationed at that military base nearby? What’s it called?”

“Cherry Point,” Blaine supplied. “And no, he didn’t get transferred there. The summer after my mom passed away, my dad was still stationed in Ohio, and I came down here to spend a couple months with my cousins.  I’d done it before, but only for a couple weeks, not months. That summer….” Blaine trailed off, looking back toward the fort and the American flag flying over it, visible even at this distance, then back at Kurt with a shrug. “Just seemed like my dad and I could use a break from each other, so I asked if I could stay most of the summer.”  

“And you ended up staying for good?”

“Yeah.  While I was here that summer, my dad got orders to transfer to Japan. He asked my aunt and uncle if I could stay here a while longer, start the school year here, just till he got settled in the new post and then he’d send for me. But a couple months later, when he said I could go live with him…..I could tell his heart wasn’t really in it.  I don’t think he had any clue how to be a parent without my mom.  She’d always taken care of making a home for us, no matter what country we were in. So I asked if I could stay here permanently. I’m pretty sure he was relieved.”

“I bet he missed you though,” Kurt said softly.  

“And I missed him. But honestly, this seemed like a better place for me to be. I’d spent my childhood moving from one country to another, one school to another….the idea of staying in one place for all my high school years, attending with my cousin Sam, who’s not only my cousin but my best friend for life….at the time it seemed like paradise.”

“It’s pretty, I’ll grant you that,” Kurt mused, looking out over the water again. “But it’s not paradise anymore?”

“I guess…it’s a case of always wanting what you don’t have?” Blaine smiled ruefully. “As a fourteen-year-old who’d just lost his mom and had always moved around a lot, getting to stay in one place for a few years, with an intact loving family, it was what I needed, you know?”

“That makes sense. You must have felt really lost back then.” Blaine nodded. “And now?”

“Now? I’ve been here for sixteen years. It’s really weird to say it out loud.”

“Miss your days of moving around all the time?”

“Not really. I don’t want to move every two or three years. I’m not sure I want to move at all, it’s just…” Blaine pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them, staring out over the water. “You know I told you I teach kindergarten through eighth grade?”

“Yeah.”

A beep sounded and Blaine realized it was Kurt’s phone, but the other man made no move to answer it, so Blaine continued.

“Well, the majority of my eighth grade students this year, who’ll be graduating in a couple months and moving on to high school, are the same students who were in kindergarten my first year of teaching.  One of them pointed that out to me the other day, saying how she felt so lucky to have had me as a music teacher all the way through elementary school.” Blaine smiled at the memory, at Anna’s wide smile and her blonde hair wisping loose from her ponytail.

“That must have been a proud moment for you.”

“It was. And I’m so, so honored to have been a part of these kids’ lives, and it was so sweet of her to tell me how she felt. But it just made me realize how long I’ve been teaching, and when I realized that my first kindergarten babies will be high school freshmen next year…” Blaine sighed. “It just feels like they’re moving on, shooting for bigger and better things, while I’m still in the same place.”

“Ever feel like doing anything about that?” Kurt asked. Blaine looked over at him, not sure how to respond. “This could be your If/Then moment, you know.” Kurt’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at him and Blaine couldn’t quite tell if he was joking or not.  

Kurt’s phone beeped again and Blaine said, “You can answer that if you want.” He was grateful for the distraction from Kurt’s direct gaze, asking if he was ready to make big decisions about his life.  

“Sorry, it’s probably my dad,” Kurt said as he drew it from his pocket, reading the screen. “Oh…my parents want to know when I’ll be back. I do feel a little guilty, I came down here to spend time with them and then immediately run off to a picnic date with someone I just met.” He glanced up. “Not that you aren’t worth spending time with,” he smiled, “but I probably should spend the rest of the day with them.”  

“Sure, I understand. And I promised I’d help my uncle and cousin with something this afternoon.” Blaine started putting things back in the bag. “Are you…free tomorrow, maybe?”

“I feel like I should spend tomorrow with my family,” Kurt said, and he sounded regretful.  “But the next day?”

“Sure! Actually….my aunt and uncle are having an oyster roast that evening at their house in Bettie, last one before the season closes.” He tried not to sound too eager. “Would you like to come to that? Your parents can come too, that way you don’t have to feel guilty about not spending time with them.”  

“I’m not sure what an oyster roast is, but if you’re there and I can spend time with my Dad and Carole too, sounds like a win-win.”

They exchanged phone numbers with the promise to touch base the next day and finalize the details, and Blaine worked hard to restrain his air-punch that he had Kurt’s number.  Would it be too forward to text him on the way out of the parking lot?  

He stood and adjusted the strap of his bag across his chest, then reached down a hand to help Kurt, who was still fiddling with his phone.  He looked up with a smile, pocketed his phone and took Blaine’s hand, standing. He was wiping the seat of his jeans free of sand when Blaine’s phone vibrated in his pocket.  

From Kurt:

Thanks for lunch!  

“You’re very welcome,” he responded out loud, and grinning, held his hand out. Kurt hesitated but took it, swinging their hands between them. “C’mon, let’s see how much more sand we can get between your toes on the way to the parking lot,” Blaine teased, and Kurt only groaned, looking down at his expensive shoes.

In spite of his reservations about the place, he couldn’t help smiling at the man in his familiar ball cap, breaking into a jog to meet him. Boyfriends had come and gone over the years, but his dad remained the most important man in his life, his constant through everything.

They met in the middle, grabbing each other in what Carole called the ‘Hummel Hold,’ keeping their grip on each other for those few extra seconds.  No awkward one-armed pat on the back for the Hummel men.  When they hugged, they meant it. Kurt buried himself in his dad’s shoulder—not flannel for once, but a short-sleeved T-shirt—and breathed him in unashamedly.  He didn’t care if he looked like a needy toddler being picked up at daycare. This was his dad who he hadn’t seen for months and Kurt needed to confirm his presence with all his senses.  

“So glad you’re here, Kurt.” With a clap on the back, his dad let him go, holding him back at arm’s-length to get a look at him.  “Damn, have you lost more weight?  You’re wasting away to nothing, kid.”

“Eight shows a week, Dad.”  Kurt rolled his eyes.  “Under bright stage lights, that are enough to make you sweat before you start singing and dancing.”

“Well, don’t worry. Carole will fatten you up this week. C’mon, we’ll get your luggage.”  He slung an arm around his shoulders and walked past a tiny snack bar, around the corner to a single conveyer belt which was already moving, luggage starting to appear. “I’m glad that you got a couple days off work, finally. We’ve been trying to get you down for the past three summers.”

“Hard to get time off when you work on Broadway, Dad.”  Kurt refrained from telling his dad that he didn’t want to be fattened up, that would hardly help him at his job.  He needed to stay lean, and sometimes even be mean, to stay ahead of the next generation of actors hungry for their big break.

“Don’t you always tell me that’s what understudies are for?”

“And worry about coming back to find I’ve been replaced?  No thank you. There it is.” He strode forward, sidestepping a woman in an unseasonably summer dress as she turned away from the belt, and reached in to grab his Diane von Furstenberg suitcase before it could pass by. Though from the looks of the tiny conveyer belt, it wouldn’t take long for it to come back around again. He lifted it to the floor, pulled the handle up and dodged a small child yelling ‘I see it! I get it!’ as he darted past Kurt.  A pair of harried parents with twins in a stroller followed the aspiring luggage porter.  

“Just the one?  You didn’t bring your closet?” his dad asked.  

“Ha…ha….ha,” with a roll of the eyes.  

“I know my kid, that’s all.”

“Let’s go, Dad.  I’m here, I might as well see this place you keep going on about.  With the water and the sun and whatever else makes you love it so much.” Kurt tipped his one—admittedly large, but just one—suitcase onto its wheels and strode for the nearest door.  He didn’t know his way around this miniscule terminal, but there only seemed to be two doors leading out and both of them were on the same side of the building, so he assumed they went to the parking lot.

He walked out of the recirculated air of the building and into the warmth outside, which he appreciated even as he squinted his eyes closed against the glare of the white sunlight and too-blue sky.  He fumbled for his sunglasses.  

“Oh my God….is it always this bright here?”  

“You don’t have sunshine in the big city?”  

“Not like this….the buildings are too tall to let this much sunlight in. Besides, it’s still winter there.”  Sunglasses on, he cautiously opened his eyes again and after a moment, adjusted to the glare.  “All right, let’s go.”

Suitcase loaded in the back of his dad’s old familiar pickup truck, they stopped to pay the parking attendant (“Fifty cents?  Really?  How can they even make enough to justify a parking attendant?”) and soon found themselves on Highway 70 East, heading toward somewhere called Havelock according to the signs.  

“Is that where we’re going, Dad?”  

“Nope, Havelock is a military town.  Cherry Point is there, it’s a Marine base. We’re going through Havelock and through part of Morehead City, to get to Atlantic Beach. That’s where our rental is.”  

“Is the house right on the beach?” Kurt knew it was.  This was Dad and Carole’s third year vacationing in this area, and the first two summers they’d been several blocks away from the beach. This year, by coming before the summer rush and reserving months in advance, they’d managed to get a rental on the oceanfront. He’d heard about it on the next phone call.

“It’s a pretty laid-back place, a lot of people rent vacation houses there for a week like we’re doing. Or they live in Raleigh, that’s about three hours away, and own a second home here, they come down every weekend and enjoy the sun and sea. Not many people live at the beach year-round, but the ones who visit and keep coming back, they’re all pretty friendly.”  

“Hmm.” Kurt hummed. He didn’t plan to be here long enough to get friendly with the vacationing population. He was here to see his dad and Carole, and then jet back to his home in New York. “So what is there to do?”  

“Mostly?” Burt Hummel shrugged his shoulders back against the seat, loose and easy with one hand on the wheel. “Relax.  That’s what you do.”  

“In other words, nothing.  You’re telling me there’s absolutely nothing to do.” Kurt let himself slump into his seat and closed his eyes, silently contemplating a week of nothingness in a small Southern town.  What was he to do here?

“Well, I’m here,” his dad’s voice broke in to his mental whining. “Carole’s here. Spending time with us isn’t something?”

He rolled his head, opened his eyes to look at him behind the wheel.  His dad’s eyes were fixed on the road, and he’d straightened his posture in an unhappy way.  Kurt sat up, trying to summon a smile.  

“Sorry, Dad.  Of course I’m happy to spend time with you and Carole.  I’ve just gotten used to a faster-paced lifestyle, these last ten or so years.  And I’m tired. I was up early to catch my flight.”  He yawned in emphasis.  

“You do look tired,” his dad cut his eyes across at him as he came to a stop light. “And I’m thinking from more than just one early morning.  You’ve looked tired for months, Kurt.  You kept trying to tell me it was just a blurry Skype image, or you were rehearsing extra hard for a new show, but I wasn’t buying it. You’re worn down, and a week of doing nothing is probably just what you need.  Why do you think I campaigned so hard to get you to join us down here?”  The light turned green again and he refocused on driving.  

“Alright, Dad.  You caught me.  I’m tired. Eight shows a week on Broadway will do that to you.”

And the endless rehearsals, the dance classes and vocal coaching, the never-ending auditions to find that next elusive job that would keep him from having to file unemployment. Not to mention trying to have a social life outside of work, though he’d had limited success with that. The New York dating scene was and was not everything he’d hoped for when he’d arrived there straight out of high school with his best friend Rachel. It was so much easier to be out and proud there, and there was no shortage of men ready and willing to date him, have sex with him….but the novelty of all that had worn off long ago. But he didn’t mention any of that to his dad. New York had been his dream before he moved there, and he still loved it….but damn the city could wear a person down.

“Put your head back and rest, buddy.” His dad was looking at him again like he knew what Kurt had been thinking about. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”  

The too-bright sun shone down on him, even through the window and his sunglasses, when he put his head back and closed his eyes, giving him a pink view of the inside of his eyelids.  He only had time to wonder if that would bother him, and then wondered nothing else.

*

“Kurt?  What are you doing up so early?”  

He turned from the view of the beach through the sliding glass doors and summoned up a sleepy smile for his step-mom.

“Morning, Carole.  I couldn’t sleep.  I think it’s too quiet here.  I can’t sleep past 5:00 am unless I’m blocking out the sound of trash trucks and police sirens. And even in the city I’m usually up by seven.”

She went over to the coffee pot to pour herself a cup from what he’d already brewed.  “I’d think you’d be used to sleeping late, with your late hours at the theatre.”

“Yeah, you’d think….but I usually have a dance class, or our stage manager calls an extra rehearsal, or….” Kurt trailed off and sighed. “It’s a tough career, if I don’t keep working to continually improve, this year’s NYADA grads will be happy to take my spot.”

She regarded him over her cup as she took a sip of the steaming liquid. “Well, this is a good place to take a breather for a few days. There are worse places to be early in the morning than looking out on this beach.  The view’s nice.  Some mornings, nicer than others.” She gave him a wink that his brain was still too preoccupied to figure out.  “I’m taking a cup to your dad, be right back. Enjoy the view.”

The view was admittedly pretty, but not that spectacular….just tall grass between here and the beach, made tough by the exposure to salt and ocean breezes, then sand and water and sky.  A lot of sand and water and sky.  Kurt sighed, missing his city so much he could almost feel it like hunger pangs in his stomach.  His city, where every square inch of it was filled with so much hustle and bustle, so many people, air filled with car horns honking, three languages being spoken at any given time, the rumble of the subway train, the rattle of the taxis….great, now he was going to have “42nd Street” stuck in his head all day. 

He scanned his gaze up and down the view afforded him from his vantage point, looking for something to break up the monotony.  What was he to do with all this open space?  All this emptiness to fill?  

Well, not quite empty.  A jogger appeared at one end of the beach, eating up the sand with steady strides. A dog appeared right after him, bounding ahead of its owner and into the surf, then jumping back out and running in joyful circles around him before pouncing into the surf again.  The man kept his course through all this, apparently accustomed to his dog’s antics.

With precious little else to do, Kurt sipped his coffee and watched the lone jogger’s progress.  A few minutes later, when he’d drawn level with the beach house where Kurt stood, the man stopped and bent over.  Hmmm. Kurt was developing a greater appreciation for this beach with every inch that Jogging Man’s shorts rode up. He watched as he threw a large stick out into the surf, which the dog jumped after. Kurt blinked, suddenly feeling more awake, when Jogging Man pulled his shirt over his head.  

The nice body which had been hinted out under the baggy shirt was now on full view, with only a small pair of clinging red shorts leaving the final details to the imagination.  Kurt slid open the glass door and walked out on the deck, getting himself just a few feet closer to the eye candy.  He was still plenty far enough away that he had no fear of the man noticing him as he ogled the display, and the crashing of the waves on the beach would easily mask the low swish of the door.

The dog bounded out of the white-capped waves.  Kurt had forgotten about it entirely, it must have disappeared into the watery abyss.  But it had captured its quarry—the stick was clamped firmly between its jaws. Droplets flied everywhere, visible even at this distance, as the dog shook the water off, causing Jogging Man to turn his head but give no other apparent protest.  Kurt was already imagining those droplets running down mystery man’s chest, which he dearly wanted a closer view of.  

“I see this is one of the ‘nicer-view’ mornings,” Carole said behind him, causing him to jump and nearly drop his coffee.  He steadied it and turned to glare at her. 

“You scared the daylights out of me!”  

“Scared you?  Or embarrassed you?” she smirked back.  “Nothing wrong with looking, and that’s all you’re doing.  Right?”  

“Yeah,” he muttered, turning back to the house to go inside.  He could feel how his face was flaming.  What was it about parents that upped the embarrassment factor of any situation by a factor of ten?

Carole stood in the doorway, blocking his path and not moving even when he raised his eyebrows in an obvious request.  

“In case you’d like to do more than look, his name’s Blaine, he’s a local schoolteacher.  He’s gay, and out, and not currently dating anyone.  And he jogs by here about this time most mornings.  Worth getting up early for, don’t you think?” While he stood there, gaping at her, she turned back into the house.  “Don’t leave that door open, Kurt.  Bugs will get in.”

*

If he had to be up early for the second morning in a row, then a little yoga on the beach would be a good way to spend his time, right? He hadn’t done yoga in ages, he didn’t want to get stiff while away from dance class and performances.

Actually, he’d never done yoga on a beach.  But the beach seemed to be where the action was, so.  He found a relatively flat section of sand and kicked off his sandals, wincing at the crunch of damp sand and bits of shell under his feet.  He was willing to bet he’d still have beach sand between his toes even after a shower, and Kurt Hummel did not like being dirty. There weren’t many incentives strong enough to justify getting covered in salt water spray and beach sand.  He glanced up the beach in the direction mystery man—Blaine, Carole said his name was—had appeared from yesterday.  He squinted into the rising sun, but there was nothing but sand, water, and sky.  And a few birds gathered on the beach, pecking at the ground.  Did worms live in beach sand?  

Well, best get to it. A sun salutation seemed an appropriate way to start, with the sun barely over the horizon. Palms together at chest level, he breathed deeply. The air smelled thick with a collection of unfamiliar smells, salt water he supposed. He arched back, feeling his vertebrae settle into the new position.  Deep breath while he held the pose, another deep breath and he bent down into a forward fold.  Breathe in, breathe out. Lunge position, head up toward the endless ocean just a few feet away.  The lapping of the waves, just big enough to crest white before settling again, created a lulling effect that wasn’t a bad background for yoga practice. Breathe in. Settle into plank, both hands now flat on the sand, and Kurt was already focused enough on his breathing and positions to almost not feel the grittiness beneath his palms.  Almost.  He ignored it.  Breathe out. Lower into….oh hell no.  

He came out of his trance as he realized that the next move in the sequence would mean lowering his face and chest into the sand.  No.  His feet and hands were one thing, but he drew the line at putting his face in it. He modified, going directly from his plank position into a downward dog.  Wow, he could really feel it in his lower back and hamstrings.  How had he gotten so stiff?  He danced several days a week, a very strenuous workout that required cardio endurance, and strength, and flexibility….when had his back locked up like this? 

He kept breathing, eyes closed and trying to focus on his body, on where he felt tightest and when the position had limbered him up enough to allow him to stretch just that little bit further. Breathe in, breathe out.  Head down and loose. He pedaled his feet back and forth, realized they were just a bit too close and inched them apart to widen his stance. Lean back into the hips just a little more…..something poked him between the legs.  

“ARRRGH!!” Kurt fell face-first into the sand, scrambling up as quickly as he could, heedless of sand flying everywhere as he clawed for purchase and looking for his assailant.  A dog—at least he thought it was a dog, the monster was huge—stood before him, panting and looking entirely too pleased with itself.  Its tail wagged and the head cocked to the side, as if asking a question.  A long pink tongue lolled out as the dog panted.

All pretense of tranquility gone, heart racing after that unexpected nudge in a place that he didn’t invite just anyone to touch, and even then he always knew it was coming….Kurt tried to slow his breathing back to normal.  The dog didn’t seem to be aggressive, it had just been a bit inappropriate with its greeting.  

“Who--” he started, and realized he had sand in his mouth. Gross. He tried to spit it out, ended up swallowing some, and used the sleeve of his workout shirt to wipe his mouth before trying again. “Who do you belong to, huh? You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.” He tried to speak in a soothing tone, which he thought was right for dogs.  He’d never had one growing up, and in the city, all dogs were kept on leashes.  And none of the city dogs were this big. He was accustomed to dainty poodles with their fur dyed outrageous colors, little booties on their feet to protect them from the pavement.  This dog, though….its back was nearly level with Kurt’s waist.  From a few feet away, it looked like the top of its head came up to his armpit. He could only hope it was friendly, as he watched it closely for any sudden moves.

“Reba!  Get back here!” A voice called from down the beach.

Kurt risked looking for the source of the call, and oh dear God.  It was the jogger from yesterday.  This was his dog.  He hadn’t recognized it, but then he’d been more concerned with ogling the shirtless man yesterday, than looking at the dog. The man was flat-out running to reach them, unlike his steady pace of yesterday, and called the dog again.  

Reba—what kind of name was Reba for a dog?—put its tongue back in its mouth and trotted to meet its master.  He came to a halt, panting himself, and pointed at the ground.  “Sit,” he said sternly, and the animal dropped obediently to its haunches.  The man produced a thin leash from his pocket and secured it to the dog’s collar before looking up at Kurt from under thick lashes.  

“I’m so sorry, did she scare you?  She didn’t jump on you, did she?” He wrapped the leash around his hand and stepped closer, keeping the dog by his side. Now that he was only a couple feet away, Kurt realized he was slightly shorter than himself. He was still wearing his shirt, unfortunately.  Or maybe it was a good thing.  Probably wouldn’t make the best first impression if Kurt started drooling during their first meeting.  He’d leave that to the dog.  He realized the other man was still waiting for an answer, starting to look concerned.

“No,” he said finally.  “She didn’t jump on me really, just, umm….” How to phrase this delicately? “Poked her nose somewhere I wish she hadn’t.”

Blaine closed his eyes in mortification.  

“I’m so sorry.  I will give her a stern talking-to when we get home.  Again.”  He jiggled the leash in his hand, and the dog looked up, happy to be the center of attention. “What have I said about appropriate ways to greet people, huh?” he said to the dog, who didn’t look chastised in the least.  “But she didn’t hurt you?” he asked Kurt.  

“No. Just interrupted me in the middle of a downward dog.” Blaine’s eyes widened, and Kurt realized what he’d said. They stared at each other for a long second, before the mirth burst out and they both laughed openly.  

“Umm…” Kurt wiped under his eyes, trying to gather himself. He held out a hand. “I’m Kurt.”

“Blaine.”  The return grip was strong, made gritty by the sand still clinging to Kurt’s hand, and lingered just a moment longer than strict politeness demanded.  His eyes, a light hazel that stopped just short of being gold, still twinkled as he released.

Kurt looked down to stop himself from staring, and found himself being stared at instead.

“And this is….Reba?” he asked.  After Reba McIntyre, maybe?  Country music was big in the South, right?  

Blaine chuckled.  “Mer-ee-da,” he corrected, exaggerating the syllables.

“Merida?  You must have kids,” Kurt said, disappointed.  Carole had said Blaine was unattached, but then again, how could she know the life story of the man who happened to jog by on the beach every morning?

“No, what makes you say that? Do you have kids?”  The dog, hearing her name, had stuck her nose in Blaine’s hand and he stroked her absentmindedly, his eyes on Kurt.  

“No, but…” He quirked a brow back at him.  “What kind of man without kids, names his dog after a Disney princess?”  

“What kind of man without kids knows that Merida is a Disney princess?” Blaine shot back.  

Kurt struggled to find a suitable comeback, but settled for, “Okay, fair enough. So why’d you name her that?”

“I didn’t, actually.  My younger cousin Stacy did. But she was hard to say no to and I liked the name, so why not keep it?”  

“Hmm.” Kurt chose not to comment further on the name choice.  He tried to think of something else to say, something that would keep Blaine here talking for a while longer, but he was drawing a blank. What he was really thinking (OMG you’re gorgeous and I saw you take your shirt off yesterday and I just arrived here and there doesn’t seem to be anything to do and I’d like to take you out but I don’t even know for sure if you’re available and I wouldn’t know where to take you anyway because I just arrived yesterday) didn’t seem like appropriate conversational topics for someone he’d known all of five minutes.  Instead he said lamely, “Well, I’ll let you get back to your run.  It was nice meeting you.”  

Blaine glanced at his dog, then down the long stretch of beach.  

“Would you maybe want to join me?  Just for a walk I mean.  We can talk more and I promise I’ll keep this monster under control.” He hesitated, glancing down and back up again. “Unless you want to get back to your yoga.”

“Well….I guess a walk down the beach burns calories too, right?” Kurt answered, not trying to dim his smile.  He looked around for his sandals, finding them several feet away and closer to the water than he remembered dropping them.  He slipped his feet in and turned back to the gorgeous man waiting for him. “Shall we?”  

They turned together and continued in the direction Blaine had been jogging. The sand took some getting used to…his feet kept sinking down and then sliding one way or another, forcing him to pull his feet out with each step.  Looking ahead, Kurt could see a long pier that started on the beach and extended several hundred feet out into the water.  There were people on the pier, who at this distance were little more than specks.

“Most of them are probably fishing,” Blaine said, just loudly enough to carry over the waves.  “The fishing enthusiasts get started early.”  

“So do you, apparently.” Kurt glanced sideways at him.  Blaine’s hair curled wildly, tousled even more each time the wind gusted. “The sun’s barely up and you’re already out on the beach jogging.”  

“Well, this one,” he patted Merida’s side, “needs a good run once a day or she’s impossible.  So it works better for everyone if we both get up and out early, get our exercise out of the way. Besides, I’m used to getting up early for work, nine months of the year.”  

“What do you do?” Kurt asked, though of course Carole had already told him.

“I’m a teacher.”  

“Oh, what do you teach? What ages?” He tried to sound enthusiastic, though the thought of teaching a room full of unruly children didn’t appeal to him in the least.  There was a reason he hadn’t gone to traditional college to get a Bachelor’s degree.

“Music.  Kindergarten through eighth.” A wide smile brightened Blaine’s face.

“You must like it,” Kurt commented.  

“I love it, though I have to admit that I’m very glad to have this week off. I need this spring break, believe me. More than I ever have in nine years of teaching.” Kurt started to ask what had been different this year, but before he could Blaine asked, “So what do you do?”

“I’m an actor in New York.”

Blaine stopped, his arm jerked forward as Merida continued on her way, before she realized that she needed to stop as well.  

“In New York City? Like, Broadway? Musicals?” Blaine stared at him.

“Yeah,” Kurt answered, feeling his smile widening.  

“I can’t believe I ran into a Broadway actor on the beach.” Blaine shook his head in wonder, and Kurt realized that a decade ago he’d have been even more star-stuck to meet someone who worked on Broadway. He’d been so eager then, fixated on the bright lights of the Great White Way. When had it become a job? “What shows have you been in, what roles have you played?” Blaine’s question brought him back from his musings.  

“Shall we keep walking?” Kurt asked, gesturing at the beach to give himself a moment to focus on the conversation.

“Oh, yeah. Hey, do you mind if I let her off the leash?  She’s used to being able to run out here.”

“That’s okay.”

He released the dog, who immediately ran at the flock of gulls just ahead of them, causing them to take flight with a cacophony of indignant screeching.  

“So…which shows have you been in? What characters have you played?” Blaine asked, ignoring the birds and his dog now barking at the waves.

“Well, most of my jobs have been in the ensemble, so my characters don’t really have names.” Kurt wondered if Blaine would be disappointed, but the other man’s smile never dimmed.  

“How long have you been working on Broadway?” he jumped in with another question.

“I guess it’s….been ten years now?  Ever since I graduated from NYADA.” Kurt’s steps slowed, looking at the wet sand as he realized what he’d just said.  Ten years….wow.  He hadn’t really stopped to think about it, but it really had been a full decade of auditions, and rejections, and ensemble jobs and bit parts.  Ten years of curtain calls, and endless rehearsals, and the amazing friends he’d made in the theatre world.  

“Hey, where’d you go?” Blaine asked.

Kurt looked up at him.  “Sorry, I was just thinking.  I hadn’t realized it’d been that long. But it really has.”  

“Ten years of good experiences, I hope?” Blaine asked.

“Hmm…mostly. Can you honestly say that all your experiences as a teacher have been good?”

“Well, no.”

Their eyes met and held for a moment, before Blaine looked away with a slide of his golden eyes.  Kurt had been wrong to think they were ‘almost’ gold.  Here in the bright sunlight, they were amber gemstones, a hue he’d never seen in human eyes.  

“Merida!  Get away from that!” Blaine bellowed suddenly, startling Kurt out of his silent admiration.  “Come here, now!”  

The dog stood over a mass of feathers on the ground, wagging her tail.  Oh God….was that a dead bird?  Had the monster dog killed a bird while he and Blaine made googly eyes at each other?

“I mean it, Merida!  Get back here! Heel!” The dog whined, but trotted back to them.  “It’s back on the leash for you,” Blaine grumbled, clipping it on to her collar.  “Sorry to cut this short, but I have a feeling she was rolling in that while I wasn’t looking--” He lifted his fingers to his nose, and made a face.  “Yep, she was, so I have to get her home and give her a bath.”

“Eww,” Kurt said.

“Yeah.” Blaine grimaced.  “Downside of owning a dog. Should we head back?”

He was loathe to let his time with a cute guy end, but when a gust of wind blew rancid dog his way, he nodded.  They turned back, heading into the sun now, and Kurt suddenly realized how much higher the sun was than when he’d walked out on the beach.  He hadn’t planned to stay out  this long, and he was actually getting a little warm in his yoga pants and long sleeved shirt. He pushed the sleeves up and fanned his face.

“I can’t believe it’s this warm here. When I left New York, there were still huge mounds of snow piled up on the sidewalks, and people were bundled up on heavy coats with gloves and scarves.”  

“Oh yeah, we saw the snowstorms on the news,” Blaine said. “One of the times when I’m very grateful to live here. Looks like you got mommicked with winter up north.”

“We got what?” Kurt couldn’t help but ask, after replaying Blaine’s last sentence in his head and still tripping over the mystery word.  

“Oh, mommicked,” he repeated, laughing a little. “Sorry, it’s local slang from Down East. It means…well, aggravated if you want a simple translation. But it’s more than that, when a person says they’re mommicked they’ve been annoyed and aggravated to the nth degree. Have you ever had one of those days when you’re so annoyed with life and the human race, that you’re an inch away from murdering the next person who looks at you wrong?”

“I live in one of the most congested, and some say the rudest, cities in the country. Of course I’ve had those days.” Kurt gave an eye roll.

“Okay, so on those days you were mommicked.”  

“Or on the days I go to an early rehearsal, then a dance class, then an audition that I don’t get a callback for, and then still have to be at the theatre by 6:00 for a performance and don’t get home till after midnight, on those days I’ve been mommicked.” Kurt tried the unfamiliar word out on his tongue.

“Exactly! You get a sticker for learning a new vocabulary word!” Blaine beamed, and Kurt could just picture him at the front of a classroom with that same proud look. “So who are you playing now?”

“Oh, umm.” Kurt was still trying to stifle a laugh, because he didn’t want to mock Blaine. “David in the If/Then revival.  My best friend Rachel is playing the lead, so we get to work together which is fun.”  

“Oh, I love that show.”

“You’ve seen it?” Kurt asked, surprised.  “You didn’t mention you’ve been to New York.”

“Well…I did go to New York once but it was on a school trip and If/Then isn’t really the kind of show that our chaperones would take us to see, y’know?”

Kurt laughed. “Right. Not the most family-friendly show.”

“But I listened to the cast recording over and over, and watched, umm…bootlegs?” he admitted, clearly unsure about Kurt’s reaction.

He laughed. “I’m not going to call the copyright police on you, Blaine. Before I moved to the city, I watched more than a few bootlegs myself. In fact, I still occasionally search for bootlegs of the shows I’m currently in. I consider them to be a barometer of how popular the show is,” he winked, and Blaine laughed, obviously relieved.

They kept talking all the way back, till they came to end of the boardwalk leading to the house Kurt’s parents had rented for their vacation and he regretfully told Blaine they’d arrived at his stop.  

“You’re staying here?  This is one of the vacation rentals, right?” Blaine asked, looking up at the beach cottage on its stilts.  

“Yeah, apparently.  I didn’t rent it, my dad and step-mom did.”

“For how long?” Blaine asked.

“I think they rented it for a full two weeks, they’ve vacationed here before and really like it. But I’m only here for a few days.  They finally twisted my arm into joining them.”

“Twisted your arm? Is it so awful here?” Blaine raised his eyebrows.  

“Well, today’s only mysecond full day, and so far it’s pretty good,” Kurt grinned.

“So why didn’t you want to come?” Merida whined and Blaine reached down to pat her quiet.

“Well, it meant taking time off work, which is hard to do when you work on Broadway, and it meant leaving New York.  Even if the city wears me down sometimes, I fought like hell to make New York my home, and it finally is.  The idea of leaving it to spend time in a--” Kurt cut himself off, embarrassed by what he’d been about to say.  

“In a backwards, redneck Southern town?” Blaine guessed.  

Kurt grimaced. He knew he could be arrogant and judgmental sometimes, but he did try to not let that side out within an hour of meeting an attractive man.  

Blaine sighed, leaning back against the boardwalk’s handrail. Merida flopped down next to him, panting.  “Look, few people know better than an out gay man that there’s still some truth to the stereotype, but the South is changing.  Slowly, but it’s changing. NC achieved marriage equality in 2014, a year before the SCOTUS decision that made it nation-wide. And over the past sixteen years that I’ve lived here, I’ve seen it change a lot.” A wide grin spread across his face. “One of my eighth-grade students came out last week, just before the break, and most of his classmates hardly blinked. The few who did mind, know better than to cause any trouble, because there are strict anti-bullying rules. I call that progress.” His expression darkened. “Much better result than when I came out.”

Kurt waited, while those obnoxious birds chattered next to the water and he could feel the rising sun heating the back of his neck.  

“What happened?” he asked softly.  

Blaine hesitated.  “You know what, I don’t mind telling you but it’s a long story. Would you like to meet later, and we can talk some more?” he asked hopefully. “I’d love to say we can just go now, but…” He looked down at his furry companion. “I need to get this one bathed, and get cleaned up myself. If you don’t mind meeting me somewhere in a couple hours, we could have an early lunch together.”

“I’d like that,” Kurt smiled.  This trip was looking more positive all the time. “Meet where?”  

“It’s shaping up to be a pretty day,” Blaine smiled. “How do you feel about picnics?

A picnic. Wow, he hadn’t been on a picnic since…well, there was the one date with that guy who brought a picnic to Central Park, but that was years ago. Kurt was usually too worried about grass stains on his jeans to enjoy sitting on the ground, but maybe he could make the sacrifice for a cute guy. He tried to summon up some enthusiasm when he answered, “If you’re the one asking me to the box social, my answer is yes.

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to bid on lunch. Just meet me at Fort Macon at noon, and I’ll bring everything.”

With a final smile and a wave, Blaine shook the leash to wake Merida and jogged back the way he’d come.