He deposits his hat and outer coat in the cloakroom, lets Dr Bay know he's arrived and greets the few coworkers he sees as he makes his way to his own domain: the library.

Blaine has loved books for as long as he can remember, and ancient Egypt in particular for even longer. While the few weeks of British summer were spent at the beach, the rest of the year was spent with one parent or the other and constantly pestering them with questions, or else the entire family was in Egypt and Blaine lived in the numerous museums. They were constantly patient – though that would have had to be a virtue learnt to tolerate Cooper long before Blaine was born – and answered him in so much detail that Blaine could, quite rightly, have had a degree. Unfortunately, the blasted Bembridge scholars disagreed, and so Blaine was spending all his moments in the library instead of splitting his time between books and research.

He is kept moderately busy throughout the day. There is the perpetual cleaning away of the Egyptian sand and dust; some of these books are quite rare and old and it would be on Blaine's head if the words or bindings were eroded away. The room behind the library is full of uncatalogued, in transit to the Cairo Museum or otherwise miscellaneous artefacts and it is unofficially part of Blaine's job to keep up the state of those too, since there are far too few academics in the area. And, of course, this is a library, so books are always coming and going – to other parts of the Museum of Antiques, to other libraries, to universities around the country – and Blaine always has a rather sizeable pile of returned books to put away in accordance with Dr Bay's quite unusual, very specific system.

He lists aloud to himself as he puts away the books, them and himself balanced precariously atop a ladder, “Sacred Stones. Sculpture and Aesthetics. Socrates. Seth, volumes one, two and three. And . . . Tuthmosis? What are you doing here?” The Ts are behind him, easily within reach, even though Blaine is comparably small to most men he knows, so he juggles the books in his arms until he can place the remaining S books on top of the shelf. “I'm going to put you back where you belong,” he tells the book, holding onto the ladder with one hand while reaching backwards with the book in the other. The ladder creaks underneath him – ominously, in hindsight – because the shelf is not quite, it turns out, within easy reach. Blaine is just about to give up and place Tuthmosis to the side to put away later when the books slips into place on the shelf—

And the ladder straightens up so that it's entirely vertical. Blaine lets out an embarrassingly high shriek, holding onto the ladder with both hands while he walks between the shelves like a fool on stilts, and tries to think of a way down without hurting himself.

The choice – and worry – is taken away from him when the ladder wobbles one final time, and Blaine's entire weight falls on the most unstable top section of the S shelf. The entire bookshelf falls with a grand crash, and several smaller thuds as books fall out the other side, and Blaine is tossed from the ladder to land uncomfortably among the books. It takes a moment to get his breath back, and then he forces himself to move away to assess the damage and exactly how long it will take to fix and how much trouble he'll be in.

He watches the bookshelves fall one by one like dominos, scattering books and papers and papyrus scrolls every which way in dismay. Something made of glass breaks, and by the time the final bookshelf has fallen, completing the circuit of utter disaster, Blaine's heart has sunk past his knees.

“What—?”

Blaine whirls around, staring wide-eyed as Dr Bay looks speechlessly around the room. Blaine takes off his glasses and stands as tall as he can, hoping that if he looks confident enough, by some miracle, he will still have a career in ten minutes.

Dr Bay finally spots Blaine, and his confidence wavers somewhat, and he shuffles his feet guiltily.

“Look at this! Sons of the pharaohs!” Dr Bay exclaims, having to climb over a bookshelf to join Blaine in the centre of the circle. “Give me frogs – flies – locusts! – anything but you. Compared to you, the other plagues were a joy!”

“I am so very sorry,” Blaine says as earnestly as he can. “It was an accident.”

Dr Bay smiles mirthlessly. “When Ramses destroyed Syria, that was an accident; you are a catastrophe! Look at my library!” Blaine does so – he can't help it – and tries not to burst into tears at the complete mess he's made. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Well, you put up with me because I can – I can read and write in ancient Egyptian,” Blaine says. Of course, Dr Bay is being rhetorical, but maybe Blaine can still salvage his job if he reminds his employer that it's in his benefit to, well, not fire him. “And I can decipher hieroglyphics and hieratic. And – and I am the only person within a thousand miles who knows how to properly code and catalogue this library anyway!” he finishes with a bit of steam. It is a rather exhausting and complicated system, after all.

“I put up with you because your mother and father were our finest patrons, that's why. (Allah rest their souls.)” They both have a moment of silence, and then Dr Bay huffs and brings the subject back to the topic at hand: “I don't care how you do it, I don't care how long it takes – straighten up this meshifer!” Blaine flinches away from the spittle that lands on his face and nods, subdued by both Dr Bay's outburst and the mention of his parents. Dr Bay storms away, muttering likely curses on Blaine's head as he has to climb over the bookcase again. Blaine takes a steadying breath and is about to try and figure out how to stand up sixteen bookcases at once without dropping too many books when he hears a crash coming from the back room. He despairs at the thought that something else is going wrong – he kept his job likely by the skin of his teeth, but even his late parents' patronage probably won't save him if something else breaks under his watch – but goes to look anyway. Perhaps he will be able to fix this before somebody else notices, at least.

“Hello?” he calls at the entrance to the room, and he receives a thud in response. He takes one of the torches from its bolt in the wall to serve as both lighting and a possible weapon; this isn't the first time someone has broken in to the museum, and it probably won't be the last. This will be the first time Blaine has had to face someone on his own but he's sure he can hold his own. He won most of his schoolyard fights, at least.

“Abdul?” he says, just in case it's actually one of his coworkers having business in this room or even playing a joke on him. “Mohammed? Bob?” There's a thump from behind him – the open coffin holding a preserved corpse found in the desert. Blaine slowly walks forward, his steps echoing in the cavernous room. It's a deep coffin so he can't see until he's close, and then all he sees is the corpse jumping into his face with a scream. Blaine leaps back and yells, heart not slowing until he hears a familiar laughter from inside the coffin.

“Cooper!” he growls, trying to slow his breathing as his pulse quietens from his ears. “Have you no respect for the dead?”

“Of course I do!” Cooper says, grinning his charming grin as Blaine puts the torch in a makeshift hold, although he feels he could rather hit his brother over the head with the torch and maybe give himself some relief from his brother's antics. “But sometimes, I'd rather like to join them,” he finishes. He rests the corpse's arm on the side of the coffin and his own arm around the corpse's shoulders as if they're going for a casual ride in an automobile.

Blaine puts the corpse back in its proper place hurriedly in case someone comes back here and sees what a mess his brother is making. “I wish you'd do it sooner rather than later before you can ruin my career the way you ruined yours. Get out!”

“My dear, sweet baby brother! I'll have you – know—” He stumbles as he clambers over the side of the coffin, and Blaine is forced to balance his stupid, drunk brother before he falls over and truly breaks something. “—that at this precise moment, my career is on a high note.”

“I don't even want to know what you consider a 'high note'. Please, Cooper, just leave, because I'm really not in the mood for you. I've just made a bit of a mess in the library, and the Bembridge scholars have rejected my application form again – they say I don't have enough experience in the field.” He can't help but let his frustration and sadness bleed into his tone as he finished his rant. Cooper wraps his arm around Blaine's shoulders in what definitely feels like one of his rare brotherly hugs, so Blaine allows himself a moment of sadness when he looks up at his older brother. Cooper squeezes his shoulders and smiles comfortingly.

“Those seeties don't know anything, old boy. You did mention all those artefacts I hide in the garden for you to dig up when you were a little tyke, didn't you?” And the moment is once again ruined; Blaine glares up at his older brother. “Actually, this is perfect – I have just the thing to cheer you up!”

“Cooper, I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't see how another useless piece of pottery is going to help,” Blaine says as Cooper releases him to dig around in the coffin. Blaine probably ought to stop him from disturbing the corpse again but he really doesn't have the energy to fight his brother on this anymore. “If I have to take one more piece of junk to the curator to try and . . . sell for you . . .” Cooper displays a small octagonal box, maybe four inches wide by an inch and a half deep, under Blaine's nose, a satisfied grin on his face, and Blaine trails off. He carefully takes it and looks closer. He can't quite make out most of the markings in the dim torchlight, but there are a couple he recognises that he knows only existed in the New Kingdom. “Where did you get this?”

“On a dig down in Thebes,” Cooper answers, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Blaine, please tell me I've really found something this time!”

Blaine's fingers accidentally brush over a section of the side and it pushes in – a button, which means this is most definitely a box. He shifts it round in his hands so he can better press the stiff button and the top pops open into eight spokes. And inside is a folded piece of worn parchment.

“Cooper,” he breathes. “I think you found something.”

He pulls out his phone and checks the schedule he keeps on there. The dance class that Blaine teaches had ended at three, so he should be at home.

"Hello?" he calls again, putting his briefcase down on the hall table and unbuttoning the neck of his shirt. Sighing, he decides that Blaine must be out with friends or something, and wanders into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee.

When he turns the corner he sees Blaine sitting on the couch, his eyes fixed on a sheaf of papers in his hands. Kurt inches into the room and clears his throat. "Blaine?"

Blaine's head snaps up and he's been crying, his cheeks damp and eyes rimmed with red. Kurt panics. "Blaine, baby, what's wrong? What happened?" he rushes to sit next to his husband, grabbing for his hand, "Did something happen?"

Blaine clears his throat and blinks quickly. "I... we got a letter from the adoption agency."

Kurt's heart sinks to somewhere around his stomach. "Wh-what did they say."

Blaine takes a deep breath. Folds their hands together. Looks up at Kurt."

"Kurt, we're getting a kid," he says, his face breaking into a huge smile, "We're getting a baby, Kurt -"

Kurt's mind whirrs for a moment. A baby. They're getting a baby.

It all sort of makes itself into a picture in his mind - a little boy, with Blaine's smile even though he's not biologically theirs, waking them up in the mornings, cuddled up between them on cold winter evenings, teaching him to swim and meeting Grandpa Burt and Grandma Carole -

"Oh my god!" Kurt leaps up off the seat and drags Blaine with him so he can wrap him up in his arms, twirling him around, "Blaine, we're gonna -"

"Have a kid, Kurt, we're gonna be parents," Blaine stumbles as Kurt puts him down, his eyes shining with joy, "We're finally, finally gonna be parents."

"I have to tell my dad," Kurt breathes, pulling Blaine close again, "You have to tell your mom. We need to tell everyone."

"Hold up, darling, we haven't even talked to any kids yet," Blaine laughs, resting their foreheads together, "Maybe we should do that first."

"Noo," Kurt sighs, "Damn you and your infallible logic."

"I love you," Blaine tilts his face up to kiss him, sweet and soft, "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Kurt breathes, "Blaine - we're gonna be parents."

"I know."

"We're gonna have a kid."

"I know, beautiful."

"Oh my god, I have to get started on decorating the nursery -"

"Hey, Kurt?"

Blaine catches Kurt's arm, smiling, and tugs his hand lightly. "Maybe we should celebrate, before we start planning interior design."

Kurt's eyes narrow. "Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting, Mr Hummel-Anderson?"

"Maybe," Blaine says coyly, "Why don't you try it and we can find out?"

"Right then. You can have the back seat, Hummel, make sure to stabilise that wobbly leg," Professor Schuester says, smiling benevolently, and Kurt rolls his eyes a little and leans sideways to jam a folded-up piece of parchment under the shorter leg of the desk. He's settling down for Schuester's beginning-of-the-year motivational talk when the door bangs open.

"I'm - I'm so sorry," a thin voice pants, "I was lost, the map was wrong, um - this is Potions, isn't it?"

"Advanced potions, yes," Schuester says, frowning, "You're Anderson, aren't you? The fourth year?"

"Yes, sir," the voice says. Kurt cranes his neck, but he can't see the person it belongs to, "But my head of house, he said I'd be in these classes, because I came from Durmstrang -"

Oh, god. One of those, Kurt thinks, rolling his eyes again. Durmstrang boys are always incredibly stuck up and pretentious, acting like they've all got some kind of blue blood.

"Though," he mutters to himself, "Seeing as it's so damn cold there, I wouldn't be surprised."

"Hummel!"

Kurt's head snaps up. "Yes, sir?"

"Since Anderson's just arrived, I'm pairing him with you this year. I expect you to show him the ropes, make sure he gets to classes okay, and keeps up with homework. All right?"

"Yes sir," Kurt says through gritted teeth. As if he didn't have enough work on top of his Prefect status.

This Anderson kid must let the door slam behind him, which doesn't exactly endear him to Kurt, as it sends a gust of cold air around the already freezing dungeon. Frowning, Kurt shifts his stool over to make space for the new guy.

He's hoping - he's hoping for one of those stuck up stereotypes of a Durmstrang kid, stuck up with one of those awful wispy little beards that they all seem to cultivate. When he appears, though, he's completely different. His hair is combed down flat against his head, his face clean-shaven and his eyes warm, if a little nervous.

"Hi," he whispers as he sits down on the stool, "I'm -"

Suddenly the stool breaks with a crack and the boy collapses to the floor with a yelp. Azimio and one of his lackeys burst out laughing, and with a sudden surge of anger Kurt realises the broken stool was probably meant for him.

The boy climbs to his feet, laughing nervously as he brushes off his robes. "S-sorry, guess I must have sat down wrong -"

"Fatty," someone coughs, and Schuester blithely strolls down through the desks, repairing Anderson's chair with a flick of his wand. Cheeks red, the boy sits down and stares at his knees, arms folded tight over his stomach.

Kurt can't concentrate for the rest of Schuester's talk, only coming back to himself when everyone moves up to get ingredients. Frowning, Kurt checks the board to see what they're making. Invigorating Draught, he notes, easy enough.

He's on his way back with an armful of ingredients when he notices that the new boy hasn't moved at all. Frowning, Kurt goes back and picks up double the ingredients, juggling it in his arms as he walks briskly back to their shared desk.

"Here," he says, "I got you ingredients. Your cauldron's pretty small, you might want to make half... are you okay?"

The boy's shoulders are shaking and when Kurt bends down there are tears dripping off his chin. His lips are pressed hard together and there are tiny, helpless whimpers coming from his mouth.

"Hey," Kurt spills their ingredients onto the desk and crouches down, "Hey, listen. Are you okay? Do you need a moment."

"I'm -" he hiccups and makes an unattractive snorting noise, "I'm o-okay, I'm fine, I'm -"

"C'mon," Kurt takes his sleeve and tugs him into the potions cupboard, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and pushing it into the boy's hand. "Sit down."

He sits on the low stool and blows his nose, still hiccuping sobs. Kurt folds his arms and reads the labels on the jars of ingredients, setting his jaw. He may not know this guy, but everyone bands against Karofsky and his group of idiots.

"Okay?" he asks briskly, and the boy nods. "I'm sorry, it's just - it's my first day, and I just got - sorted, and I got lost and I miss my parents and I'm just - I'm a bit emotional."

"Okay," Kurt says slowly, "Well. Maybe we should start with names. I'm Kurt. I'm in my fifth year, and I'm a Slytherin."

"I'm Blaine," the boy offers his hand, "I'm in my - fourth year? And I'm in Gryffindor house."

Kurt takes the outstretched hand and pulls him up. "Okay then. We should probably get started, this potion isn't hard but it takes a while. We can talk while we chop."

Blaine turns out to be a pretty sweet guy, once they actually get talking. Kurt offers to slice his roots, noticing that Blaine seems to have some trouble holding his knife securely, nearly chopping off one of his fingers at one point. In exchange, Blaine skins his figs with a funny-looking contraption that gets the skin off incredibly quickly.

"What's that?" he asks, nodding at the thing. Blaine looks down and laughs. "Oh, it's just a modified potato peeler. Makes things a little easier for me."

"Why?"

"I've got, uh, I've got this sort of nerve damage in my hand," he waves his right hand nervously, "It makes it hard to do things like cut things and peel."

"How'd that happen?" Kurt asks curiously, and Blaine bites his lip. "I'm - I'm gay."

Kurt blinks and colour floods his face. Coughing, he says "I didn't know that gave you nerve damage. Maybe I should get my hands checked out."

Blaine's head snaps up. "You're -?"

"Yeah," Kurt shrugs, "You were saying?"

"Oh," Blaine looks at his hands and takes a deep breath. "I got. Beat up, a couple months ago."

Kurt's mouth falls open. "For what?"

"For being me," he shrugs and then laughs self-deprecatingly. "Durmstrang isn't big on bowties. Or being gay, really."

"I'm so sorry," Kurt whispers, dumping Blaine's roots into his cauldron, "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's okay," Blaine shrugs, "I'm getting better. My hands almost healed, now, I couldn't even pick things up just after."

"Still," Kurt bites his lip, "You sound pretty brave."

Blaine snorts. "Oh, no, I'm the opposite of brave."

Kurt is about to ask why he thinks that when someone's cauldron clatters to the floor and most of the room jumps up onto their chairs to avoid the hissing liquid. By the time it's all cleared up, Blaine's open face has shut down, hidden behind some sort of facade that he can't quite crack.

**

Kurt sighs, tipping his head back as steam fills the bathroom. It's been a long month, and this is the first time he's been able to truly relax since...

Since Blaine arrived.

He's done his best to help Blaine settle in, maybe even become friends, but he's shut himself off. It's not that they don't get on, they do, but Blaine always seems like he's holding back, like he's hiding himself. Kurt really just wants to be friends, but there seems to be no way to get Blaine to open up.

The door to the prefects bathroom bangs open and he shrieks. "It's occupied -"

The door is already slamming shut, and a disheveled figure stands in front of it, dripping water.

"Blaine?" Kurt's mouth falls open, "What on earth happened to you?"

"I fell in the lake," Blaine says, teeth chattering, "Um, I'm sorry, one of the Prefect girls brought me here -"

"Of course, you can - I'll go, I don't need to -"

"No, no, you have the bath, I'll just -"

They stumble over each other and blush and fumble over their words until Kurt reaches a resolution. "We could - we could share? I wouldn't mind."

"Okay," Blaine says a little too quickly to be thought through, "Um, would you mind turning around?"

"No problem," Kurt says, turning. He catches a glimpse of Blaine as as he reaches for a towel and his heart skips a painful beat at the pink scars curving along Blaine's ribs.

He scrambles into the bath quickly, submerging himself as Blaine climbs in a little more gingerly, slipping a little and letting out a small shriek when he loses his grip. Once they're both in they settle at opposite ends, staring at the bubbles between them.

"So this is awkward," Kurt says, clearing his throat. Blaine sighs. "I know. I shouldn't have -"

"No, it's okay, I'll get out -"

"Kurt, I'm happy for you to stay, I really don't mind."

"Okay," Kurt relaxes back into the bath, "Okay."

They sit in silence for a little while, Blaine's eyes slowly sliding shut. Frowning, Kurt slides off the ledge and swims across to him, balancing on the bottom and shaking Blaine's shoulder gently.

"Wha?" Blaine startles awake, eyes wide, and then relaxes. "Ugh, did I...?"

"Didn't want you to drown or something," Kurt says, quite suddenly aware that he's standing next to a guy he kind of likes wearing nothing but his underwear. Surreptitiously, he checks that he's covered by bubbles and then hoists himself up to sit next to Blaine.

"So," he says, and then Blaine blurts "Would you go on a date with me?"

Kurt's mouth snaps shut abruptly and he blinks. "Huh?"

"Oh, god," Blaine covers his face, blushing, "I'm sorry, I've got a bit of a cold, I always blurt - not that I didn't mean it, I do, but you don't have to, you've probably got about a million boys -"

Kurt kisses him. Blaine startles under his hands and then relaxes, one hand coming up to grasp his bicep nervously. It's when his other hand lands on Kurt's thigh that they both jerk back, breathing hard.

"Bit too far," Blaine says, and Kurt nods quickly. "For a first date, anyway."

"This counts as a date?"

"Well," Kurt narrows his eyes, "Depends. If you aid me on a midnight raid of the kitchens I might consider it."

When they had driven through the little town they'd been so tired and hungry that they had actually parked a few miles out and just rested and snacked. As they drove into town later someone mentioned their car to the sheriff and suddenly they were murder suspects. If they hadn't grown up dealing with the complete incompetency of their own home town police forces, they would have been surprised by the mere allegation. But they knew how small towns worked and it was best not to fight. It was also probably best that the general populace didn't find out that they were gay and very much dating. Normally Kurt couldn't care less what the neanderthals thought but at the risk of being branded a murderer he thought it best to play it safe.

“I think it might actually work better if we're more open about it you know? These girls...”, Blaine cast a wary glance around the general store, “well the cops think it might be a sexual predator.” Blaine had that sad look on his face, the one he wore when he talked about the Sadie Hawkins dance and the one he got after the Warbler's betrayed him. Kurt was sad to say he knew the look all too well. He discreetly grabbed Blaine's hand and rubbed his thumb along the skin there.

“They'll make it about us. They'll say we were punishing them for being attractive and straight or something. Let's just get through the next few days. When this all blows over we'll be on our way to New York and we'll never have to come through here again.” Kurt scrunched up his nose and pulled his hand away. “Or any small town. I'm all big cities from here on out.”

“Only big cities?” Blaine had his eyebrow raised in challenge and his troubled look was gone.

“I'm too fabulous for small towns. I won't be contained any longer Blaine.”

“Not even when we're old and gray? You wouldn't move to some obscure French countryside villa with me?”

Kurt smirked and swayed away from his boyfriend, their somber mood already gone. “France doesn't have small towns.”

“I'm pretty sure they—“

“La la la la la la.” As Kurt turns away, his fingers in his ears and his eyes closed, he bumps into something. At first Kurt thinks he's blindly walked into a wall or bookcase, but that's not it at all. Standing in front of him is a giant of a girl with an iPhone around her neck and a nervous smile on her half hidden face. For a second Kurt was frozen in place. The sheer size of the girl alone was startling, but he could see something behind her hair. No stranger to being judged on looks, Kurt snapped out of it and quickly apologized. “I'm so sorry. Silly me, wasn't looking where I was going.” The girl makes a noise like a cross between a hum and groan but she's smiling. She looks so bashful Kurt can't help but smile back.

He turns his head and gestures for Blaine to come over. “I'm Kurt. This is Blaine.” The girl raises a giant wrapped hand to return Blaine's enthusiastic greeting. He doesn't seem the slightest bit off put by her appearance. With their expectant, smiling faces turned up at her, the girl pulls up her phone and begins tapping. Siri's mechanical voice tells them her name is Shelley. Rather than let the situation devolve into something awkward, Blaine draws attention to her earrings.

“Those are gorgeous. Did you buy them here?”

Shelley makes a groaning noise again and nods. Then she gestures happily to the perky brunette behind the counter. Jenny picked them out for me. Blaine smiles and gently swats Shelley on the arm with the back of his hand.

“And Kurt and I were worried everyone here would be obsessed with denim and camo.”

“Ooh, you know what would go great with those earrings?” Kurt reaches out and takes her hand, mindless of her surprised look and noise. He leads her to a rack of scarves and pulls down one in a cornflower blue. Embroidered on the edge is a single white circle. Kurt runs his fingers over the material, savoring the feel, then he's standing on his toes to drape it across her neck. Shelley warily watches him, seemingly very aware of how close Kurt is to her face and hair. But he gets it around her neck without incident and eases back down to adjust the fabric. “There. Fabulous. Right Blaine?”

Blaine crosses his arm and eyes Shelley up and down with a critical, exaggerated eye. When he sees her shifting nervously from foot to foot he caves and gives her a thumbs up. “It was made for you.” For a little while the three of them wander through the store, pawing at the trinkets and trying to goad Shelley into trying accessories on. Blaine and Kurt both are hyper aware of the looks they're getting but they're not sure who the townspeople are more affronted by.

Around the time they circled back to the scarves Shelley groans, decidedly not in joy, and steps away from Kurt and Blaine. They look around, ready to jump to the defense of their new acquaintance, when they see a regal looking woman dressed in all white. She's striding towards them fast, a look of utter distaste and contempt on her face.

“Shelley dear, we mustn't run off. You were suppose to stay with Roman.” Kurt and Blaine watch on, Blaine a little more discreetly than Kurt. Shelley taps out that she asked Roman to go to the store. The woman, whom they both assume is Mommy Dearest, doesn't look the least bit mollified.

“Shelley's a big girl. Aren't you Shell's?” The sad and hunched demeanor that had overcome Shelley at the appearance of her mother seemed to just melt away. The speaker was a boy, probably around their age. He smiled reassuringly up at Shelley then looked Blaine and Kurt over briefly. “Go on home Shell's. I'm bringing Letha over for dinner okay.” Shelley shuffles around her mother and passes by Roman, stopping for a brief hug. Mommy Dearest turns a moment later, after eying both Kurt and Blaine critically. She strides out of the store like a jungle cat on the prowl.

Roman doesn't watch her go, instead staring Kurt and Blaine down. Kurt raises a brow and tilts his chin up, matching him eye for eye. Sensing that things could go wrong Blaine steps closer to Kurt, gently placing a hand on his lower back. Roman stocks towards them, his eyes never leaving Kurt. His tall lanky frame hunched just so to seem like he's bearing down on them. He stepped into their personal space, almost nose to nose with Kurt. His eyes flicked briefly to Blaine then back to Kurt. “That's my sister. There's nothing wrong with her.”

“I didn't say—“

What if when Dave Karofsky asked Kurt to the Sophomore Semiformal he said yes, and they had a fun time, but Kurt told him, very sweetly, when Dave tried to kiss him goodnight, that he just wanted to be friends? And Dave was sad of course, but he got over it. And they were good friends for years, eventually becoming family when Kurt’s grandson married Dave’s granddaughter?

What if at Regionals the next year The New Direction beat Vocal Adrenaline thanks to Kurt’s stunning  rendition of Defying Gravity?

What if Kurt went to his Junior Prom with Ben Stocken, a football player at a neighboring school who Finn had set him up with the year before because, while he was flattered by Kurt’s interests, he was into girls; alas. And while “Crowned Couple” went to Dave and Quinn, Kurt was fashioned and impromptu  honorary paper plate award for best dressed because, ‘Did you know he made that kilt himself?’

What if Senior year he went stag because Ben was going to school in California and neither wanted to try long distance? But it was still one of the best night of his life, dancing himself sore between his friends and screaming himself hoarse cheering when Santana and Brittany won “Crowned Couple?”

What if?

What if, a couple of hours across the state of Ohio, Blaine Anderson went to school, K-12, at Westerville High, graduating Valedictorian, Most Likely to Succeed, Best Eyes, Biggest Flirt, and, well really the superlatives page of the year book should have just been a full page photo of him?

What if he got recruited to Juilliard when a scout came to one of his piano recitals and was amazed at his talent, which had been cultivated in private lessons since he was eight and had told his Dad that while he loved watching the games, he didn’t think he liked playing football because it was too aggressive? And his Dad said that’s fine but he had to pick something to do in the afternoons until he or his mom got off work because he didn’t want him home alone?

What if he never even thought about taking up boxing?

What if when he went to the dance with Tommy Sands in eighth grade he spent half the night telling people that, no he and Tommy weren’t dating, “We’re just friends guys, gosh!” and trying not to roll his eyes at those that lingered back grinning cheekily or winking.

What if he had to worry about what his parents had been talking about before he walked in the room?

What if his tenth birthday party was karaoke themed, and someone got a great picture of him doing a split in the air moments before breaking his leg while rocking out to Brittney Spears’s

“Oops! I did it again”? And his parent got it blown up, framed and hung it over the fireplace, so that it was always a conversation piece when company came, and he never said anything but that always made Cooper a little jealous?

What if he had his first crush on his first grade teacher, Mr. Morey. And all the parents smiled warmly at open house when he followed him around with wide eyes and presented a picture of the teacher as a prince, because, ‘Aren’t kids just the cutest?’

Well, if all that were true, the following would also be:

Kurt Hummel would never be bullied. He would never have his first kiss stolen. He would never be sent to spy at Dalton. He would never have transferred there. He would never know the not so short shortcut to the Senior Commons.

And neither would Blaine Anderson ever be bullied. He would never be beaten up at his eighth grade dance. He never would sing with the Warblers. He hold a boys hand at an awkward angle as they ran down the corridor, not letting go because of the way his eyes lit up at the contact.

Still...

Even if Kurt Hummel wasn’t possessed with a desperate need to get out of Lima, his heart would still be set on New York. He would still make it into NYADA (on his first try thanks very much to his four year streak as male in the school plays and position as Senior Class President), and he would still make a lasting, if exasperating friendship with Rachel Berry, allowing her to drag him down to Callback EVERY Saturday night to check out the “competition.”

Even if Blaine Anderson went to Juilliard because he hadn’t been held back a year, and he didn’t think his parents prefered it because it was more “structured,” than NYADA, he would still love to perform. He would still possess an easy charisma that earned him a network of friends that extended into the musical theater academy, including one Miss Rachel Berry who encourage him to try the open mike at Callbacks at least once.

And when he did she would introduce him to her friend from high school immediately when he came off the stage after six songs, even as people cheered for another.

And when Blaine took Kurt’s hand in the crowded hangout, his head would spin in a way that would make Blaine think he’d drank too much, if he didn’t know he’d only had one beer.

And when he met Kurt’s gorgeous glasz eyes the thought would hit him, “Oh, there you are. I’ve been looking for you forever.”

And Kurt would think he was cute, sure, and agree to a dance that turned into several more. Although it would take a while before Kurt agreed to make it official, because he just got out of a relationship with Adam, and could he really date someone so fond of high waters?

In fact, in this version of things, its not until Blaine talks about going abroad his Junior year, and the thought of saying goodbye to him makes Kurt choke on his Chinese, that whatever was holding him back finally shatters in a moment of clarity and he asks Blaine if he’ll be his boyfriend. And Blaine pours Wonton soup all over his lap as his jaw hangs open because he’s asked Kurt that over twenty times now and if he’s joking it’s not funny!

But he’s not. So then they’re boyfriends. And a few years later they’re husbands. And several years after that they’re fathers. And so on.