#theguyin8b

One Proposition.

Kurt throws all his weight into hauling the door of the loft open. He slams it behind him, relishing the loud clang of the metal in the empty apartment. First things first, Kurt tells himself, as he heads to the kitchen sink. He sheds his shirt and inspects it quickly. Yes, it definitely needs a soak. It may even be unsalvageable. If someone knew they were the kind of person to throw drinks when annoyed, Kurt wishes they would just do the whole community a favour and stick to drinking something a little less sticky and pink than the concoction currently soaking his shirt and dripping into his ears.

How had Santana even convinced him into going out in the first place? What made Santana consider herself qualified to give life help?

Kurt's eyes lazily focus and unfocus on the water splashing into the sink as he fights the inebriation. He adds a little stain remover and continues towards the shower. He then quickly wheels around and runs back to shut off the faucets.

But the answers are simple, really. Santana had convinced him because he had wanted to be convinced. And she was qualified because no one had perfected the art of drinking as an emotional escape strategy quite like Santana had during their years at McKinley High.

The water that springs from the shower head is still lukewarm but Kurt sheds the rest of his clothes and steps in. Kurt had always been meticulous with regards to his hygiene, but this time he is ruthless in his thoroughness. He grabs his flannel and shower gel and starts rubbing at his face and down his chest. His skin starts to complain about the rough treatment but Kurt pays no attention. He just wants the evening scrubbed out of his system.

Kurt had never thought he was a particularly tactile person but, in the months since he had last seen Blaine, Kurt had become practically starved for human contact. Sure, Rachel and Santana were great but they just weren't solid enough. There was something different about feeling firm muscle move against him as he pulled someone close and the soft rasp of calloused fingertips against his skin. He wants Blaine. But more than that, he wants Blaine here, his stomach churns for it.

When the his skin is red and raw, Kurt turns the attention to his hair. The liquid had burrowed deep. It had slipped through the soft waves of his hair and tucked itself right next to his roots. Kurt shuts his eyes tight against the foam. He scrubs at his scalp, letting his fingernails scrape rough against his skin.

It wasn't that he'd been actively flirting with the guy at Scandals ...he just hadn't discouraged it ...at all. It was a guy that Kurt kind of knew from around campus, Ben. Kurt had played him with coy avoidance, ducking away as the guy slung an arm over his shoulders but sending a smirk back to him as he walked away. Anyway, Ben knew he was engaged, it was all harmless and fun. Kurt had thought it was all harmless and fun. It had just felt ...nice ...feeling fingertips against his hand as the guy tried to get his attention. Or stumbling a little and grabbing onto his solid forearm for balance. If he kept his eyes low enough he was almost able to fool himself that it was Blaine with him.

In comparison to the shower, the drying off is almost perfunctory. Kurt can feel the buzz of the numerous cocktails wearing off and hurries to be in bed before he has to deal with falling asleep sober.

The spell was broken, of course, when Ben leaned in close and asked if he was keen to head elsewhere. Kurt had pulled back like he had been slapped. His hand went to the ring on his finger and Ben had seen red. "Now you have an issue with that?" he had issued as a challenge. Kurt's silence had confirmed it. He had watched Ben stalk off as the remnants of something called a Rosebud dripping down his face. New York must be making him soft, in the dark days of high school Kurt would have seen it coming a mile off.

Before he tosses them in the laundry pile Kurt fishes around in his jean pockets; his wallet is there, but his phone isn't. Kurt's breath hitches. It feels like his last lifeline has been cut. He needs to tell Blaine now. He needs to not hide this from him for a second. He needs to hear Blaine remind him that this will all work out. He just needs...

Stumbling slightly as he pulls some pajama bottoms, Kurt takes a somewhat intentional faceplant into his pillows. He shakes his head slowly and then tries to burrow deeper into the the softness of the bed. His tired body curls into a ball.

He lies there, hoping to find enough calm to descend into sleep. The stillness gives the brain time to stew, to uncover the loneliness Kurt has been keeping bottled up and pushed down. His thoughts dig and dig and gleefully break the bottle open.

The first sobs wrack his body without warning. They tear through his clenched teeth and let loose ugly sounds that bounce around the empty apartment. Kurt grabs onto the closest pillow and pulls it close to him, biting onto it to stifle the sounds.

He hears Rachel and Santana come in soon after but it's still hours before his eyes and his mind see fit to give him a brief respite.

2 am.

Isabelle pokes her head around the door when it's getting close to midnight.

"What are you still doing here, Kurt?" she asks lightly. "I'm pretty sure you're endangering our fair trade certification at this point."

Kurt looks up and sighs. He watches at Isabelle comes to sit on the desk facing him.

"It's nothing. Rachel and Santana are both out of the loft tonight and…" Kurt pauses and appears to reconsider. "No, really, it's nothing."

'Well, if it's nothing then you won't object to helping me pick a few outfits for the September spread."

A small smile passes across Kurt's face as he says,"Uh ...yeah, I'd love to."

Isabelle reaches out a hand, beaming. "I don't know how Vogue .com ever survived without you, Kurt Hummel."

She leads him down the hallway gleefully. Their footsteps echo as the sound bounces around the empty office. Isabelle pulls on Kurt's arm to guide him round the corner and they enter the famed Dressing Room. Each spare inch of the room is covered in clothes racks full with the new lines sent over by designer labels. Plastic mannequins stand to attention in a small group in the centre of the room. Kurt stops to take it all in as Isabelle drops his hand to run to the center of the room.

She turns suddenly and fixes Kurt with a serious expression as she leans comically against the closest mannequin. "I have only one request, Mister Hummel," she says, her words burdened with absolute importance.

Kurt's breath catches and he leans in slightly. Isabelle straightens up and, with a flourish, pulls her scarf from around her neck and places on the model.

"This scarf. It's the most beautiful thing I've seen in years. I walked in here last week and the thing just embraced me. It became such a part of me I barely even noticed the addition. It was after lunch before I even realized I was still wearing it. It is me in ways that make all my other clothes feel foreign. Kurt, this scarf has to find it's outfit."

The scarf is pretty extraordinary. It's more of a spring scarf really, not overly heavy and definitely not in typical Fall colors. The material is a light cream and an entire scene of birds and trees is dotted across its length in the most bold display of dye work that Kurt has ever seen. But it's the edges of it that set it apart. On top of the color the designer has added this intricate stitch work that turns into delicate crochet as it leaves the material. This scarf plays the line between clothing and jewelry and it takes Kurt's breath away. It's so unique, in fact, that it proves exceedingly hard to match to an outfit.

It soon becomes clear that they have completely different views on where this outfit should go.

"A scarf alone is not an outfit, my boy!" Isabelle had cried as Kurt pulled out another top with a flat darker color. "This scarf deserves more than just an unobtrusive backdrop."

"Please, no." Kurt said simply as Isabelle made a grab for yet another piece of clothing in a large patterned material.

"This scarf is that girl at the party everyone wants to hang with. These trousers are the matron aunt standing in the corner embarrassed to be in the same room as such enjoyment. Don't make my lovely scarf hang out with her." She laughs as she turns up her nose at the dark jeans that Kurt is offering in return.

Kurt argues weakly. "These jeans are a Fall necessity."

"Exactly!" Isabelle sighs heavily. "It's Fall. It's all about keeping warm with layers and hats and getting ready for winter. But why must everything be brown?"

She pauses and leans towards him. The jeans are clenched in both their fists between their bodies. "I want autumn to be about celebration. Yes, it's getting colder. Yes, the leaves are falling. But why does fashion demand we fallwith them, Kurt?"

"I have no idea." Kurt says, laughing. He lets Isabelle take the jeans from his hands and toss them on a pile growing behind them.

"We must celebrate them, for they make us. Nature may give in when Autumn comes but we weather it, dear reader. Our Autumns and Winters come without warning and they last until we fight them off. They take us and shape us and we come out stronger. We rail against Autumn this year, Kurt."At this she descends gracefully to sit on an armchair positioned in front of the mannequins. "Because we refuse to fall."

"Wow." Kurt's head is spinning slightly.

"You know it, sweetie, so dress for it."

By 2am, they have it sorted. Isabelle struts around in the chosen outfit - subdued colors to please Kurt with striking embossed patterns to please Isabelle - while Kurt sits gently nodding to sleep in the armchair. He's got his legs tucked up against one arm and his head occasionally dipping to touch the other.

She reached the end of another pass and chances a look over. Kurt is out for the count. Isabelle drops the act. She hadn't realized how much tougher he would be to get to sleep than her nephew. Quietly, she slips out of the heeled boots and pads towards him.

Reaching down, she plucks a small cashmere cardigan from one of the piles strewn across the floor. She drapes the soft material over Kurt's tightly curled frame.

"Now, isn't that better?"

She walks back down the same corridor surrounded by the same deserted offices. This time, her movements are silent. She slips into her office and pulls the door closed. The laptop stares back at her and she taps on the keyboard to wake it up,

"Yeah yeah, I know." she says, sneering as the screen lights up showing the article she was in the middle of editing. It's due in the morning, but she's still got a few more hours.

Three Missed Calls.

Kurt awakes with a start as his phone falls from the bedside table and continues to vibrate along the floor. He struggles to the side of the bed and reaches an arm down to capture it before it disappears into the dark recesses underneath his bed.

He swipes a thumb across the screen then falls back against his pillows as he answers the call.

"Blaine? What is it? I'm not expecting you for -" Kurt pulls the phone from his ear for a second to check the time. "Two more hours?"

"I messed up Kurt. I booked the flights wrong. I did them round the wrong way."

Blaine sighs heavily into the phone.

"I have a ticket for a flight going from New York to Lima in like five minutes. Which is absolutely no help to me in standing in Lima. If I'd just…" The line goes quiet for a second. Kurt hears the muffled sound of him trying to swear in the distance.

When Blaine is back on the line, Kurt asks, "Can you just hop on the next flight?"

Blaine pauses. "Kurt. It's in six hours. I'd barely be there for a day. And it'd cost over $400 to get the new flights. I just, I can't afford it. I'm so sorry, Kurt." Kurt hears the frustration and disappointment and can see him standing in the center of the airport, fists clenched as he held his carry on suitcase.

"Don't beat yourself up about it. Just…."

He scrubs his face with his hand as he thinks.

"Get home…. I'll give you a call later, okay?" Kurt stifles a yawn against his hand.

"Oh my god, yes. It's so early. I didn't even think about you still being asleep."

Kurt hears a thump, and he is almost certain Blaine has just slumped to sit next to his suitcase.

"Blaine, really, it's no big deal."

"Okay." Kurt hears a huff across the line as Blaine sighs. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

Then there's a beep as Blaine hangs up the phone. Kurt dives back under the covers. He screws his eyes up trying to block out the day. It is surprisingly easy to sink into sleep, his body obviously understanding that today was now a waste. He lets Blaine's last words ring in his ears, soft and soothing, like a childhood stuffed toy that comforts him back to sleep.

Four Attachments.

He'd taken Eliott's advice in the end. It isn't quite Starchild levels of glam but with the slicked hair, the eyeliner and tight dress pants Kurt looked - and felt - like a completely new person on stage tonight. Kurt's still riding the performance high as the three of them burst through the front door.

Rachel heads to straight to the bathroom. Santana kicks her heels off and prances over to spread out on the couch. Kurt considers joining her - if she'll make space - as he waits for Rachel to get out of the bathroom but ultimately decides that it will be impossible to relax until he has changed into looser trousers. He heads off to his bedroom in search of a pair of yoga pants.

As he passes the mirror in his bedroom however, Kurt stops. The man staring back at him is barely him. The face beneath it all, maybe that's his. But that that smirk, the glint in his eye and way he's thrusting his chest forward to accentuate the smooth curve of his torso, that most definitely isn't the usual him. And the idea that came into his head, that belongs to someone else entirely.

He opens his phone's camera and sets it to a ten second timer. He balances it on the top of his mirror and then steps back. He stands posed as he was looking at himself before - slightly to the side with his chest out and shoulders set to show off his tall lean frame. He knows the framing of the photo will pick out a bed in the background so he quirks an eyebrow towards it.

The camera flashes. Kurt checks the picture and, satisfied with it, shucks his shirt and approaches the bed. He sits on the edge with his legs pulled up and crossed in front of him and props the phone up on his desk. With the timer counting down, Kurt relaxes his shoulders and rests his forearms lightly on his knees with his hands hanging near his feet. The picture will capture his face closer this time, so Kurt tries to rid himself of the niggling sense of awkwardness. He thinks about a time this evening, when he had seen a couple making out on the dance floor in front of him. Longing had blossomed from his gut and curled itself tightly round his torso. He had gotten so distracted by them that he had almost missed Dani's cue for the next song. He tries to convey that expression through his eyes because, without a doubt, Blaine can lay claim to every ounce of it.

The camera flashes. Kurt checks the picture again, blushing as he sees the raw hunger in his eyes. His hands shake a little as he now removes his shoes, socks and trousers. The nervousness is almost enough to make him give up on the whole idea. He keeps the phone in the same position but now kneels on the bed. His head will be out of frame now, it will be his torso and pelvis that dominate the picture, The only reminder of his glam rock look will be the cuff on his left wrist. He squares his shoulders and sets the timer. As an after thought, Kurt uses one hand to tug the elastic band of his black boxer briefs down slightly; not enough to actually reveal anything but enough to significantlymore than hint at his intention.

The camera flashes and he can finally breathe normally again. He opens up his email and attaches four pictures to a new message to Blaine; one that the venue had taken while they were playing the set and then the three he had just taken. It's late but Blaine stays up on the weekends so Kurt is pretty certain he'll get a response sooner rather than later. He hits send.

He pulls on his pajamas and then rushes to the bathroom to clean his face off. Kurt's entrance initially earns a squawk of annoyance from Rachel but she recovers quickly and even points him towards the makeup remover. As he douses his face in water he tries to work out how Blaine might respond. Boyfriends liked when you did stuff like that, right? The mirror tells a sorry tale as he inspects his face, but it'll have to suffice for tonight. His heart quickens in anticipation as he towels his face dry.

"Don't think I couldn't hear your camera going off, Hummel." Santana says as Kurt rushes past the couch. "Those dick pics better be worth my mental trauma."

Kurt colours but doesn't bother to hide his laugh. "You can consider any mental trauma as payback for everything you and Dani put us through last weekend, Santana."

Rachel snorts with laughter as she passes on the back to her room wrapped in a bathrobe.

"As you were then," Santana says with a tinge of pride her voice.

He pulls the curtain closed in an attempt to block out his roommates. His glance falls to his phone sitting on the bed, it already has two messages.

(11:27) Wow, Kurt. You look incredible. Forget playing in the band, can I just sign up as a groupie?

(11:28) Ummmm…wow ... so I just saw the other ones. Let me just….Check your emails in 5 mins, ok?

His phone vibrates noisily as he receives an email. This has no message, only four attachments.

Santana's voice cuts through the thin fabric confines of his bedroom. "Twenty bucks says Hobbit's put a bow tie on it."

"No no, he's too classy for that. It's gotta be a sexy Nightbird." Rachel chimes in.

Kurt settles into bed before as he opens the files. It's still achingly empty but the loneliness is now tempered by expectation - his happily ever after is so close he can see snatches of it every time he closes his eyes. He can see Santana teasing him for weeks after she accidentally barges in on more than just Kurt in their shared shower. He can see Blaine bringing home Chinese for all of them to eat seated around the piano while they lazily contemplate mash-ups. He can see Rachel trying to work out the logistics of an actual temporary wall after he and Blaine make too much noise on a lazy Saturday morning.

"Well, what is it?" The apartment is silent as they wait for his reply. Kurt scrolls through the first few pictures.

"Both," he cries out triumphantly and continues scrolling.

He gets to the last picture and chokes a little. His face starts to burn up but he can't help but grin wide. "And then neither."

As he actually closes his eyes to sleep - a good hour after he originally planned - Kurt realizes he has forgotten to be sad tonight. Maybe they can find a way to enjoy this long distance thing after all.

Five Hour Conversations.

The credits roll and Rachel pushes herself up from the couch. She lets out a theatrical yawn and stretches backwards until vertebrae click. "Good night guys...and good night Blaine."

She addresses the second portion of this to the laptop perched on the couch next to Kurt. As she walks past, she leans down and performs an air kiss to either side of the screen. She pulls away and Kurt sees the Blaine laughing and drawing both hands to his mouth as he throws a kiss back at her. "Night Rachel, see you soon."

Santana stands up and slopes off too, leaving Kurt and Blaine to watch the rest of the credits. Kurt is almost dozing when the small laptop speakers crackle to life again.

"Isn't it crazy to think that all those people were all totally necessary to make a small ninety minute movie...All those people, for at least a small part of their lives were committed to making this movie. All of them... I'm pretty sure you can run a successful school with less people than that."

"Alrighty mister," Kurt grunts as he levers himself off the couch. "I think it's time for you go to bed. Too much Skype sends your brain a little loopy."

"Oh come on!" Blaine exclaims. "Four hours fifty, that's not even close to the record."

"Don't even remind me." Kurt's mouth twists into a yawn as even his subconscious shudders in memory of the marathon Skype sessions his body has endured over the past year.

"We can head to bed but lets at least make it to the five hour mark."

"Head to bed?"

"Yeah, prop me up on your pillow. I don't like falling asleep without you."

And even though he 's known it for ages, his heart still leaps a little at this proclamation. He smiles lightly as he responds. "Me neither. I developed a bit of an infomercial habit last year."

Blaine eyes him suspiciously.

"Okay, an MTV habit. Don't judge me."

"Never."

Kurt reaches for the engagement ring on his finger and strokes it softly as they shares a soft smile across the internet. As the moment ends he leans forwards and picks up the laptop to head into the bedroom. The frame wobbles as Blaine does the same.

The right hand side is Blaine's - or, more accurately, the left hand side is Kurt's and the right hand side is currently empty. Kurt settles the laptop at the head of Blaine's side of the bed facing him then pulls back the covers and hops into bed. He turns onto his side and props his head up on this right hand - on the screen Blaine mirrors his position.

"So..." Kurt starts, at a loss for what to say.

Seeing the pause, Blaine takes over. "Thank you for tonight, Kurt."

"Oh, it was nothing. Just a little celebratory movie night. I thought people might think New York was kind of a cheesy theme, considering."

"Are you kidding? It was perfect. Of course we had to watch When Harry Met Sally, that's our movie."

"It really is, isn't it?" Kurt shuffles to lay his head on the pillow as his arm tires.

Blaine's voice softens as he follows suit. "Yeah. One day we'll have kids and at least once a year I'll drag this old DVD out and make them watch it. And when it's over we'll tell them our story all over again."

Kurt interrupts. "And they'll shuffle and roll their eyes."

"And I'll say too bad, this story needs telling. I'll tell them how fate brought us together one morning when you came in to spy on The Warblers."

"I'll tell them that, if I'm be a spy, then you must be the knight in shining armor. Because I'm pretty certain meeting you saved my life."

Blaine exhales as he takes in the seriousness in Kurt's eyes. "And I'll tell them I was an idiot for months..."

Kurt affects a loud New York accent imitating the one of the couples in the movie they'd just watched and pounces on the end of Blaine's sentence. "Oh, tell 'em abowt the Gap Attack, Blaine. Tell 'em abowt that."

Blaine picks up the part of the grumbling husband. "I'm tellin' em', Kurt. Jus' lemme get there."

He drops out of the character as he continues. "And I'll tell them that when I finally came around I had to act immediately because..." And at this, Blaine raises his head slightly from the pillow and recites. "Because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

Kurt nodded and affirmed, "As soon as possible."

A companionable silence falls, each boy grasping at the edges of sleep but neither willing to end the connection. Kurt listens as the sounds of New York close in around him. One tear slips free as he drifts towards sleep. He acknowledges the receding sadness and wraps it in other stronger emotions; his love for Blaine, his gratefulness for Santana and Rachel, his excitement about his new life in New York and his hopes for where his future life might take him.

One Bed.

Kurt wakes with a start. His body is on full alert, his heart races. A foot - most decidedly not his own - is prodding into his leg. He jerks his head to the right.

It's Blaine. Of course it's Blaine. He knows it's Blaine. Kurt laughs slightly and shakes his head.

Feeling the movement, Blaine shuffles over and wraps an arm around Kurt's stomach. Without even opening his eyes, he places a careless kiss at the base of Kurt's ear before nuzzling into his shoulder.

"Did it happen again?"

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just not used to someone else being here."

Blaine just hugs him closer. "I hope that's not your way of kicking me to the couch."