Shine, Chapter Six

[klemonademouth]

 I'm sorry this took so long! I'm back on track now.

Previous chapter

They'd been fencing for quite some time now.

Shirtless, of course, and Blaine had actually suffered a blow to the arm from Kurt's sword because he just couldn't concentrate. Kurt had apologized profusely, saying that he thought Blaine was going to dodge it, and wrapped Blaine's forearm in a silk scarf he'd found in the Captain's closet.

There had been a moment, when Kurt was wrapping Blaine's arm and Blaine was watching him-the sunlight glinting off his hair was somehow mesmerizing-when Kurt had looked up, and their eyes had met, and there had been that something there again. That thing that Blaine was trying so hard to avoid, trying so hard not to understand.

Now, the wound throbbed under the makeshift bandage every time Blaine moved, reminding him not to be so careless again.

It was their fifth or sixth time fencing, and Blaine was improving. He could see it in Kurt's eyes-the impressed smile whenever Blaine blocked a thrust, the subtle glow that his skin had taken on.

It was their fifth or sixth time fencing, and Blaine still couldn't stop staring at Kurt's skin.

Kurt's sword flicked inches from his face, and Blaine flinched back, pulling his eyes from the shifting muscles in Kurt's biceps and forcing himself to focus.

He began to advance on Kurt, and Kurt began to retreat. It was the first time that had ever happened, and the look of delight that was apparent on Kurt's face contrasted violently with the fact that, for once, Blaine was winning. And Kurt wasn't letting him win, he was actually trying, actually sweating to fight back, but Blaine had the upper hand and both of them knew it.

They'd drawn a crowd. Most of the crew was in a circle around them, strangely quiet underneath the clash of swords and the labored breathing of the two shirtless boys.

Kurt continued to retreat.

Blaine's triumph was quick-he knocked the sword from Kurt's hands, pressing the tip of his blade near Kurt's throat.

Kurt fell to his knees, head slightly bowed, eyes fixed on Blaine through lowered lashes.

Blaine felt his throat close up.

Something about seeing Kurt on his knees-he sheathed his sword quickly, pushing away bad thoughts. Ignoring the obvious once more.

He offered a hand to Kurt, helping him back to his feet.

“Touche,” Kurt said.

He didn't let go of Blaine's fingers.

It was dark, the torches around the edge of the ship glowing. Puck had his arms around Kurt, steering him around the deck to the crackling music coming out of the phonograph. Blaine sat perched on the rail as usual, watching them with a smile on his face.

Kurt was glowing, glowing more brightly than ever. He fairly shone of warmth and happiness, and although it made Puck happy, to see the boy so happy (especially because he was fairly certain he knew the reason for the boy's happiness), it also made him worry. Because he knew exactly what other people, people who weren't his crew, would do to someone like Kurt.

He bent close to Kurt's ear. “Kurt, I know what you are."

Kurt pulled away immediately, looking alarmed-no, frightened-and wary.

Puck pulled him back immediately. “No, no, don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you, and neither is anyone on this ship,”-that was said with a growl-“but there are plenty who would."

Kurt was silent, his face thoughtful as Puck spun them around the deck of the ship.

“Your emotions give you away,” Puck said, when Kurt didn't speak. “You should learn to control them. You're too obvious. You keep glowing more brightly every day. And I think you know why.” He punctuated that statement with a lewd grin and a not-so-subtle flicker of his eyes towards Blaine, which Kurt chose to ignore.

“Of course I know why I'm glowing,” Kurt said, haughtily. “I'm a star. And what do stars do best?”

“Well, certainly not the waltz,” Puck said, and grunted when Kurt stomped on his toe.

He paused at Blaine's hand on his back-he hadn't even heard the boy come up behind him.

“Mind if I cut in?” Blaine asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

Puck tried not to grin too broadly. “Be my guest,” he said, letting go of Kurt and taking a step back.

Blaine stood much closer to Kurt than Puck had, slipping a hand to curl around Kurt's shoulder, letting Kurt change from his position as the follow to the lead.

The effect was immediate.

Kurt's glow was dazzling, brighter than all the torches around. Cleaner, purer, than any light Puck had seen on Earth. He was shining, radiating happiness and if Puck hadn't been sure before, he was now.

He had never seen Kurt glow more brightly than when he was in Blaine's arms.

“Due west, you said?” Karofsky asked, drawing his cloak more tightly around himself. He'd lost nearly all of his hair with the amount of magic he'd been using.

“Yes,” Terri said, her eyes fixed on the spinning coin before her.

“And you're sure. Sure you're not lying,” Karofsky said, keeping the woman in his peripheral vision.

“I'd cross my heart if I had one,” Terri said, with a sweet little laugh.

Karofsky hesitated, then snapped his fingers. The coin fell from the air into Terri's hands. “You'd better be telling the truth, you two-faced dog,” he said, a sneer curling his lip.

“I can get you one of those,” Terri said, eagerly. “Very good guard dogs, actually-they can watch both the front and the back door at the same time. I can get you anything you want."

“What are the chances of getting a Babylon candle?” Karofsky asked, picking up what looked like a spiderweb encased in a jar.

“That's slim, actually,” Terri said, apologetically. “Although, I did know a man once-the King, actually-we were involved before he chose that infuriating redhead over me, and-”

“Enough,” said Karofsky, bored already of the woman's voice, and pointed a finger at her mouth.

Terri squawked-literally squawked, like a monkey, or a bird, because Karofsky was inventive with his curses-as Karofsky left the shop, stealing a wig from a shelf.

“Hold on tight! The Captain's at the helm!”

Kurt's hands landed on either side of Blaine, clutching the side of the ship. They were at the very front of the ship-the prow, he'd heard someone call it-and even if it wasn't the brightest place to be when Puck was steering the ship, he wasn't about to move. Not when Blaine had begged him with shining eyes to stand there with him.

Blaine leaned back against his chest, and Kurt sucked in a sharp breath of air, trying to force his heartbeat to relax. He thought Rachel, Rachel, Rachel to himself for the millionth time in the past few days.

Blaine laughed as he tipped his head back to meet Kurt's eyes. “I can't tell if this is going to be fantastic or a disaster.”

“It can't be both?” Kurt asked, a smile overtaking his lips despite himself.

“Touche,” Blaine said, a soft smile slipping across his face.

Kurt had begun to see that look more and more often when he was around Blaine. He had no idea how to deal with it or what it was or where it came from-all he knew was that at some point, Blaine had stopped looking irritated and exasperated when Kurt snipped at him, and instead had started looking fond and somewhat amused and something else that Kurt couldn't quite place.

He'd never seen it before.

At least, not directed at him.

The ship banked sharply, and Kurt pressed closer to Blaine as he felt the other begin to fall to the side.

The prow rose, and Kurt held his breath as the ship crashed to the water. Both of them let out high-pitched shrieks as ice-cold seawater drenched them, sloshing over the sides of the ship.

Puck stepped out from behind the helm proudly, and a rather panicked-looking crewman took the wheel, sighing in relief.

Kurt pretended nothing was out of the ordinary when neither he nor Blaine moved from their half-embrace.

It wasn't long until they reached the shore and dropped the gangplank.

Puckerman, still standing on the deck with Blaine, passed him a thin tube full of lightning. “So there's the road you'll need for Wall,” he said, gruffly, gesturing to the road ahead, curving out of sight. “Good luck on your journey home, Kurt, wherever that may be.”

Kurt smiled, ducking his head a little. Puck, for the dangerous pirate he claimed to be, was actually more soft-hearted than any other human Kurt had ever met.

Well, except for Blaine.

“Good luck to you, Blaine. With your Rachel,” Puck said, pulling Blaine into a hug.

Kurt's expression instantly soured, though he hid it well. Mercedes pulled him into a hug. “I'll miss you,” she said, into his shoulder.

“How can we ever thank you for your kindness?” Blaine asked quietly.

“Don't mention it,” Puck said, with a warm grin. He lowered his voice. “No, really, don't mention it. Reputations, you know. Lifetime to build, seconds to destroy?”

Blaine grinned at him, and began to lower himself down the ladder to the lower deck.

“Oh-Blaine--”

Puck bent down, whispered something in Blaine's ear, then clapped him on the shoulder. “Just... think about it, all right?”

Blaine's eyes widened, a look of confusion crossing his face, followed by clarity. He fumbled a little bit on the ladder as he reached the bottom, turning to smile shakily at Kurt. “Shall we, then?”

“Give my regards to England,” Puck called. “It's been a pleasure to meet you both.”

Mercedes coughed, loudly.

Puck's face hardened. “Mind you don't wear the princess out, Captain Blaine!” he yelled, and the crew growled and cat-called in agreement.

Kurt's shoulders shook with laughter.

He waited until they were a good distance away from the ship before speaking. “What did he say to you?"

“What?” Blaine asked, and Kurt didn't think he was imagining the tinge of nervousness in his voice. “What did he say when?”

“Just then, when he whispered to you.” Kurt kept his tone light, hoping his burning curiosity wouldn't show too much.

“N-nothing,” Blaine stuttered, “he was just saying... we should use the lightning to get you a Babylon candle."

Something didn't ring true about that statement (and Blaine wasn't a good liar, in any case), but it was a good idea, so Kurt let it slide.

“Barter for it, you know?” Blaine asked, and when he offered his hand to Kurt to help him up a particularly rocky uphill, Kurt took it.

“I'm going to ask you again,” Santana said, in a sickly-sweet voice. “Where. Is. The boy.”

Terri made an uncomfortable squawking noise, then clawed at her throat.

“Are you mocking me?” Santana asked, incredulously, before her face hardened into a glare. “Because if you are, I can promise that it is the last thing your sorry arse will ever do.”

Another squawk out of Terri's throat as she tried desperately to speak.

Santana's knife flashed.

“What a freak,” she said, turning her back with a sneer as Terri slumped to the ground. “Clean this,” she snapped, passing the knife to Sam. “Thoroughly.”

Karofsky examined his face in the window of the coach. He didn't particularly care for what he saw. His skin was sagging once more, sallow and thin and old. What had once been muscle was beginning to slump on his bones. His teeth were yellowing once more-some had fallen out. He examined a particularly noticeable wrinkle by his neck, lifting a finger to zap at it.

The last of his hair fell out.

There was the sound of cackling laughter coming from his ring. He rolled his eyes and lifted it to his face.

“If you are quite finished squandering your magic on your rather counter-productive beauty routine, you might like to know that the star has returned,” Azimio said, his voice a little more than sarcastic.

“He's back on land,” Strando added, as if Azimio hadn't just said that.

Karofsky smiled tightly at them. He could be just as snarky and snide as they could. “I know, damn it. I couldn't reach the shore in time.”

“It doesn't matter,” Azimio said, with a more matter-of-fact tone, rubbing his runes together in his palm. “We have found him. He is on the road to the village of Wall. If you take the shortcut across the marshes, you should arrive in time to intercept him.”

There was a carriage making its way down the path. It was still a distance off, but unease twisted in Blaine's stomach.

“Kurt,” he said, and that was all the notice Kurt got before he was shoved into the underbrush, hitting the ground hard, knocking all his breath out.

Blaine landed on top of him, and Kurt really couldn't breathe.

“Are you trying to hurt me again?” he asked severely, as soon as he had enough air to speak.

“I'm sorry,” Blaine apologized immediately, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I just-I can't risk people seeing you. It's too dangerous. I don't trust anyone."

Kurt's heart thudded unevenly, before he reminded himself that the only reason Blaine cared about his safety was because he needed Kurt in order to marry Rachel.

“But at this rate, if we keep stopping--” Kurt was silenced by a finger to his lips. Blaine's finger. Oh. His eyes widened.

Kurt was glowing. He knew he was glowing, could feel it shining out of every pore and orifice, but he couldn't seem to control it, as Captain Puckerman had told him to. Blaine was on top of him. Blaine was speaking to him so gently. Blaine hadn't moved his finger from Kurt's lips, and had gone from pressing it there in a universal sign of silence, to almost... caressing Kurt's lower lip.

“We're making good time,” Blaine whispered, and the expression on his face was almost... tender.

Blaine looked to the side, clearly listening for more passer-by.

When he looked back to Kurt, he was startled to find the other man still watching him.

“Aren't you tempted?” Kurt asked, softly, and as he spoke, his glow brightened even more.

“Tempted?” Blaine asked. Yes, that would be a good word for what he felt, with Kurt lying long and slim and muscled beneath him, with Kurt's reddened lips inches from his. “By what?”

“Immortality?” Kurt murmured.

Blaine's forehead wrinkled in confusion.

“Say, hypothetically, that it wasn't my heart,” Kurt said, his eyes searching Blaine's. “Not me. Just some star you didn't know. What if?"

“You seriously think I could kill anyone?” Blaine murmured, a smile quirking at his lips.

Kurt laughed. Blaine hushed him, glancing around.

“I'd never hurt anyone, especially not you,” Blaine said, and his hand was definitely caressing Kurt's face now. “And even if I could... everlasting life? I imagine it would be kind of... lonely.” His gaze moved from Kurt's face, taking on a somewhat pensive look. “Well... maybe if you had someone to share it with. Someone you love."

Rachel, Kurt reminded himself, bitterly. It didn't matter the kind of signals Blaine may have been sending him-he was in love with Rachel, and he was going to marry her and spend the rest of his relatively short life with her.

He felt his glow dim.

“Come on,” Blaine said, appearing not to notice as he slid off of Kurt. “I think we're safe.” He stood, brushing his knees off, and holding out a hand to help Kurt up.

Kurt waved it off. He didn't want Blaine's help.

“Captain Puckerman has a fearsome reputation,” Santana said as she and her men crested the hill. “He's going to be far more difficult to overpower than the rest of those whimpering, simpering infants we've encountered so far on our journey."

She pretended not to see Sam roll his eyes.

They boarded the ship.

The crew stared at them, blankly.

“We're taking over,” Santana declared.

A black woman standing towards the front snorted.

“Is something funny?” she asked, sharply.

A willowy blond next to her shook her head. “You can't take over the ship, it's not yours. That would be wrong.”

She met Santana's eyes.

Suddenly, the fact that she had never felt anything towards the many suitors she'd always had pursuing her made much more sense.

It was because none of them were her.

None of them were an unassuming, happy, beautiful, yellow-haired girl who smiled at Santana like sunshine.

“My name's Brittany,” the girl said, with a wobbly curtsy unlike anything Santana had ever seen at the palace. She bit her lip to keep from smiling. Brittany was trying, she really was. She just didn't know how to be like something Santana was accustomed to-because she wasn't like anything Santana was accustomed to.

“I'm Santana,” she said, after a brief pause.

“You're very pretty,” Brittany said, and Santana probably would have scoffed had anyone else said that to her, but from Brittany, it somehow seemed sincere.

“Thank you,” Santana said, the thought of finding the star and the stone nearly gone from her mind.

Until Sam coughed quietly at her side.

“Right,” she said, her face hardening. She couldn't forget the ultimate goal because of some silly girl she'd just met. “Men?”

In an instant, her men had drawn their swords and had them pointed at various crew members on the ship-all except for Sam. He was staring at one member of the crew- the first mate, who was standing outside the door to her Captain's chambers, her arms crossed.

“We really don't want to hurt you,” Sam said, sounding sickeningly earnest. “And we won't hurt your Captain, either, if you'll let us through. We just want to know where the boy is."

The first mate rolled her eyes. “As if you could hurt Captain Puckerman, white-skin. Haven't you heard of him? He rules the sky using a combination of intimidation and fear. He ain't scared of anything, especially not your sorry arse. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Then I guess you have nothing to worry about, do you?” Santana asked, placing one hand on her hip and arching an eyebrow. “Sam, watch her.” she nodded towards the dark-skinned first mate.

Sam seemed a little too excited by this prospect.

Santana let herself have one last, lingering look at the blond girl still standing by the crow's nest, then let herself into the cabin.

They waited until Santana was inside the cabin to attack her men.

Sam dove overboard the ship.

He wasn't about to die because Santana was insane.

Santana heard music when she entered the chamber. Piano music. It took her only a few moments to figure out where it was coming from; there was a small straight-backed piano pushed into one corner. A man sat at it, his head shaven but for one strip of hair.

His face was painted completely white, black streaks covering it in odd patterns.

The music he was playing was loud and fast and furious sounding, nothing like the sweet melodies Santana had been taught to play back at the Palace.

She kind of liked it.

He stopped when he saw her.

“Get the hell out of my cabin!” he growled, furiously.

She drew her sword, pressing it to his neck. “Not before you tell me where the boy is, twinkle-toes.”

Brittany calmly cleaned the blood off her sword. “We should go find Puck."

Mercedes was staring at her, a little slack-jawed. “That's probably a good idea.”

Santana pressed him to the table. “I'm going to count to three. One... two...-”

The door burst open.

“Hey!” Mercedes yelled.

Brittany was right behind her.

They charged.

Santana sighed, and leapt out the window. As she sank into the water, darting downwards to avoid the knives darting down around her, she thought regretfully of the blond-haired beauty in Puckerman's crew. Maybe if they'd met under different circumstances...

It didn't matter, anyway.

“You know you sort of glitter sometimes?” Blaine asked, hesitantly. “I've just noticed. Is it normal?”

“Let's see if you can work it out for yourself,” Kurt teased. “What do stars do?”

“Um... attract trouble?” Blaine asked, with a grin.

Kurt elbowed him. He fell to the side, laughing.

“Okay, no, I'm sorry. Let me-do I get another guess?”

Kurt arched an eyebrow at him.

“Is it... do they know exactly how to annoy a boy called Blaine Anderson?”

There was a large stone planted in the ground a few paces from them. Kurt stopped, staring at the lettering on it, feeling his heart sink.

Wall, it read. 60 miles.

“How long will that take?” he asked Blaine, who was staring at the stone as well.

Blaine scrunched his nose in thought. “Maybe... two days?”

“But we don't have two days,” Kurt reminded him, although of course Blaine already knew. This was Blaine's true love they were talking about, after all. “Rachel's birthday is tomorrow.”

Blaine looked startled, as if he hadn't known that. “Yes - yes it is. Well remembered.”

He gazed at Kurt for a moment until Kurt pulled his eyes away, slightly uncomfortable. “Come on. We may as well walk as quickly as possible.”

“Cup of Earl Grey,” Wes said, setting down the teacup in front of Puck.

Puck sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. The makeup smeared, and he groaned. “Get out, everyone. Get out."

“Did he hurt you, Captain?” David asked.

Puck gave him an I-can't-believe-I'm-hearing-this sort of expression.

“Did you tell him where your nephew and Kurt went?” Mercedes asked quietly, pulling up a chair and straddling it.

Puck shook his head.

“So what's the problem?” Jeff asked, sweetly.

“It's my reputation,” Puck said, after a moment's hesitation. “How am I supposed to be known as a vicious pirate if I rock out on the piano all the time?”

“No, no, don't be silly. Nonsense,” Wes said, glowering at the rest of the crew, who scrambled to agree with him.

“It's all right, Captain,” Brittany said, sweetly, and Puck looked up. “We always knew you were a whoopsie.”

She was immediately pulled to the back of the group.

“You'll always be our Captain, Captain,” Mercedes said, earnestly.

Puck lifted his fist, and the crew scrambled to tap theirs against his.

“Now get out,” Puck growled, and the crew scrambled to do that, too.

Santana resurfaced, gasping and spitting hair away from her face. She dragged herself from the water, climbing hand over hand up the rocky slope until she reached where the boy-the one she'd found at the warlock's trap-was waiting, still atop his borrowed horse.

“Princess Santana,” the boy said, his voice an annoying hum in her ear, “your men-they're dead--”

“Oh, really,” she snarled, and climbed aboard the horse, throwing him bodily from it.

She left him there on the ground. Somebody else could take care of him.

When Quinn stepped onto the ship, the mood in the air changed dramatically. Everyone stopped what they were doing to look at her. She supposed she did look rather out of place, with her royal blue brocade gown sweeping the dirty deck of the ship.

The dark-skinned woman closest to her exchanged a look with another, Asian-looking man, and both of them drew their swords.

Quinn offered a wry smile. “I see Santana has already been here.”

There was a caravan slowly rolling along down the path. A bright yellow caravan, with an angry-looking woman driving it.

Kurt, pressed against the underside of the bridge, leaned towards Blaine. “I met that woman. She knows the Captain. He said she trades at the market near Wall. We could hitch a lift.”

“Really?” Blaine asked, lifting himself up to peer over the bridge. “She's a friend of the Captain's? You sure?”

“Yes, yes,” Kurt said, quickly, and he followed Blaine as Blaine clambered up the slope of the hill.

“Wait, wait!” Blaine called, holding out a hand. The horse hitched to the caravan snorted in surprise. “My name is Blaine Anderson, and this is--”

“That's my flower,” the woman said, her voice steely, pointing to Blaine's lapel. “Eighteen years I've been looking for that flower and you have it, you dwarfized, curly-haired man-child.”

Blaine blinked.

Kurt looked confused.

“Give it to me, now,” the woman commanded, standing up to stride over to Blaine, towering over him. He drew his sword.

“How dare you!” Kurt said, reaching out to touch Blaine's arm, and glaring at the woman. “That was a gift from his father. He's never met him before.”

The bird attached to the front of the caravan twittered madly.

The woman eyed the sword. “Maybe I was mistaken,” she said, although the sneer on her face told both of them that she was sure she wasn't.

“It's all right,” Blaine said, pulling his sword back slightly. “It's obviously very valuable to you, so you can have it in exchange for what I need. A Babylon candle?"

“And safe passage to the wall,” Kurt began, but was cut off by the woman.

“A Babylon candle?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “Oh, no, no. I don't deal in that sort of magic. I leave that to the pathetic underlings who don't have the ability to make a name for themselves without it.”

“Well, could you give us a lift, then?” Blaine asked, gesturing towards her caravan. “To the wall?”

The woman appraised him. “I suppose so. Why didn't you say so in the first place, midget?”

Kurt rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. Was he invisible?

“For that flower, I can offer you passage."

“Safe passage?” Blaine asked, lifting the flower from his lapel.

“I swear that you will arrive at the wall in the exact same condition that you're in now.”

He didn't like the smirk on her face, but what choice did he have? Besides, she was friends with the Captain.

He sheathed his sword, passing her the flower.

She closed her fist around it, her face splitting in a decidedly menacing grin. “Do you have any idea what this was?"

“Some kind of lucky charm?” Blaine guessed.

“A very lucky charm,” Sue said, bending down so they were eye-to-eye. “Protection. In fact, the exact same thing that would've prevented me from doing this.”

A cloud of black smoke shot from her raised finger, and Blaine felt as if his skin was melting off.

Kurt watched in horror as he shrank until nothing was left of him.

Not nothing, exactly.

When the smoke cleared, a small brown bird hopped on the ground where Blaine had once been.

“Oh my god!” Kurt cried, panicking. “What did you do?” He turned furiously upon the witch.

He attempted to hit the woman-maybe he wasn't a violent person, but she needed some sense beaten into her-but to no avail.

You will not see the star, touch it, smell, or hear it.

“Though I'll keep my word,” the witch was saying, cupping the little bird in her palms. “You won't be harmed, unfortunately."

Kurt followed her into the caravan, where she was settling Blaine into a small, hanging cage.

“There,” she was saying.

“Am I correct in thinking that you can neither see nor hear me?” Kurt asked, fists shaking in rage.

The woman didn't respond.

“Then let me inform you that your clothing looks as if you've spent the better half of five years in a ditch and haven't bathed once during that time, and your face looks like the wrong end of a dog, and I swear, if I don't get my Blaine back as he was, I'll be your personal poltergeist.”

He waited until she was out of the caravan and it had begun to move once more before darting forward, curling his hands around the bars of Blaine's cage.

“Blaine? If you can understand me, look at me now.”

Blaine chirped, his head tilting to the side, and looked past Kurt, at something to the side of the caravan.

Kurt looked at it.

A jar of seeds sat perched on the shelf.

He sighed, standing up to get the jar, and poured a handful into his palm. He sat back down beside the cage, holding his hand out flat for Blaine to peck the seeds off his palm.

“When I said I knew little about love, it wasn't true,” he told Blaine softly. “I know a lot about love, Blaine. I haven't had any for myself-not the romantic kind, the kind I long for, anyway-but I've seen it. I've seen centuries and centuries of it. I mean, it was the only thing that made watching your world even remotely bearable. All those wars. Pain, and lies... hate... All of that made me want to turn away and never look down again. But to see the way that mankind can love-you could search the furthest reaches of the universe and never find anything more beautiful.” He took a deep breath. “So, yes. I know that love is unconditional. But I also know that it can be unpredictable, unexpected, uncontrollable, unbearable... and, well, strangely easy to mistake for loathing and annoyance and exasperation.

“What I'm-what I'm trying to say, Blaine, is-I think I love you.”

He smiled despite himself, color blooming across his cheeks, even though he wasn't saying this to the real man.

“I know you can't feel the same-don't feel the same-but I have never met anyone like you, in the sky or on earth. You are the kindest, most honest, most handsome man I've ever met. You've become my closest friend. And when I'm around you, my heart-it feels like my chest can barely contain it. Like it doesn't belong to me anymore-it belongs to you. And if there was even the most minuscule of chances-a miracle of miracles-that you wanted me back, you wanted my heart... I'd ask for nothing in return. No gifts, no goods, no demonstrations of devotion. Nothing but knowing you loved me too."

He sighed, leaning against the wall of the caravan. “Just your heart... in exchange for mine.”

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