Everlasting: vi.

[michellemabelle]

Blaine Anderson is beginning to lose track of time.

Has he been there a day? A week? A month? It seems to Blaine that the Hummels live in a way the rest of the world had forgotten. They’re never in a hurry and always do things the slow way.

He helps Carole wash the laundry in the cold water of the stream, pressing away the stains with soap that Carole had made herself. He tends to the garden so that Carole can knit, sitting nearby and telling him fairy tales as he picks cherries for the pie Kurt wants to bake later. Blaine pits them and listens to Kurt hum and whistle as he rolls out dough and teaches Blaine how to lattice the top. He takes turns washing the dishes and sometimes he’s the one telling stories around the fire at night. When it rains and the roof leaks, Burt shows him how to fix it and claps him on the shoulder while wearing a proud grin. When his trousers tear, Kurt works skillfully with a needle and thread to mend them and tells Blaine how they make all of their own clothing.

Sometimes, Blaine watches. He watches as Burt smoothes wood into a new leg for the kitchen table or how Carole works steadily at the loom. He sees Finn’s smile go from untrustworthy to hesitant, changing slowly like a river cutting a new path through the landscape. He sits by Kurt in the candlelight as he carves into untouched wood, forever immortalizing the images of the forest that Blaine is beginning to see every day with his own eyes.

Kurt shows Blaine. He takes Blaine by the hand and they run, through creeks and trees and fields full of grasses as high as their waists. They startle deer and whistle to the mockingbirds, that same melody that will now and forever remind Blaine of Kurt. They laugh, more than Blaine has ever laughed before, and they talk beneath the watch of the trees, over kneading dough and breaking bread, until all the oil in Blaine’s lamp is spent and Burt scolds them for being wasteful. Even then, they whisper through the floorboards until one of them falls asleep.

There’s no set time when it happens, but slowly Blaine stops being Blaine Anderson and simply becomes himself. His mask cracks and falls to pieces around him as the Hummels and their lifestyle wrap around him like a cocoon of love and acceptance.

For the first time, Blaine feels accepted.

For the first time, Blaine feels free.

The waterfall is one of Blaine’s favorite places.

He knows the forest now; Kurt has shown him how to weave through the trees and read the land. He takes Blaine everywhere, over and over again, until Blaine is taking Kurt’s hand and pulling him to the Eiffel Tower, or the meadow of wildflowers, or the split tree they like to cradle themselves in until the sun dips low beneath the tree line.

But the waterfall is still one of his favorites-would be his favorite, except Blaine knows that spot will always belong to Kurt’s Eiffel Tower (which feels like it belongs to both of them now).

When the days are too hot, they go there, finding relief in the cool shade of the trees and the mist that kicks up from the spray. Kurt laughs-and Blaine has come to love his laugh-and teases, knowing Blaine will put no inch of himself in the water and yet insists they come anyway.

Today, the air around them is thick with the summer’s heat and their shirts stick uncomfortably to their backs. Blaine stopped wearing his waistcoat long ago and his loafers have cracked and worn from all the ways he’s abused them. They settle on the rocks, watching the water cascade, and Blaine closes his eyes as the mist sweeps across his overheated skin.

“This is ridiculous.” Kurt announces, and Blaine opens his eyes in time to see him stand.

“What is?” He asks, watching as Kurt balances himself against the stone with one hand and unlaces and removes his boots with the other.

“This.” He gestures to them and tucks his boots away from view. “It’s hotter than sin.” Blaine watches, still not quite understanding, when Kurt straightens his back and pulls his shirt over his head. Blaine looks away, suddenly feeling hotter than he had a moment before.

“What are you doing?” He hisses, still averting his eyes.

“Really?” Kurt shoots back, unamused. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

Blaine glances over at Kurt, completely shirtless and working off the laces of his trousers, and looks away again just as quickly. He stammers a few times and then squeezes his eyes shut, trying to gain hold of himself.

“Undressing in the middle of the woods?” Blaine ventures. When Kurt doesn’t answer, he looks over again and sees him poised on the edge of the rock over the water. Blaine can see the long line of his back, smooth and elegant from the length of his neck to his-

Blaine averts his eyes again and wonders what’s wrong with him and why the sight of another boy in his breeches makes him quite so uncomfortable. It’s not as if he’s seeing anything he doesn’t have himself, yet...

When Blaine looks again, he lets himself look. He lets himself admire the graceful turn of Kurt’s neck and the strength in his shoulders, following the lines down to his trimmed waist that’s normally hidden by the billows of his shirt. He’s thinner without his clothing, but it doesn’t make him look weak or fragile. Blaine has seen the strength in those arms as Kurt’s chopped wood and climbed trees and scaled cliffsides. His long fingers, fingers that Blaine has watched knead bread and work nimbly with a needle and thread and delicately weave dough into art, rest against his thighs and Blaine feels his face burn-it shouldn’t, he shouldn’t be embarrassed, he shouldn’t-as his eyes slide to the supple curve of Kurt’s backside. The fabric of Kurt’s breeches leaves little to the imagination; it molds to the curves of his body, putting the strength of his thighs on display.

Blaine bites his lip and feels his mouth go dry as he tries to speak-he suddenly feels the need to say something, anything, that will help him tear away his gaze-when Kurt lifts his arms above his head and dives off the rock.

Just like that, Blaine is moving, scrambling to the edge in a panic just in time to see Kurt break through the surface of the water. His skin is a stark contrast to its murky, emerald depths and he quickly brushes the hair plastered to his face up and away.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” Blaine shouts, aghast, although a part of him certainly can. Kurt always seems to surprise him, one day insistent that he won’t put a finger in the lake water and the next diving into a pool in the middle of the forest. Blaine can’t help but wonder if maybe the person he’d seen all that time ago, staring out across the forest and seeming so heartbreakingly lost, is starting to break through Kurt’s mask. Blaine wonders if he has somehow gained the privilege of being the only one Kurt dares to show it to.

“Are you coming in?” Kurt calls up to him over the din of the falls and Blaine blanches. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of water, Blaine.”

“No,” Blaine spits back, indignantly, but he still doesn’t make any movement towards joining Kurt. He stares at the barely visible movement of Kurt’s arms below the surface and bites his lip again.

“Are you afraid of me?” Kurt continues to tease and Blaine smiles-if he’d found anything scary about Kurt, it had long since been replaced with the softness of Kurt’s smiles and the pleasant, lulling sound of his voice.

“Now you’re being silly,” Blaine mumbles and there’s that smile, as if Kurt is honestly relieved to know that Blaine isn’t afraid of him.

“Don’t make me come and get you.”

Blaine shrinks back, staring at the rock he’s sitting on rather than Kurt’s face as he mumbles, “I can’t swim.”

“What?” Kurt calls up and Blaine’s head drops lower; he feels perfectly humiliated.

“I can’t swim!”

It’s silent for a moment and Blaine closes his eyes in dread.

“...you’re joshing me!”

Kurt sounds so honestly surprised that Blaine lifts his head and turns to glare down at him.

“No!” He calls back and then sighs. “I’ve never had reason to learn.” And, to be perfectly honest, Blaine had never thought he’d find a reason. Yet here he is, watching Kurt bob in the water feet below him and wishing he knew.

“So... You’re afraid you’ll drown?” Kurt asks, as if the concept is novel to him. Blaine snorts.

“That’s the general concern, yes, considering I’ll sink like a stone.”

“You honestly think I’d let you drown?”

Blaine looks down at where Kurt is in the water, hesitating. No, he doesn’t think Kurt would ever let him drown.

I won’t let you fall.

“Blaine...” Kurt’s voice is softer now and Blaine can hardly hear him over the sound of the falls. “Life is supposed to be full of risks. That’s what makes it life. What are you living if you never take any?”

They keep eye contact and then Blaine nods, sitting back and pulling off his shoes. He doesn’t look to see if Kurt is watching him undress-he can only imagine the mortification he’d feel if he was-and sets his things back near Kurt’s immaculately folded clothing. He approaches the edge of the rock, the stone surprisingly warm beneath his bare feet, and stares down at Kurt in the water.

“You promise?” Blaine asks nervously and Kurt-face flushed, mouth slightly parted-shakes himself and then calmly meets Blaine’s eyes.

“As long as I live.”

Blaine nods, takes a deep breath, and feels like his jump off the rock is a leap of faith.

The water is cold and more solid than he thought it would be, and when he hits it, he immediately becomes frantic, trying to get his head back out of the water and gasping as his limbs flail. The water is thick around him and enveloping and he’s going to drown, Blaine is going to die, he’s going to-

“Calm down.”

Kurt is there, drawing him close until Blaine’s back is pressed to his chest and he’s no longer thrashing. Blaine stops feeling like he’s sinking and he starts to breathe again, slow and even, safe with the feel of Kurt’s fingers on his hips and the warmth and solidity of Kurt’s body behind him.

“You did it,” Kurt says into his ear, his breath hot against the shell and Blaine shudders-knows that Kurt can feel it with how closely together they’re pressed.

“I did it,” Blaine repeats, his own voice astonished where Kurt’s was proud.

“Relax, okay? I’m going to turn you around.”

Blaine nods and Kurt moves one hand to take hold of Blaine’s. He doesn’t turn Blaine the way Blaine expects-slow, careful, precise-but spins Blaine around almost like they’re dancing. Blaine yelps, hands quickly grasping at Kurt’s shoulders as Kurt laughs.

“Not funny!” But Blaine can’t hold his glare for long, dissolving into a smile. His heart beats loudly in his chest as he holds onto Kurt’s shoulders-strong, just like he’d imagined-and Kurt’s arms work back and forth like clockwork to keep them afloat.

“Kick your legs,” Kurt says softly, and Blaine can feel Kurt’s feet and calves and thighs brush against his own as they move back and forth. Blaine mimics him and feels himself become lighter in the water-not a stone, not at all.

“Look at you, swimming.”

“I’d hardly call this swimming,” Blaine replies, looking down at the water between them. It’s dark but he can still see the flash of their legs now and again.

“You shouldn’t do that,” Kurt says, voice quiet. Blaine looks up and is taken aback by how close they are. They’ve spent hours, days, weeks together, but they’ve never been this close. Blaine’s never touched this much of Kurt’s bare skin or been so close that their noses are nearly touching. He can clearly see all the freckles that cover Kurt’s face, all the different colors in Kurt’s eyes as they stare into Blaine’s.

Blaine has spent a lot of time with Kurt and with Kurt’s family, but he knows that this look is only for him. Kurt doesn’t look at anyone else this way. Only Blaine.

“Do what?” Blaine asks, just as quiet.

“Take things away from yourself.” Kurt’s voice dips lower, like he’s confiding a secret. “If something is yours, Blaine... Take it.” Kurt’s eyes are intent and Blaine feels his mouth go dry, suddenly captivated by the way the water clumps Kurt’s eyelashes and the way Kurt’s shoulders shift with movement beneath his fingers. He hears Kurt’s own breath catch slightly and Blaine’s heart is so loud it’s beating in his ears.

“Let me show you something.” And, just like that, the spell is broken again. Blaine blinks himself out of it and wonders if maybe there is magic involved. “Do you trust me?” Kurt asks, biting his lip and looking at Blaine like he’s holding Kurt’s heart and could so easily break it.

Blaine doesn’t hesitate when he breathes out a quiet, “Of course.”

Kurt smiles like sunshine.

“Let go and lean back.”

Blaine pauses for just a moment and then does just that, feels one of Kurt’s hands on his hip, reassuring and strong and keeping him safe. He breathes, slow and purposeful, as he leans backwards, and Kurt shifts until he’s beside Blaine.

“Let your legs come up.”

He’s confused-his legs belong beneath him, in the water, moving and keeping him up. But he trusts Kurt, knows that he’s right there, and stops moving his legs and kicks them out in front of him until he’s completely horizontal on the water’s surface. He expects them to fall back down, for his body to right itself, but he stays afloat.

“You’re floating.”

Blaine smiles at the sky above him, closes his eyes and revels in how light he feels. The water cradles him, hugging up around his ankles and his ears and his cheeks and Blaine knows that maybe he should feel terrified. But Kurt’s hand is there, pressed into the small of his back.

Kurt makes him feel safe.

It’s dark and Lima’s single bar is full of boisterous laughter and clouds of cigar smoke. Men holler and joke, sloshing alcohol on tables, chairs, and well-meaning bar patrons. Some of the men talk about the continued search for “that Anderson boy,” spinning tales about runaways going to the big cities, and devils and demons that haunt the forest and lure well-to-do children away from their homes.

Amidst all of this, Finn sits at a game table and blocks everything out but the bottom of his tankard and the cards in his hand. The men around him buzz with conversation, but are too drunk or too preoccupied to pay attention to the stranger.

Finn’s well aware that he shouldn’t be there, but things at home are getting to be too much. With each passing day, his family trusts Blaine more and more. Truly, Finn can find no fault with the boy other than the way that Kurt looks at him. He knows better than anyone how dangerous that look is, not for him or their family, but for Kurt.

Kurt knows it, too. He was there to watch a look like that tear Finn apart and not even time can heal a wound so deep. And Finn has had a lot of time.

He’s home less and less, avoiding his ma’s worried looks and Burt’s disapproving ones. He sweeps the forest, keeping track of the search party that still searches for Blaine. It’s dwindled; fewer and fewer men coming to Mr. Anderson’s aid, the more time passes. Still, Finn does his duty and creates fake trails, covering the ones that could lead to the danger of discovery. He keeps an eye on Kurt and Blaine, but Kurt has always been thorough; no trails left, nothing left behind. It’s a game they’ve been playing for far too long.

Finn stares into his empty cup and feels all the years he carries settle onto his shoulders.

“Game, gentlemen.” He lays down his cards and the man behind him scowls, throwing his own cards down on the table and signaling a barmaid in hopes that alcohol might soothe his disgruntled state. Finn sweeps the money towards him when a hand lands on his arm.

“Third hand you’ve won in a row,” the man slurs suspiciously, and Finn just nods.

“Mighty right of you. Now if you’d be so kind as to let go of me.”

But the man’s hand clamps down even tighter.

“You’re a right cheat, that’s what you are. Like hell I’m letting some boy-” The man shakes at his arm and Finn stands abruptly, toppling the chair he was sitting in and pushing the man roughly off him. The man stumbles and then charges back, but before Finn can even get a good swing in, both he and the other man are being restrained.

“I don’t allow troublemakers in my bar!” The barkeep yells, and he’s the one holding Finn back. He could easily pull himself away from the man, but he doesn’t, glaring at the other patrons as he’s led from the bar. His winnings-all his winnings-are left behind and he grumbles to himself, kicking at one of the posts outside. He groans, rubbing his forehead and then sighing deeply, resigning himself to finding Hutch and heading home to sleep off the beers he shouldn’t have been drinking.

As he rides out, he doesn’t see the man who tails him, walking calmly until he sees Finn disappear into the woods. He peers out from beneath his yellow hat and grins, walking away with a whistle on his lips.

The night is warm and they are long since dry, but Blaine helps Kurt build a fire atop one of the rocks and they dress and watch the stars blink to life. Blaine’s toes curl pleasantly from the warmth of the fire as he sits, back pressed to a rock and Kurt beside him, and he remembers being very young and running barefoot across manicured lawns.

It’s quiet around them save the subtle sounds of the forest and the water; occasionally, they’ll get the hoot of an owl or the howl of a wolf far in the distance. As the night grows deeper, the air fills with the sounds of crickets and frogs, bringing the forest to life. They don’t speak, not then; their days can be filled with chatter, but Blaine is also used to their silences-comfortable, light silences.

Instead he listens, content to have Kurt silent beside him.

“It’s like music, isn’t it?” Kurt says quietly as they listen, and Blaine closes his eyes and smiles. He stands abruptly and Kurt looks up at him, confused, but Blaine only holds his hands out. Kurt takes them without question, standing as well, and Blaine watches the firelight cast shadows across Kurt’s face.

“What are we doing?” Kurt asks as Blaine pulls him away from the overhang and out into the open. The light from the fire stretches in a comfortable circle and their bare feet move easily on the rock.

“It’s music. What do you do when there’s music?” Blaine twirls Kurt around, copying what they’d done earlier in the water. “You dance.”

Kurt laughs and Blaine twists them around. There’s hardly a beat aside from the slap of their feet against stone, but it doesn’t matter. They dance, hands joined, switching from a foxtrot to a waltz to absolutely nothing at all until their own laughter covers up any of the sounds they’d been hearing before.

By the end of it-the end being when they’re laughing too hard and are too breathless to continue-they cling to one another, shaking with laughter, and Blaine feels absolutely wonderful. When Kurt looks at him there’s such happiness in his eyes that Blaine feels like he might melt from the warmth of it all.

They stare at one another and something changes in Kurt’s face-like he’s changed his mind about something or has come to some sort of decision.

“Blaine.” His voice is quiet, but there’s something else to it. Something akin to determination and, beneath that, unmistakable fear. The happiness that had flooded his eyes disappears and all Blaine can see there now is sadness. He’s only seen Kurt look this sad once before, and Kurt had quickly hidden that part away from him. And now he’s here, laying himself bare for only Blaine to see, under the intimate glow of firelight. Blaine’s heart jumps into his throat.

“What is it?” Blaine asks, and he stills as Kurt’s fingers come up to his face. The tips skim along his cheek and then he’s pushing some of Blaine’s curls away and off his forehead, the gesture timid and unsure. Blaine holds his breath and waits, marveling at the simple touch and how painfully it winds the tightness in his chest.

“I need to tell you something,” Kurt whispers, and his voice wavers. Blaine longs to reassure him, to pull him close and tell him that whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is, it’s okay. Whatever it is, Blaine doesn’t care. Whatever it is, nothing between them will change. But he does none of these things. He stands there and waits for Kurt to find his voice again.

“How much do you know of the world, Blaine?” Kurt asks; he always asks the big questions first-questions that Blaine never has an answer to.

“Very little.” It had once made him feel ashamed of himself and the life he’s led, but there’s more to his life now. There’s Kurt singing the songs of the gondoliers in flawless Italian, stories of huge ships traveling the ocean and how New York City could make even a giant feel small and insignificant. There are things like, “wait until you see Paris covered in snow” and “Rome will take your breath away; it’s a piece of art all its own.” There are silent somedays and quiet promises that neither of them put words to, but they’re words that make Blaine dream again.

“Kurt?” Blaine prompts after minutes pass in silence.

“Do you remember how I said I was different, Blaine?”

Blaine nods; Kurt is different, and he would know that even if Kurt didn’t seem so intent on repeating himself, telling Blaine again and again, as if it’s the most important thing about him. He’d said before that Blaine might be different, too, and the knowledge that Blaine wasn’t an exact replica of every other socially privileged boy his age had been a reassurance he hadn’t known he needed.

“When you go back...” Kurt pauses and Blaine sucks in a breath; they don’t talk about Blaine going back, have skirted the subject for weeks, and Kurt can’t even look at Blaine as he speaks. Blaine watches Kurt’s face turn pained. “When you go back, one day you’ll be a husband. And a father.” Kurt takes a large breath and Blaine tries not to think of the picture Kurt is trying to paint him this time-he doesn’t want to see it. “I’ll never be those things, Blaine.”

Blaine doesn’t understand.

“I’ll never have a wife, and I’ll never have children, because I’m different.”

Before, when Kurt would say he was different, it was always a little sad and yet had been said with a sense of confidence and pride. Now, it’s said with venom, as if different is the worst thing Kurt could be.

Blaine doesn’t want to imagine a world where Kurt is anything but what he is right in this moment.

“Do you know what homosexuality is, Blaine?” The word is bitter as it comes from Kurt’s mouth, sounding strange and foreign.

Blaine remembers back to his Latin lessons, eyes squinted, but ultimately shakes his head; Kurt laughs bitterly and harshly says, “Of course.”

But the frustration and anger fades, the fight fading and leaving Kurt with heavy shoulders and a dipped head. Blaine worries for a moment that he’s going to pitch forward and collapse, but he doesn’t. He continues to stare down, his hands curled loosely around Blaine’s elbows.

“I don’t think anyone knows. People think, they have theories. I’ve read papers, been... Been everywhere, looking for answers. People call it a sin and a crime. It’s an abomination and a disease, a sickness that can be cured. That it’s wrong.” Kurt’s folding in on himself, one arm moving to clutch across his chest in an almost desperate fashion as the other keeps hold of Blaine’s elbow.

“Then what is it?” Blaine asks quietly and Kurt lifts his head. He doesn’t look so scared now, and Blaine can practically see him swallow down any hope that might have been sparking inside of him. Hope for what, though?

“To me... It’s falling in love.” Kurt’s hand tightens around Blaine’s elbow and Blaine’s breathing turns shallow. “But not the way other people fall in love, I...” Kurt licks his lips and stares at Blaine, and he looks so frightened that it hurts Blaine to see it. “I don’t... Love women, Blaine.” Their eyes lock and and Kurt’s breath seems to stutter out of him, like he’s moments away from tears. “I love other men,” he whispers, eyes desperate and searching Blaine’s frantically.

Searching for what, Blaine doesn’t know, only that there seems to be a crash of silence over him, as if someone has stuck his head under water. He stares at Kurt, can feel his heart beating in his chest, and Kurt stares back, his face broken open completely now to let Blaine see, to let Blaine in.

Kurt’s hand moves up and he hesitantly touches Blaine’s cheek-this time, it feels like lightning.

“I...” Kurt’s voice is low, rough, shaky. “I want to... To hold other men close. To kiss them... Kiss them goodnight, and good morning, and kiss them simply because I can. I want... To show them Paris when it snows.” Kurt steps closer but Blaine doesn’t look away from his eyes, can hardly breathe. “I want to take them to the Eiffel Tower and we’ll climb every stair to the top.”

“Sixteen hundred and fifty two,” Blaine whispers and Kurt’s lips spread into a shaky smile.

“Sixteen hundred and fifty two.” He waits, his thumb sliding carefully over Blaine’s cheekbone. “...do you think I’m sick?”

The question shocks Blaine more than anything else Kurt has just told him. He thinks about Kurt, the Kurt he knows better than he knows himself. The Kurt who whistles while he bakes and carves swans into pieces of wood as if he was drawing on paper. The Kurt who refuses to help his father fish but lets cherries dye his skin purple and red as he fixes them into a pie with a smile. He thinks about the Kurt who stands on top of the world, backlit by the sun, and looks more beautiful than anything else. He thinks about the sweetness of Kurt’s smile and the way his laugh fills him up, how he falls asleep every night to the lull of Kurt’s voice, how empty his hand feels when their fingers aren’t laced together.

Blaine thinks about all of the things Kurt just said and how badly he wants for them.

But he can’t speak, doesn’t trust himself, and he shakes his head very carefully.

There’s hope again, sparking to life in Kurt’s eyes, and suddenly Blaine can feel the brush of Kurt’s breath against his lips, the tips of their noses touching. He stops, looking at Blaine, uncertain, and so Blaine does the only thing he can think of doing-he closes his eyes, feels Kurt suck in a sharp breath, and then there’s the dry brush of lips against his own.

His whole body feels rocked by even this simplest of touches, and his eyes open to see the brightness of Kurt’s eyes staring at him, shining like stars as the fire reflects in them. He doesn’t move and neither does Blaine, locked in one another’s gazes, Blaine afraid of breaking the spell this time-he wants it to stay.

“Was that all right?” Kurt asks, voice shuddery and warm against Blaine’s lips. Blaine’s lips part, intent on words, but then he’s pressing up and kissing Kurt again.

Blaine can feel the way Kurt’s body relaxes, how he presses back into the kiss, and Blaine tries not to think about how this is his first kiss. Well, he thinks, trying not smile, second kiss. Kurt’s hand slides into his curls and grips them, pulling Blaine closer, and Blaine feels like he’s been unfrozen.

His hands find Kurt’s waist and hold, tugging him closer, and it’s suddenly like everything he’s been feeling since he saw Kurt in the woods for the first time makes sense. Relief and understanding floods through him and he tugs Kurt even closer-he can’t be close enough-until  their chests are pressed together.

“Blaine.” Kurt’s voice is hardly more than a breath as they break apart, but then Blaine is kissing Kurt again. Kurt lets out a sound of surprise, his arms winding around Blaine’s neck as he sinks into the kiss. But Kurt breaks away, trying to get Blaine’s attention, except that Blaine kisses him again; catches kisses on the corner of Kurt’s mouth until they slide together, hits their noses again until they turn and find the right angle.

Blaine doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stop kissing Kurt now that he has-now that he knows that he can.

“Blaine,” Kurt repeats, his voice stronger, and he’s laughing, and Blaine really needs to kiss him again-only Kurt pulls away and stops him.

“No,” Blaine says without meaning to and he watches Kurt’s already flushed face darken. He blinks his eyes, clearing the haze that kissing had put there, and notices how red Kurt’s lips have become and how his eyes have gone considerably darker. It just makes him want to lean in again, unfurls an insistent warmth low in his abdomen that he wants to satiate. Kurt ducks down to press one more quick kiss to Blaine’s lips and then he’s stepping back, laughing as Blaine grabs at his shirt and tries to keep him close.

“I...” Kurt stops, touching his face and he’s laughing, and Blaine doesn’t know how he didn’t understand before-how he didn’t see, when Kurt has always been this beautiful. Blaine can only wonder what’s going through Kurt’s head at that moment. He’s always known he’s been this way, and Blaine is just beginning to understand. He remembers the broken look in Kurt’s eyes as he’d told Blaine and he wants to wrap him up in his arms, to assure him as if their bruised lips aren’t assurance enough.

Kurt looks at Blaine, his eyes glassy with unshed tears, but his smile unrestrained and beaming. His mouth moves, but every time he attempts to talk, he splutters, laughs, wipes at his eyes. And then he’ll look at Blaine, his body loose with relief. Blaine can’t stop himself from walking towards him and pulling him into a crushing hug.

“I-” Kurt buries his face in the crook of Blaine’s neck and Blaine holds him, slides one of his hands into Kurt’s soft hair. The affectionate kisses he touches to Kurt’s forehead and temple come without thought; they’re natural, as if Blaine has always done such things. “I was so afraid, I thought you would...”

Blaine hugs Kurt tighter and feels his hands grip fiercely at the back of Blaine’s shirt. He can’t imagine what Kurt thought he would do or what kind of pain it might have caused him. Did Kurt expect him to run away? To sneer and be disgusted? To forget everything, to forget Kurt, and replace every single flutter of his heart with distance and hate?

It occurs to Blaine that Kurt’s fears must not be unfounded and he wants to keep Kurt there in his arms, forever, protected from the world that hates him. A world that will hate Blaine now, too.

“Blaine?” Kurt whispers, when he’s done shaking and his breathing is regular again. Blaine pulls back and he moves his hand slowly, brushing his fingertips across the contours of Kurt’s face in a way he would sometimes think about and then scold himself for. Kurt’s eyes flutter at the touch and he leans into it, smiling, but there’s still a sadness there. “I have one more thing to tell you.”

“Okay.” Whatever it is, Blaine knows it won’t change anything. Not now. He’d needed Kurt before, but now he knows that nothing will tear them apart.

“No more secrets after this,” Kurt promises, eyes earnest. Blaine nods. Kurt slips reluctantly from his arms and leads Blaine back towards where they’d been sitting before. The fire has banked lower, but it’s still warm and they sit close together. Kurt twists to face Blaine and takes Blaine’s hands, lacing their fingers together and smiling shakily. Blaine brushes his thumb over Kurt’s knuckles, as if trying to reassure him, but it doesn’t seem to help.

“Do you remember when I told you I was a hundred and four?” Kurt asks. Blaine’s face pinches in confusion and he casts back, back to those first days, and tries to remember. A joke, brushed aside and forgotten, but he remembers now. He nods. Kurt holds his eyes and says, with all seriousness, “I wasn’t being funny, Blaine. I am a hundred and four years old.” There’s no humor in Kurt’s face. “It’s the absolute honest truth.”

Blaine’s eyebrows scrunch down again.

“What do you mean?” That’s not... It’s not possible.

“I mean... I’m going to live forever.” He grips Blaine’s hands tighter. “I can’t... I can’t die.”

“That...” Blaine blinks and shakes his head. “That’s not possible.”

Kurt smiles wryly, staring at their linked hands as if they’re the only thing keeping Blaine beside him.

“Do you remember that tree? From the day we first met?”

Blaine nods.

“Do you remember the spring? And the water I wouldn’t let you drink?”

Of course he does. That was the day they met, the day that Blaine’s entire life changed. He nods again.

“That water isn’t poisoned, there aren’t toads in it, but... But there’s something wrong with it, Blaine.” Kurt doesn’t look up at him, but traces patterns into the skin on the back of his hand and holds tightly. “Pa, Carole, Finn, me... We all drank from it. We’re all the same. We’ll... We don’t change. It’s been eighty six years, and I... No wrinkles, no grey hairs, not even a scar to show for it.” His voice gets rough as if voicing these things is reason enough to cry. “As far as I know, as any of us know... I-I’ll be eighteen until the end of the world,” Kurt whispers.

Blaine can’t fathom it. He can’t fathom all of this on top of everything else and he feels like he’s being split in two. He wishes Kurt would have waited, but what time is a good time to tell someone that you’re never going to die? What opportunity is right to tell someone that you’ll never age?

He doesn’t know how long he’s been looking into the fire when Kurt squeezes his hands and says, “Please say something.”

How can you not die? Are you human? What does this mean for me? What does this mean for us?

“I-” Blaine’s voice sticks in his throat, but he at least turns back to look at Kurt. “I don’t know what to say.” Kurt chews his lip and nods-small, tiny, consecutive nods, and then he sits straighter and draws his shoulders back, the way he does whenever he’s trying to appear stronger than he really is.

“Maybe I should tell you the story from the beginning?” Kurt asks, and Blaine nods, waiting. Kurt’s eyes stay on his, but they turn distant and slightly unfocused as he draws up the memories. Blaine can hardly remember things from ten years ago, he can’t imagine trying to look back eighty-six years.

“We’d been traveling... I don’t remember for how long, only that we were looking to settle. The woods weren’t quite so thick as they are now and Lima... Well, Lima didn’t exist at all. I don’t know how we found the spring, reckon the sound of water drew us near. We all had a drink-even Hutch. But not the cat.” Kurt smiles wryly. “That’s important.

“It... I couldn’t tell you what it tastes like, Blaine. It tastes like nothing you’ve ever tasted before, like no water is supposed to taste. Pa, he carved the H into the tree so we could always find our way back to it. Then, we continued westward.

“Pa built a house, a different house, the first one. We’ve lived here a long time, but... But not always.” He falls silent for a moment, seeming to struggle, and Blaine grasps his hands reassuringly. Kurt flashes him a strained, but thankful smile.

“It wasn’t long before we realized something had happened to us, something was... Was wrong. I was up in that tree, the big one right by the house. I couldn’t tell you why I was up there, but... I fell.” Kurt’s voice goes quiet. “Snapped my neck.”

Blaine gasps and Kurt winces.

“Pa... He was running to me. Carole was crying. But then I... I was standing up again before Pa had even reached me.” His voice is shaking and Blaine fights the urge to pull him close, to tell him to stop, but he knows that he needs to hear it. He knows that Kurt has to tell him. “I can’t die, Blaine. I can’t get sick, I can’t grow old. I wonder sometimes what would happen if I drowned, if there was no air to breathe; what would happen to me then? But I... I wouldn’t even be able to feel it...”

Blaine remembers his hands, covered in cuts from a knife and how much they’d stung.

“It wasn’t just me. Hutch, he... Was out grazing and some men thought he was a deer.” Kurt lets out a dry laugh. “Shot him. Only... He didn’t die. Didn’t even scar. Startled and ran. Then Carole, she got bitten by a snake-a rattler. She didn’t die, neither. None of us knew what was happening, but it wasn’t long before Pa realized it was the spring. We’d all had a drink, it made the most sense at the time. And Pa decided we’d keep it a secret, wouldn’t tell anybody, that it was too dangerous. And that seemed to be that.

“You aren’t the first person to know, Blaine.”

Blaine blinks in surprise and feels something close to cruel disappointment inside of him. It’s still just the four of them, and if there’d been someone they’d told before...

“Finn, he... He fell in love.” Kurt smiles sadly. “Her name was Quinn and the prettiest girl I ever saw, Blaine.” But he squeezes Blaine’s hand, as if reminding him where his true interests lie. “They married, and Pa and I helped Finn build them a house not too far away. We spent so much time there, especially when the children came.”

Blaine’s breathing nearly stops. Children. Finn was a father.

“Annabelle... And Christopher. Finn loved them with all his heart. I loved them.” Kurt begins to blink rapidly. “I used to... Used to sing them to sleep sometimes. I’d hold Christopher and hum, and Quinn, she’d...”

“Kurt,” Blaine whispers, his voice breaking at the amount of sorrow laced in Kurt’s words. Kurt stops speaking, taking a few moments to compose himself, attempting to wipe at his eyes without Blaine noticing and failing horribly.

“Finn, he couldn’t bear the thought of watching his family grow old. He begged Pa, begged him night and day so that he could tell Quinn about the spring. We were all there that day, sitting in their living room. I still remember the look of horror on Quinn’s face. She yelled, screamed, called us... Monsters, demons. Thought we’d sold our souls to the devil himself. Then... She left. Took Anna and Christopher with her. Took the parts of Finn that mattered and left behind his shell.”

“Everything changed then. There was talk of witchcraft, black magic. Men came on horses and burned our houses to the ground, and we... We barely got away. That’s when Finn left. Left for years before we saw him again... All of us still the same. Except the cat... Died of old age,” Kurt says, laughing humorlessly. “I never heard what happened to Quinn, or to Anna and Christopher, but we never saw or heard from them again. Finn, he couldn’t stay here long, and I decided to go with him-look after him and see the world at the same time. Maybe find the things I’ve always wanted, too.”

Kurt’s voice fades into the crackle of the fire and they sit in silence, hands held so tightly that Blaine can hardly feel his but he doesn’t let go. He won’t let go, no matter what.

“You’re the first person I’ve ever told.” Kurt looks at Blaine, voice dropped in a hush. “That you didn’t... You didn’t run, that you aren’t looking at me like I’m... Like I’m not human.” Blaine feels guilt at even thinking it before, but of course Kurt is human. He’s silent, but he lifts one of their joined hands and presses it just over Kurt’s heart.

“I’d say that makes you pretty human.”

Kurt makes a choked sound, closing his eyes. Blaine thinks of how much he’s seen in those eyes and how much it makes sense. He thinks of the way Finn skirts around him, always looking sad and drawn. Finn had someone and he’d lost them; how long ago was that? Had he outlived his own wife and children?

Kurt’s hands slip from Blaine’s and, before he can protest, he’s holding his arms open. Blaine thinks it’s backwards-that after everything, he should be holding Kurt. But he goes to him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist and pressing his face against Kurt’s neck. He feels Kurt’s cheek press against his hair, fingers trailing up and down his spine.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt whispers.

“What for?”

“For kissing you before you knew what I was.”

Blaine draws back and meets Kurt’s eyes, and then leans in very decidedly and kisses him. Kurt kisses back more fiercely than he did before and Blaine can practically taste his fear and desperation, but he gives back as good as he’s getting. It’s too much and there are times when Blaine can taste more-can feel Kurt’s hot breath against his mouth or the careful tip of his tongue brushing along his bottom lip. But it slows, slows and slows until they’re just sitting there, foreheads pressed together and wrapped in each other’s arms.

“You’re Kurt,” Blaine says, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You’re Kurt, and that’s all that matters to me.”



i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii.