Everlasting: viii.

[michellemabelle]

Blaine isn’t sure what it says about him as a son that he didn’t expect his coming home to be anything like this; he didn’t expect his father to hold him close the whole ride back to the house, or for his mother to cry, pet his hair, kiss his dirty cheek, and make no comment about the state of his appearance or his less than perfect posture. Blaine hadn’t expected his parents to miss him, and he had obviously been very wrong.

He’s grateful that they don’t seem to expect much back from him. He’s limp in their hugs and his face is blank-he can still see the flames when he closes his eyes, can still see Carole’s crying face and hear Kurt calling his name. It hurts, but he doesn’t cry anymore. He feels numb as his parents fuss over him and talk at him too quickly for him to understand.

Had his old life always happened at such a rapid pace?

It makes him feel tired, like he’s hiking through the forest for the first time again. He’s not used to it anymore and he longs for the quiet life he had learned in the shadows of the trees.

Their reunion, however, is short-lived. A man has died and two people have been arrested. Sheriff Pierce looms in the entryway to the parlor and twists his hat in his hands. He’s sandwiched between his parents as they ask him questions, but he looks no higher than the Sheriff’s shoulder and doesn’t speak.

“Do you know their names, Mr. Anderson?”

“Do you know why they took you?”

“Did they hurt you?”

“Did you see them kill Mr. Smythe?”

Blaine is asked a lot of questions, but he doesn’t shake or nod his head in response. His mother is fussing over him again, worried, and it isn’t long before she’s asking Sheriff Pierce to leave.

“He’s been through an ordeal, Sheriff. Maybe let him have a few days at home? Until he feels safe again?”

His parents don’t mind when Blaine goes to his room and stays there. He wonders what happened to them while he was gone. He wonders why his father isn’t working, and why his mother hasn’t pushed him into a new set of clothes and already stitched him right back into the life he’d led before. But he’s grateful for the solitude.

He bathes and washes weeks’ worth of dirt (how long had they said he been gone? seven weeks?) off his skin. He has night clothes and a whole wardrobe at his disposal, but he slips into breeches and a shirt because it’s what’s most familiar to him now. He rescues the handkerchief from his pocket, before the maids can take the clothes away (and they’re probably unsalvageable, so Blaine doubts he’ll ever see them again) and then curls up by his bedroom window.

With the soft fabric that still smells so vividly of Kurt, Blaine stares out at the forest and tries not to think about everything he has lost.

Blaine doesn’t leave his room for days. His mother comes and sees him, kisses and hugs him far more often than she ever has, and his father never appears to leave the house. They talk to him, convince him to sit at the table for meals and even to have tea with them, but Blaine’s old life of structure and masks and too many social events doesn’t make a reappearance. For the most part, his parents leave him to his own devices.

He doesn’t try to go outside. He knows the moment he does, his illusion of freedom will be shattered.

It’s late and Blaine hasn’t managed more than a fitful sleep in the handful of nights since he’s returned home. Every night, he resigns himself to staring at the ceiling while he lies in bed (so much softer than the bench he’d become accustomed to) and waits until he’s too exhausted to keep his eyes open any longer.

That’s when the tap at the window comes.

Blaine sits up abruptly, heart suddenly pounding in his chest as his head snaps towards the sound. He isn’t sure if it’s fear that makes his blood race through him, but it quickly shifts into overwhelmed disbelief as Blaine takes in the face outlined by the light of the moon beyond the glass-Kurt.

He doesn’t even give himself time to let it sink in-he doesn’t sit there and stare and hope it’s not a dream. Blaine throws his thick down comforter away from his body and hurries towards the window. Kurt ducks away for a moment as he swings it open, and then he’s there again, climbing over Blaine’s window sill.

Kurt hardly has his feet on the floor before Blaine is launching himself into Kurt’s arms. He scolds Blaine softly (“Please don’t push me out the window; I know I could just get up and do it all over again, but that trellis isn’t very easy to climb.”) but holds him back just as tightly, pressing soft kisses to the side of Blaine’s face and jaw.

Blaine feels the hot threat of tears again, after so many days where he’s felt like he may never cry again. Because Kurt is here, he isn’t gone, this isn’t the end.

“Shh, shh,” Kurt soothes him, and Blaine knows he’s right. The house is silent and everyone is asleep, but that doesn’t mean they can be loud. Blaine’s mother will surely hear him if he starts sobbing, especially given the nightmares he’s been having. Blaine nods, trying to calm his shuddering breaths, and once he gets over the initial shock, it’s surprisingly easy. Blaine had thought that he’d fall to pieces if he ever had the chance to feel Kurt’s arms around him again, but the touch calms him. Kurt keeps him together, instead.

“I thought...” Blaine whispers, and Kurt nods. The sentence goes unfinished, but they both know the end of it. “What happens now?” He asks, scared of the answer. Kurt pulls away, just enough so that he can see Blaine’s face again. His hand comes to curl around Blaine’s cheek and Blaine leans into the touch, feeling desperate even as he stares into the pools of Kurt’s eyes and feels the reassuring press of Kurt’s body.

“I don’t know,” Kurt admits. “Burt and Carole have been arrested, and Finn and I have been lying low.” His fingers scratch back and forth against Blaine’s hairline. “But we’ll figure something out soon.” He smiles, but it doesn’t touch his eyes. “We always do.”

Blaine nods, because he doesn’t know what else to do, his mind lost in the touch of Kurt’s fingers as they smooth over his temple. They’re silent, stuck staring into each other’s eyes, when suddenly, Blaine can’t take it anymore. He surges forward, pressing his mouth insistently to Kurt’s as his arms tighten their hold around Kurt’s back. Kurt makes a small sound of surprise against Blaine’s lips before he melts into the kiss, fingers tilting Blaine’s head until their mouths fit together perfectly.

So far, their kisses have hardly been more than mouths sealed together, lips sliding along lips until they were both breathless. There had been hints of more, promises of things that Blaine knew little about but longed for just the same, but nothing that either of them had dared to explore.

Now, their reservations are gone.

Blaine feels Kurt’s mouth part against his and a jolt shoots up his spine as Kurt’s tongue swipes along his lower lip. Kurt does it again and this time Blaine moans low in his throat, crowding closer to Kurt until they’re pressed together.

But then Kurt is pulling back, gasping.

“Blaine-”

Blaine tries to move in again but Kurt shakes his head.

“Blaine, the window.”

He notices, then, how Kurt’s pressed up against the sill and he pulls back, blushing in embarrassment. But Kurt catches his chin before he can dip away, kissing Blaine’s cheek with a soft brush of his lips.

“You’re adorable,” he whispers and Blaine’s blush only darkens.

“How long can you stay?” He asks, his voice surprisingly throaty, and Kurt pulls back, looking unsure.

“I... I was just coming to see you, I shouldn’t-”

“Kurt.” Blaine’s voice is quiet and desperate. “Would you... Would you stay with me?” Kurt has to stay. Blaine doesn’t know when they’ll ever have the chance to be together again and he wants to make use of every second Kurt is able to give him. Kurt hesitates, glancing at the window and then at the clock ticking away on Blaine’s bookshelf, before he acquiesces.

“I’ll need to leave before sunup,” he tells Blaine, and Blaine nods. That gives them a few hours, which is more than Blaine ever thought they’d have again.

He slips his hands into Kurt’s and takes a step back, leading them further into the room and away from the window.

“Lie with me?” Blaine asks, and Kurt smiles softly, nodding. He lets Blaine lead him to the bed before stopping to remove his shoes and overshirt. Kurt pauses then, fingers held over the laces of his trousers. He looks up at Blaine, who is in nothing but his own breeches and nightshirt, and Blaine nods with a small, embarrassed smile.

Kurt lays his clothing carefully over a chair and then Blaine pulls him down onto the bed; they come together immediately, arms wrapping around one another. Kurt seems to sink into the mattress, fingers petting at the down comforter, and he looks at Blaine in amusement.

“I don’t know how you ever slept on that bench if this is what you’re accustomed to,” Kurt says in wonder.

“I’d sleep on that bench for the rest of my life, if it meant having you there with me,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt turns to look at him in surprise. Blaine feels a flare of embarrassment once he realizes exactly what he’s said, but Kurt is dipping in and kissing him gently.

“I wouldn’t let you sleep on a bench that long.” Kurt’s eyes sparkle with amusement in the darkness and Blaine muffles his laughter in his pillow. It’s amazing how much he’s feeling after days of feeling absolutely nothing. It doesn’t seem like his whole world has crashed down around him, not now, not with Kurt right there in his arms.

“I was trying to be romantic,” Blaine grumbles and Kurt just smiles at him adoringly.

“You don’t need to try.” His fingers dance across Blaine’s face again and Blaine watches the way Kurt’s eyes trace the movement. Blaine reaches up and catches Kurt’s hand, surprising him, and then brings each fingertip to his mouth and kisses them gently.

“See?” Kurt gasps. “You don’t need to try at all.”

Blaine grins against Kurt’s skin, kissing his fingers one more time as they brush back and forth against his lips.

“I want to try,” he murmurs, gazing at Kurt through his eyelashes. “I want to try for you.” Kurt’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything, just stares at Blaine as if he’s at a complete loss for words. Blaine wonders if, in as long as Kurt has been alive, he’s ever been in love before-if someone else has loved Kurt before. The idea makes jealousy flare in his chest and he swallows it down; after all, Kurt deserves to be loved. Sweet, amazing, wonderful, funny, compassionate, beautiful Kurt.

Blaine thinks of all the times he’d told himself to not look. He thinks of all the times he’d admired the way Kurt’s eyelashes would fan against his cheeks or how much he loved the smile Kurt would get when Blaine was being particularly hopeless at something. And Blaine hates himself, just a little bit, for stopping. For not letting himself look and feel and realize what he hadn’t known then was possible.

Blaine had always dreamed of falling in love, but he’d never let himself think that he could fall in love with Kurt-that he was allowed to fall in love with Kurt.

And he hates himself because he did, anyway, and it took him so very long to understand it.

Blaine doesn’t know when he’ll see Kurt again. Everything they’d planned now seems impossible and the future is uncertain. He’s tired of wasting time.

Blaine reaches up his own hand to touch Kurt’s face, and Kurt’s fingers still against Blaine’s lips. He traces the smattering of freckles over Kurt’s cheek and the strong line of his jaw, dragging his thumb over Kurt’s lower lip and feeling him gasp against it. With their fingertips pressed to each other’s mouths, Blaine feels like they’re holding in each other’s secrets.

“I love you,” Blaine whispers fervently, eyes trained on Kurt’s and lips brushing against the pads of Kurt’s fingers. Kurt blinks quickly, breath escaping him rapid and warm against Blaine’s skin. Blaine wonders if maybe he should feel nervous, or scared, or however people tend to feel when they confess their feelings for someone.

But he feels full-brimming with a wonderful feeling and it tingles in his throat and he wants to say it again. He wants to say it hundreds, thousands, millions of times, until the words don’t even make sense anymore.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

“I love you, too.” Kurt’s voice is hardly more than a sigh, but the room is silent apart from their breathing. Blaine twists Kurt’s hand and presses a kiss to the center of his palm, again and again, until he can’t stop himself from smiling anymore.

“I love you,” he says again, dragging his lips to the heel of Kurt’s hand. “I love you.” He kisses the inside of Kurt’s wrist and then feels Kurt’s other hand curl over his, where it’s still touching Kurt’s jaw. Blaine looks up to see Kurt grinning at him, smiling so wide his face can barely contain it, and Blaine smiles back. Kurt tugs on Blaine’s hand until he’s closer, wrapping Blaine’s arm around his neck and stopping only when their noses touch.

“And I love you,” Kurt breathes, and then brings their mouths together in another kiss.

Blaine moves into it hungrily, bringing his hands up to slide into Kurt’s hair. Kurt’s own hands move over Blaine’s shoulders and upper arms, feather-light touches that are teasing and fleeting and not enough. They’ve shared kisses in bed before, but they were always small-goodnight kisses, or good morning, or just to feel one another’s lips in the empty spaces of their quiet conversations.

Like everything else in Blaine’s life in the woods, their kisses had been slow and simple, like there was all the time in the world. But now, they kiss to the looming sound of the clock, ticking away every second they have left together.

There isn’t time to go slowly anymore.

Blaine remembers the tantalizing sensation of Kurt’s tongue brushing his lip, and is parting his mouth before he realizes it, sliding the tip of his tongue against the seam of Kurt’s mouth. He doesn’t expect Kurt to open pliantly against the touch, or for Kurt’s own tongue to flick questioningly against his. Blaine gasps, drawing back, Kurt’s eyes flickering open in response. They’re questioning and patient, but hungry in a way that Blaine has only seen glimpses of before-it always disappeared before he could dwell on it.

He focuses on trying to catch his breath and clear his head, but then Kurt is leaning in, a coquettish tilt to his head, and he licks, slow and deliberate, at the part of Blaine’s lips. He whimpers and his mouth falls open so that Kurt can lick his way inside.

Blaine doesn’t think about how he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He focuses instead on the way Kurt’s tongue wraps and strokes along his own, reveling in the touch and taste of it as Kurt explores his mouth. Kurt pulls away, catching Blaine’s lip with his teeth, only to press back in again, harder this time, coaxing Blaine’s tongue into his own mouth.

Kurt’s hand finds Blaine’s hip, curling tightly over the bone and then pushing until Blaine’s back is flat on the bed and Kurt is leaning over him, pressing Blaine’s head into the pillows with kiss after kiss after kiss. Blaine slides his hands up Kurt’s back, pulling him closer-needing him closer, wanting them pressed together from head to toe, but Kurt doesn’t concede. He drags his hand up Blaine’s chest, rucking his nightshirt up until Blaine can feel cool air against his stomach, and he shudders slightly at the chill. But the sensation is nothing compared to feeling Kurt’s fingers against his bared skin as they brush through the dark hair there.

He gasps and it slips into a moan as Kurt repeats the action, his lips drifting away from Blaine’s as they kiss at the corner of his mouth and along his jaw until Kurt’s breath is warm on Blaine’s ear. Kurt’s fingers curl into the fabric of Blaine’s shirt, pulling it up higher and revealing more of his abdomen.

“Can I?” He whispers against Blaine’s ear, and then his teeth are grazing the lobe before he sucks it into his mouth. Blaine’s eyes roll back into his head and it takes him a moment to understand exactly what Kurt is asking for. Instead, Blaine twists his head, letting Kurt take more of his ear between his lips, practically purring at how good it feels.

“Blaine.”

He whines as Kurt pulls back, blinking up at him in a daze and straining up to try and kiss him again.

“Blaine,” Kurt says once more, a bit of amusement in his voice, but then his volume drops, low and secretive. “Can I remove your shirt?” The fabric has been pushed up far enough that Blaine can feel a brush of air against his ribs, and he imagines feeling Kurt’s fingers against even more of his skin, feeling Kurt’s body pressed against his. He blinks at Kurt, entranced by the dark shade of his eyes, and then moves his own hand to the hem of Kurt’s shirt.

“If I can remove yours.” His voice is gravelly, and unlike he’s ever heard it before. Kurt’s eyes seem to turn darker still and he nods, sitting back on his knees and waiting. Blaine scrambles to sit up and is surprised when Kurt reaches forward and pulls Blaine’s shirt over his head and off in one fluid, gentle motion. It isn’t the first time Kurt has seen his bare chest, but it is certainly the first time while they have been intimate. Blaine can see the way Kurt’s eyes rake over him and the predatory look there nearly makes Blaine whimper.

He grabs at Kurt’s shirt with much less finesse, but Kurt helps him, working him out of it carefully and then leaving both shirts discarded at the foot of the bed. Blaine’s mouth goes dry and his hands move forward without thinking, brushing along Kurt’s collarbones and then dragging down his chest. Kurt’s head falls back, exposing the long line of his throat, lips parting around a gasp as he lets Blaine’s hands explore him. Blaine wants to drink him in with sight, with touch, with taste-he wraps his hands around Kurt’s waist and pulls him closer, until Blaine’s mouth closes over the curve of Kurt’s neck.

Kurt lets out a soft cry that sparks the building heat in Blaine’s groin, causing him to slip his teeth past his lips and bite at Kurt’s skin before soothing over it with the flat of his tongue. Blaine licks along the reddening flesh, feeling intense satisfaction at every breathy whine that falls from Kurt’s mouth, before closing his mouth over the juncture again and sucking.

“Blaine,” Kurt gasps, hands grabbing at Blaine’s shoulders, and Blaine groans at the way Kurt’s fingers dig insistently into his skin. He sucks more kisses along Kurt’s throat, moving up slowly towards his jawline and leaving a trail of darkened marks in his wake. Just as Blaine is beginning to feel in control of the situation, Kurt growls low in his throat; he swings his leg over Blaine’s hips, straddling him, and then he pushes back against Blaine’s shoulders. The force is enough that Blaine’s mouth comes off Kurt’s neck with a loud pop, which would be funny if Kurt wasn’t pressing Blaine down into the bed and thrusting his tongue into Blaine’s mouth.

Kurt’s fingers twist into Blaine’s curls again, tugging Blaine’s head back so he can deepen the kiss further. Blaine’s back arches up as Kurt’s chest brushes against his, desperate for more contact; he slides the palms of his hands from Kurt’s shoulders to the small of his back, his thumbs tracing the line of Kurt’s spine until they reach the top of his breeches. His fingers stroke back and forth and Blaine takes a chance, dipping them slightly beneath the fabric. Kurt thrusts down immediately, bringing their groins together and they both moan as Kurt’s hardness slides against Blaine’s.

They pull apart then, breathing heavily. Kurt looks completely disheveled, lips puffy and dark from kissing, and his eyes heavy-lidded and black; Blaine can still see the marks along the pale skin of Kurt’s throat. Kurt licks his lips and stares down at Blaine, chest heaving, pressing their skin together with every inhale, and then he very deliberately rolls their hips together again.

Blaine nearly chokes around his own moan, his hips jerking at the contact, and he looks up at Kurt with a slackened mouth and wonder in his eyes. Kurt pets at Blaine’s temples with his thumbs, but seems to be waiting for something. Blaine wishes Kurt would say what it was, because at this point, he’s willing to give him absolutely anything. Kurt kisses languidly along his jaw, simply skimming his lips across Blaine’s skin, and Blaine whimpers impatiently in response.

He wants to feel Kurt against him and the rush of pleasure that courses through him at the touch. Blaine tries desperately to catch Kurt’s lips, but Kurt evades him easily. Blaine pants as Kurt’s kisses go from light brushes to open-mouthed drags until he’s taking Blaine’s ear between his teeth and working it back and forth.

Blaine lets out a frustrated groan, slipping his hands lower until he’s cupping Kurt’s backside and forcing their cocks to brush together again. Kurt’s moan is loud right beside his ear, but then he’s kissing Blaine again, sucking his tongue into his mouth. Blaine’s fingers dig deeply into Kurt through his breeches, pulling him down until they’re rolling their hips in an imperfect rhythm. Their kisses dissolve into pants against each other’s lips, and Blaine can feel the sweat collecting on the back of his neck and at the small of his back.

Kurt shifts the angle of his hips and suddenly it’s more, the friction so intense that Blaine can’t help but moan wantonly. His thrusts become faster, hands disappearing from Blaine’s hair only to grip the pillows right beside his head. Blaine’s babbling, nonsense intermixed with words like Kurt and love you, ugh, love you so much. He can hardly see Kurt through his heavy-lidded eyes, just enough to tell that his mouth is hanging open, letting out fantastic breathy moans that shoot straight to Blaine’s cock and are coming with more and more frequency.

Blaine feels like there’s so much more this could be-more skin and touch and exploration. And yet he feels like a balloon ready to pop, his orgasm coiling tightly inside of him and his cock aching for release. But it’s too soon, he still wants for more, his babbling becoming a string of please-yes-Kurt-please. Blaine drags his hands up, over the curve of Kurt’s bottom, only to boldly push them back beneath the top of his breeches to curl and grab at the supple muscle. Kurt lets out a cry at the touch and he begins moving against Blaine frantically. Blaine bucks up to meet him, words clogging in his throat until his mouth is open in a long, soundless scream and he’s coming, body curling inward until his forehead is pressing against Kurt’s shoulder.

He nearly lets his body go limp when he feels Kurt still moving against him, his moans becoming louder and higher pitched as he nears his own orgasm. Blaine moves to catch Kurt’s mouth in a kiss, swallowing the sounds and feeling Kurt’s entire body shudder against him and then go still, before they collapse onto the bed.

Blaine feels absolutely boneless and he’s still trying to catch his breath; he can feel Kurt gasping against the skin of his neck and starts to smile, sliding his hands to Kurt’s hips and splaying his fingers possessively across them. His thumbs move back and forth over the prominent jut of Kurt’s hip bones and he turns his face to the side, nuzzling his nose into side of Kurt’s cheek.

He can feel Kurt’s smile before he sees it-Kurt sleepily turns his head, his eyes sparkling as he leans in to rub the tip of his nose against Blaine’s once. Blaine closes his eyes and enjoys the weight of Kurt’s body rested fully on top of his, fingers idly playing with the curls at the base of his neck, and the way Kurt leans forward to brush his eyelashes against Blaine’s jaw.

Blaine wonders if he’ll ever be able to stop smiling.

His eyes open as Kurt shifts slightly on top of him, and Blaine tries not to think about the already incredibly uncomfortable tackiness in his breeches; he’s too comfortable to think about moving. Kurt’s fingers drift over his shoulder and collarbone until he’s pressing his palm to Blaine’s chest, right above his heart.

“Seduction had not been my intention tonight,” Kurt whispers, and his voice is pitched so much lower than Blaine is used to hearing it. The sound spikes through him and he fights the urge to groan-it’s far too soon for him to become aroused again.

Blaine stares at Kurt’s fingers, where they have begun to move up and down against his skin, and smiles.

“Then I’m glad your intentions went awry,” Blaine hums and he feels Kurt’s body shake with quiet laughter. “I’d never imagined how two men might be intimate together,” he muses into the darkness, and Kurt’s eyebrows lift on his forehead in surprise.

“Oh, there are far more ways,” Kurt murmurs, and Blaine can’t help but wonder how he knows; he tries to swallow the sudden rush of jealousy he feels. Kurt leans in and brushes their lips together, not moving away so that Blaine can feel his smile and the way his mouth moves when he speaks. “I hope I have the opportunity to teach you.”

Blaine swallows, remembering every spark of feeling, every touch, every shiver of pleasure, and he lets out a shaky breath as a response-he certainly hopes so, too.

Kurt doesn’t move away, letting their lips rest together even as Blaine’s eyes grow heavy with sleep. But it’s still dark and there are hours until dawn; he needs to spend them with Kurt. Kurt, who threads his fingers through Blaine’s hair in a way that makes him so sleepy, humming his song, soft and lilting.

“I love you,” Blaine says again, and he feels Kurt smile.

“I love you, too, Blaine Anderson.” Every word catches their lips together like precious, accidental kisses. “Sleep, my love.” Kurt kisses him, soft and lingering. “Sleep.”

And Blaine does.

He wakes up with sunlight warming his face and his bed empty, save for him. There’s no warm body to hold in his arms, no kisses good morning, and no storm- colored eyes that look at him with so much love that Blaine can hardly fathom it. He’s alone and it makes him ache-the big hole losing Kurt and his family had created had been so easily filled, as if it had never existed in the first place, and now the space feels even emptier than before.

He’s uncomfortable in his breeches, memories of his night with Kurt filling his sleep-addled mind. Blaine had imagined what it would be like to touch all the curves of Kurt’s body that he had admired before, wondered what he would taste like along his jaw and neck. He had never thought, however, that he would experience these things so soon. He and Kurt had been intimate and the thought alone makes Blaine’s breath catch.

But there had been so much more to their night together, and Blaine remembers it easily the more he wakes up. He remembers the quiet, slow kisses, and the gentle, easy touches, and, more than anything, the swell of emotion inside of him when he’d confessed his love.

And the way Kurt had returned it.

Even alone, it’s hard for Blaine not to smile into his pillow, closing his eyes and nearly groaning when he can still smell Kurt in the fabric. He pretends that Kurt is still there; he pretends he’s back in the cabin, in the woods (albeit in a much comfier bed), and that Kurt isn’t far away, already kneading the dough for bread and singing softly to keep from waking him up. The picture makes him ache and he opens his eyes very reluctantly.

To his surprise, there’s a folded piece of paper on the empty pillow beside him. It’s Blaine’s own stationery, the one he keeps on his desk in the corner of the room, and when he sits up, he sees his name penned on the front in beautiful, curling letters. He’s never seen Kurt’s handwriting before, but he knows that it couldn’t be from anyone else.

He picks it up reverently, fingers careful on the silky texture of the paper. Blaine doesn’t know what he expects it to say and his heart pounds anxiously at the thought.

So he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens it.

There’s no letter. There’s nothing poetic. There’s no goodbye or dismissal.

Rather, in Kurt’s elegant penmanship, it says,

I love you.
-K

Blaine closes his eyes again and presses the piece of paper to his heart.

He stays up late the next night, just in case. After the house quiets, he turns on his lamp, opens his window, and settles into the chair beside it with his well-read copy of Oliver Twist. There’s nothing saying that Kurt will return, but Blaine can’t stop the hope that swells in his chest, that things might be okay. Kurt and Finn will find a way to free Burt and Carole and they’ll leave-go to that other house in the woods somewhere, the one that Kurt had been telling him about. And then Kurt could visit, traveling in the cover of darkness and climbing into Blaine’s room after all the lights have gone out. It isn’t the perfect situation, but if it means he’ll get to see Kurt, he’ll gladly take it.

“You’re waiting for me.”

Blaine looks up, startled, but his face immediately splits into a grin as he sees Kurt straddling the window sill. He drops the book into his chair and immediately pulls Kurt towards him, one hand sliding beneath Kurt’s shirt to touch the skin of his back while the other curves around the back of his neck, guiding their mouths together. Blaine doesn’t hesitate, swiping his tongue against the seam of Kurt’s lips until they part and Blaine can explore the inside of his mouth.

Kurt’s arms twist around Blaine’s neck, fingers digging tightly into the back of his hair. He lets Blaine direct the kiss, moaning softly when Blaine starts to suck on his tongue.

When they do break apart, Blaine immediately begins to suck kisses along Kurt’s jaw, and Kurt lets out a surprised, breathy laugh.

“Hello to you, too.”

Blaine draws back, surprised and a bit embarrassed, as he realizes how he had attacked Kurt at the first opportunity. He meets Kurt’s eyes, prepared to sheepishly apologize, when he notices something off; there’s still that teasing sparkle, but it’s layered over something far worse.

“Hello,” Blaine finally says, his eyes searching Kurt’s insistently. “Kurt...” Blaine’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

Kurt’s mouth parts as if he plans to speak, and then closes again. He wraps his arms more tightly around Blaine’s neck until his head is tucked beneath Blaine’s chin and he’s hugging Blaine tightly. Blaine hugs him back, hand stroking up and down Kurt’s spine beneath his shirt, and he waits.

“It’s Carole,” Kurt finally says, and Blaine stills. “They’ve... They’re sending her to the gallows, Blaine.” Neither of them says anything, and then Kurt lifts his head. His eyes are glassy with unshed tears when they meet Blaine’s. “At dawn, they’ll hang her and... And she can’t go, Blaine. She can’t,” Kurt chokes out. “She can’t die. If she goes, they’ll... They’ll know and I don’t...”

“Shh, shh...” Blaine tucks Kurt’s face into the side of his neck again, petting his hair and rocking him gently back and forth. Finn and Kurt hadn’t thought of something fast enough. In a few hours, all of Lima will know the Hummels’ secret. Blaine doesn’t know what that means except danger for all four of them, for Kurt, and the idea forms a solid stone of cold dread in his stomach. “We’ll think of something,” he whispers, but Kurt just shakes his head.

“They have them locked up, Blaine. Locked up and-and guarded. I don’t-who knows what they’ll do to us then, what they’ll do to Carole and to... To Pa.” His voice cracks again and his body shakes, so Blaine continues to rock him back and forth, heart breaking at the sound of Kurt’s quiet sobs.

“I had to see you again,” Kurt whispers. “Had to see you one last time before-”

Blaine jerks back and does what Kurt had done to him not so many days before; he grabs Kurt by the chin and forces him to meet his eyes. Kurt falls silent and Blaine watches sadly as tears spill down his cheeks.

“This isn’t the last time, Kurt Hummel, and don’t you dare say such a thing.” Blaine couldn’t stand it if it were true. “We’ll figure this out. We will. And you and Burt and Finn and Carole, you’ll all be safe.” He brushes away the tears. “I promise. You’re my family, and I’ll keep you safe.”

Kurt’s breath catches and then he pushes forward and kisses Blaine. It’s sloppy and salty and desperate, but Blaine kisses him back, still running a hand up and down the planes of Kurt’s back.

“I love you,” Kurt whispers against his lips, and Blaine kisses him again for good measure.

“I love you,” he replies with a smile. Kurt smile back, shaking his head, and Blaine starts to see a bit of the sparkle he loves so much return to Kurt’s eyes. They stand there in the silence of Blaine’s bedroom and hold each other, trying hard not to think about what the dawn will bring them this time.

“I’m scared,” Kurt admits, and Blaine gives a small nod before kissing his temple.

“I know.” Blaine stares out the window behind Kurt and furrows his eyebrows. “But we’ll think of something.”

They have to.

“Sheriff!” Blaine cries desperately as he bursts into the station. It’s clear that he’s only just managed to pull on his trousers, his hair disheveled and his shirt untucked, and he’s out of breath. But when he looks at the main desk, it isn’t Sheriff Pierce sitting there, but Deputy Schuester. He jolts, as if Blaine’s arrival woke him, sitting up in alarm.

“Mr. Anderson.” He takes in Blaine’s appearance and then he stands, immediately walking around the desk to Blaine, who nearly falls shakily into his arms. “Son, what is it? What’s wrong? You shouldn’t be out here this time of night, it’s dangerous.”

Blaine just shakes his head from side-to-side, still trying desperately to breathe.

“It-someone tried to get into our house!” He tells the Deputy after a moment. “I was up reading, I’ve had-had trouble sleeping, so many nightmares, Deputy.” The Deputy looks at him with worry, nodding his head. “And there was a loud crash downstairs-a window breaking. I got-got scared, so scared, I thought it was the other men, the other kidnappers, the ones who got away, so I-I ran, Deputy, I ran and came here, I didn’t-didn’t feel safe there, I didn’t-”

“Calm down now,” the Deputy says, guiding Blaine into a chair to sit down. “You’ll be safe here, all right?” Blaine nods shakily and the Deputy moves to take his gun down from the wall. “What about your parents, boy? They get away all right?”

Blaine’s face drains of color and he begins shaking his head, grabbing at his hair and breathing heavily.

“N-no, I just-I was so scared, I just ran! I just ran, I didn’t-didn’t think, I didn’t-”

The Deputy looks hesitant, casting a look towards the door that leads to the cells, and then nods to himself.

“Listen, Mr. Anderson. I’ll go and check on your parents, make sure the house is safe. I’ll lock up the doors and you’ll be safe here, all right?”

Blaine nods but doesn’t say anything, watching as the Deputy takes the ring of keys and clips it to his belt before he leaves the station. As soon as the door is closed and locked, he hurries toward it, watching through the window as the Deputy rushes on foot as fast as he can in the direction of the Anderson house-which happens to be on the far side of town. They had been lucky that the Deputy had foregone his horse that night.

Once he’s out of sight, it isn’t long before Kurt and Finn are riding up to the front of the station in the horse and cart. Blaine unbolts the door from the inside and lets Kurt in, following him further into the jail.

“Kurt?” Burt’s moving to the bars as they approach and Carole looks up from where she’s curled on the bench at the back of the cell.

“The Deputy took the keys,” Blaine suddenly says, feeling like he failed; how are they supposed to free them without keys?

“A hundred and four and you don’t think I can pick a jailer’s lock?” Kurt teases, pulling something thin and metallic from his pocket and jamming it into the lock. Blaine stares, gaping, when the door swings open and Kurt is immediately rushing into his father’s arms.

“That’s my boy,” Burt mumbles into Kurt’s hair, but Kurt shakes his head.

“No.” He looks over at Blaine and smiles again. “That’s Blaine.”

Blaine feels his heart ache when Burt smiles at him, like he’s proud of Blaine, and then the moment passes. He moves past them and helps Carole up, hugging her tightly when she falls into his arms, leading her out of the cell as Kurt secures the jail door shut behind them. It’s like they’d never even been there.

“We have to hurry,” Blaine explains in a rush as they move out to where Finn is waiting with the cart. “I don’t know how long Deputy Schuester will be gone, and you need to be far away from here by the time he gets back.”

Kurt is helping Carole up onto the cart and Burt turns to Blaine, holding out his hand. Blaine takes it, surprised.

“You’re a good man, Blaine.” Burt’s voice is hard and honest and it rocks Blaine to his core. “Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise, you hear me?” He pulls Blaine forward suddenly and hugs him. “Me and my family will never be able to thank you for this, and I’ll never be able to thank you for what you’ve given Kurt.”

Blaine’s eyes are wet when they pull away, Burt giving him one more clap on the shoulder before he goes to take the reins from Finn.

It’s just him and Kurt then, standing at the doorstep of the Sheriff’s station. Blaine knows that, this time, this is really it. Kurt seems to know, too, and he comes forward and takes Blaine’s hands in his.

“Come with us?” He asks, shakily, and Blaine feels like he’s taken a punch to the gut.

Yes, his mind insists. Yes, of course. It’s all Blaine’s wanted. To be with Kurt and his family, for as long as they’ll have him-maybe even forever. But he remembers the men searching the woods and his parents’ watchful eyes and what Sebastian had said about him-he’s a convenient bartering tool. He can’t risk the Hummels’ safety again because of his selfishness.

Even without Burt’s disapproving stare, Blaine knows he can’t go with them, and fights the horrible twist in his stomach and the tightening in his throat. He shakes his head.

“Blaine-” Kurt’s voice cracks and Blaine pulls him close, shushing him and shaking his head.

“I want to, Kurt. Of course I want to.” He pets at Kurt’s hair, his neck, his shoulders, any part of him he can touch. “But if I’m with you, my family will never stop hunting you. They’ll keep looking for me and I can’t... I can’t put you in that kind of danger.”

Kurt pulls back and looks at him, face torn in pain.

“I can’t go without you,” Kurt insists, his voice brimming with sadness. Blaine opens his mouth to say something and chokes on his own grief, stroking down Kurt’s face instead and smiling, tight-lipped.

“You have to.” And it kills every single part of Blaine to say it. Kurt stares at him, searching his face for any sign of Blaine changing his mind, but Blaine fights to hold his ground. He loves Kurt, he will always love Kurt.

But he can’t take what he wants. Not this time.

“Blaine,” Kurt says suddenly, very seriously, his eyes bright. He takes Blaine’s hands and holds them very tightly, pressed together between his own. “Remember what I told you about the spring?” Kurt asks and Blaine nods-of course he remembers, how could he forget. “I...” Kurt licks his lips, closes his eyes for a moment, and then continues. “Go to the spring, Blaine. Drink the water.”

Blaine’s throat constricts tightly and he loses so much air, so quickly, that he sways slightly on his feet. But Kurt keeps him up-Kurt will never let him fall.

“Drink the water, and I’ll come back for you as soon as it’s safe.” He stares at Blaine, pleadingly.

“You swear you’ll come back?” Blaine chokes out, and Kurt nods.

“We still have to go to Paris, don’t we?” Kurt smiles and it wobbles on his lips, and Blaine laughs; it breaks him, and whatever had been holding his tears in disappears. “We’re going to climb the real Eiffel Tower, remember?”

“Sixteen hundred and fifty two steps to the top,” Blaine whispers, and Kurt presses forward and kisses him.

“Exactly.”

“Kurt,” Burt barks sharply, and Kurt looks over his shoulder at his family, hands tightening around Blaine’s.

“Promise me something?” Kurt says quietly, and Blaine holds his breath, hesitant to agree immediately when he’s nearly falling apart trying to stand his ground. “Until we’re together again... Wake up with the dawn.” Kurt’s smile cracks and Blaine nods repeatedly, eyes blurring. Kurt had taught him to wake up with the dawn, to live, and Blaine could keep that promise. It would give him something to hold onto.

“I love you,” Blaine says, voice cracked and quiet and he’s surprised he manages to say anything at all. Kurt moves forward, their hands caught between their bodies, and kisses him. Kisses him where anyone could look out their window and see, and maybe Blaine should be terrified, but it’s hard to think of anything but the press of Kurt’s lips, the slide of his tongue, the taste of his mouth.

Blaine might never kiss Kurt Hummel again and he needs to remember it for the rest of his life.

When they pull apart, Kurt presses their cheeks together. Blaine keeps his eyes closed and wishes that this didn’t feel like the end of everything.

“Blaine Anderson,” Kurt whispers, his words a tickling breath against Blaine’s ear, “I will love you until the day I die.”

And then he’s gone, slipping out of Blaine’s arms. Blaine’s eyes slide open but he can hardly see through his tears as Kurt jumps into the cart and it pulls immediately into action. He tries to blink them back, to see Kurt as he disappears, but he can hardly keep himself upright.

He collapses to his knees, choking out sob after sob after sob. He watches through blurry vision as the cart, and the man he loves, disappear into the dark cover of night.

There’s talk for months afterwards of the vanishing prisoners. The Deputy nearly loses his job and no one ever thinks that Blaine is involved-after all, they’d been his kidnappers. Blaine doesn’t stay in his room all day anymore. At night, he closes the window, shuts the curtains, and doesn’t look for a face beyond the glass that he knows he won’t see.

Summer fades and the forest is gold and red when his parents finally loosen the invisible chain around Blaine’s neck. After he comes back from the forest the first few times, they stop worrying about his long walks through it and what might possibly happen to him.

He revisits their places. He climbs to the top of the Eiffel Tower and admires the woods in their fall splendor. He watches the waterfall turn to ice in the winter, beautiful and dusted with untouched snow, and he feels silly as he drags a stick through it and writes ‘K + B’ inside the shape of a heart.

But it’s summer again before Blaine finally goes to the spring. It’s almost a year to the day since he first went there, and it’s been a long time since he last saw Kurt and the other Hummels. He keeps the handkerchief, long since devoid of Kurt’s scent, tucked into his breast pocket, along with the note that Kurt had left him so many months ago. He goes to the Hummels’ old cabin just once; the earth and trees are charred and nothing remains of the cabin but ash. Their ornamented tree still stands tall; it’s scorched up one side, but sparkles in the sunlight with it’s countless charms swinging in the wind.

The spring is just as Blaine remembers it-unchanged, except there is no beautiful boy waiting for him when he breaks through the treeline and into the clearing. In the year since his short time with the Hummels, since Blaine had learned what truly living was, and fell in love the way people only ever do in stories, he has thought frequently about the spring and what Kurt had asked of him. He remembers that first day, how he’d nearly gone straight to the spring-but his parents had stopped him, and continued to stop him, hesitant to let him out of their sight, and soon the impulsiveness had passed.

Then, Blaine had had to really think about it.

Immortality.

It had never been something Blaine had thought about until the day Kurt had looked him in the eyes, held his hands, and told him their story. Even after that, it wasn’t something he truly believed until he saw Kurt take a bullet to the stomach and then stand up moments later.

Neither of his choices are easy.

Drinking from the spring means he’ll stop. Time will continue to flow around him, but it will mean nothing to Blaine, not anymore. Will years become as insignificant as months? Weeks? Minutes? He’ll have endless time, to go and do and be anything and everything he’s always dreamed.

Immortality for him isn’t about fearing old age, or sickness, or even death. Death is a part of life and, while Blaine certainly doesn’t want to die right now, he knows that one day he’ll accept death. Blaine knows he’ll eventually die, and it doesn’t frighten him as much as it once did.

But immortality means happiness. Immortality means the Hummels, who carved a space for Blaine in their family-a space just for him, that he filled perfectly. He wouldn’t be alone in his immortality-from what Blaine has learned, the world seems to view immortality as lonely, but Blaine would be in the best company he’s ever known. The Hummels taught him what truly living was, even if Burt had tried to convince him otherwise. They might go about life differently than the rest of the world, but it’s still more of a life than Blaine has ever known, even now.

And, of course, immortality means Kurt. The thought of him still makes Blaine’s chest tighten-he still aches with how badly he misses and longs for Kurt. Immortality means Kurt for the rest of forever, fingers laced and hearts bared and Blaine loves him, loves him more and more with every breath he takes, even if Kurt is somewhere far beyond Blaine’s physical reach. Blaine knows it would be stupid, picking everlasting life at the whims of his heart, but a part of him longs to. A part of him yearns to walk hand-in-hand with Kurt until the end of time.

Then, there are the things that Blaine would lose.

He would lose everything he knows. He’d watch the world and time he’s grown up in fall away and change, watch it evolve into something new and strange and not necessarily better. He’d lose all the people who know his name, every friend and acquaintance he’s made, and he’d lose his family.

Blaine and his parents had never been close and, while things have certainly improved in the last year, there’s a gap between them that can never be mended. But to never see them again? To watch from afar as they grow old and die while he continues to be young? While he continues to live?

It’s always the thing that stops him. It’s always the reason he hesitates. Blaine may have found true happiness with the Hummels, but he still loves his parents.

He argues, they’ll die before you do anyway.

He argues, no parents should have to mourn the fake death of their son.

He argues, I could die any day, from disease or war, and they’d still be mourning. They’d still be mourning and I would be dead.

Then there’s the last thing that stops him. He’s reminded of it every time his mother asks him about Miss Berry or any of the other girls in town. He’s reminded of it at night, when his hand slips beneath the fabric of his breeches and he imagines broad shoulders, and strong hands, and sparkling blue eyes. He’s getting older, and soon, his parents will be pressing him to “pick a nice girl and settle down.” He’ll be expected to have children.

How does he smile and woo and court a girl, knowing the entire time it’s a lie?

Blaine knows what love is; can he honestly steal away some girl’s chance at truly finding it simply to please his parents? To hide his secret?

What will your parents do when they find out what you are?

He tries not to think about it. Blaine fears the answer-Kurt would not have been so terrified about his own secret, so desperate for a place to belong, if acceptance was an easy thing to find. Blaine knows he has to conceal it; what other choice does he have?

Kurt has time. He has time to look for a place in the world where he isn’t forced to hide away. In fact, Kurt has time-he has all of the future spread before him, full of possibilities of acceptance, somewhere, someday. The opportunity to be who he is, without masks, and with the ability to love someone in the light of day without feeling afraid.

Blaine sits down in the soft, lush grass at the base of the tree. He stares at the H carved into the wood and remembers the beautiful things Kurt could create with his fingers-he smiles, sadly.

He’s never seen the spring up close. It’s a little pool in the base of the tree, something that is strange enough in itself, even without knowing what the water can do. Blaine doesn’t know what he expected, but the water looks absolutely normal; there are no strange colors or shimmers of magic blinking in it. In appearance alone, it’s just water.

Blaine dips his fingers in-it’s incredibly cold and it makes him suddenly think about the dryness in his throat and how thirsty he is. Is that the magic? Or Blaine’s subconscious trying to tell him what his decision is when he’s still so incredibly unsure?

His fingers dance across the surface of the water and he stares at the ripples that form.

Burt Hummel had told him not to fear death, but to fear the unlived life.

But the question is, which life is it that Blaine Anderson wants to live?

i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. epilogue.