Everlasting: Epilogue
SUMMER. LIMA, OHIO. 2012
Ohio is uncomfortably hot in the summer. It always has been, but it seems to get worse with each passing year. Kurt blames industrialization and cars and the depletion of the ozone layer, the same way everyone else does, although he has a bit more knowledge about how things once were than most people.
He doesn’t return to Ohio often; despite it being his home for many years, most of the memories it holds are bitter and full of sorrow.
Most, but not all.
He drives through the town, trying not to categorize all the things that have changed since his last visit-how long has it been now? Eighty-three years? He breathes out long and slow through his mouth. Eighty-three years since the funeral.
He turns off a road that had once been dirt but has been paved smooth, passing houses that advertise themselves as being nearly a hundred years old-but Kurt knows better than that. He pulls up to the curb outside of the only house that does fit the bill, staring through the iron gates to its familiar silhouette. He doesn’t know who lives in the Andersons’ house now, but it’s certainly not the family he knew.
The car idles for a moment and then Kurt pulls away again, driving down miles of road that hadn’t existed until fairly recently. Now the woods that had once belonged to the Andersons host a neighborhood of grand houses, all trying to mimic Michael Anderson’s original design but falling comically short. Kurt smiles wryly and drives until the road ends, pulling his SUV onto the dirt and killing the engine.
He walks from that point on, through the trees that aren’t as familiar to him as they had been nearly a hundred years ago. Kurt scrunches his nose at the mud that clings to his boots, but he’d worn his least expensive, while still durable, pair for just this reason. The world has changed around Kurt Hummel and he, in turn, has changed. He’s still the same man, of course, beneath his unaging skin, although now that clothes come easily and showers aren’t a luxury, he’s a bit more conscious of his own hygiene and appearance.
At least he never has to worry about wrinkles.
Even if the freckles never fade, either.
The path is worn into the very soles of his feet and he makes his way to the spring easily. It’s still so far into the woods and Kurt can’t help but wonder if magic protects it somehow. If the magic led him and his family to it. If it’s the magic that led Blaine to him on that day not so unlike this one, many years ago.
One thing is different, however, and Kurt carefully folds himself to his knees in the grass and inspects the gravestone situated at the base of the tree. He runs his fingertips over its surface and traces the words in something akin to wonderment.
BLAINE M. ANDERSON
SEPTEMBER 27, 1897 - MAY 18, 1920
LOVING SON & FRIEND
Wildflowers grow along the edges and Kurt can’t help but smile at that, reaching forward to brush his fingers against the petal of a daisy. He deliberates for a moment before picking it, slipping it into the breast pocket of his shirt. He stands, brushing off his knees, and gives the gravestone one more look before he continues to walk through the forest.
It’s rather amazing, how much of it still goes untouched, although there are more sounds in the air now. He can hear the far-off sounds of a highway and children laughing and screaming. Rather than growing larger, the world just seems to get smaller and smaller with each passing year. Kurt is finding that there aren’t places that still lurk undiscovered by humankind, and the land is losing its secrets and its magic because of it. It makes him sad, sometimes, to think about all the things the world has lost.
But it’s easier, too, when he remembers all of the things it’s gained. That’s always enough to sweeten the bitterness to the almost perfect point of balance.
His “Eiffel Tower” still stands just as tall, the stone worn smoother with weather and the path to the top made easier after countless climbers and hikers have discovered it. He presses his hand against the warmth of the rock and smiles; it’s not as glorious as the real Eiffel Tower, which means just as much (if not more) to Kurt now. But it’s still his, and it’s still special.
He still loathes the idea of having to climb it in jeans, though.
It’s too hot and he’s not even halfway to the top before he’s uncomfortable and thank god he’d foregone the vest because he can only imagine the sweat stain forming at the small of his back. The sweat does absolutely nothing for his hair, and he feels unpleasantly and horribly sticky. It’s not that the climb is hard (he’s done it hundreds of times, after all) or that he doesn’t find it exhilarating and fun (he’s making a climb most people don’t do without equipment and it makes him feel so young again), it’s just that it’s too hot and his clothes simply don’t breathe the way they did ninety-eight years ago.
When he reaches the top, he’s grateful for the breeze that greets him and tries to pull his hair from its style. His legs and arms burn with exertion and fuck, he’s thirsty, but he’s there-he made it.
And he’s not alone.
Blaine turns, his silhouette outlined by the endless blue sky, and smiles at Kurt.
“Oh, there you are.”
Kurt glares at him, moving forward and stretching his arms, already feeling his annoyance build at Blaine and his sensibility to wear climbing-appropriate clothing (yet, somehow still managing a bow tie). But it breaks the moment Blaine presses a cold water bottle into his hands.
“I love you,” he groans, and Blaine kisses his cheek. “Not you, Blaine. The water.”
“Mmm,” Blaine hums, but he’s still grinning. “I know. I can’t kiss you on the cheek if I want to?”
Kurt’s gaze softens and he smiles around the opening of the bottle.
“You can.” Kurt twists the lid back on and then sets the water by his feet. “But I don’t see why you had to ask me to come all the way up here for a kiss on the cheek.” He crosses his arms and looks at Blaine expectantly, and Blaine just smiles.
“We’re never in Ohio,” he points out-it’s true. Ever since Blaine’s mother had passed away, too young and too soon after Blaine’s own “death,” they’d avoided the state. It became clear, very quickly, that there were places they were far more welcome and far less likely to be seen as not quite right (in more ways than one). “I thought it’d be nice to go to the place you took me on our first date.”
Kurt snorts.
“I wouldn’t call waking you up at dawn and dragging you rock climbing a date, but I suppose we have done stranger things.”
Blaine pulls Kurt’s hands away from him, lacing their fingers and walking them closer to the edge.
“I’m surprised you didn’t pick the waterfall,” Kurt muses. “Considering that’s where we had our first kiss.” Blaine’s face seems to light up at the reminder, as if he can’t believe that Kurt would remember such a thing. But of course Kurt remembers-he’s just past two hundred, but that doesn’t mean that those two months of time have faded in his memory, even with more memories to cherish now-he’s spent nearly half his life with Blaine.
“That had been the original plan, but it’s become a pretty popular swimming spot and I figured we would rather not be surrounded by dozens of screaming children.” Blaine sets his mouth into a line and Kurt nods. “Is that why it took you so long? Did you mishear “Eiffel Tower” as “waterfall” and end up in the wrong place?” Blaine teases, and Kurt scrunches his face at him defiantly.
“No, I...” He stops, blinking. “I went to visit your grave.” Kurt knows Blaine thinks it’s strange-and has thought so ever since Kurt first insisted they visit, their first time back in Ohio. He’d thought it was morbid, but Kurt explained that it helped to remind him of what he has, and what he could have lost.
“Ah.” Blaine doesn’t like to talk about it. No matter how much time has passed, those first ten years were the hardest and Kurt does his best not to make Blaine think of them. The gravestone is a constant reminder of the choice Blaine made, and what he gave up to make it. “How did that go?” His voice is detached, not particularly interested, not that Kurt has a real answer.
“I brought you something.” Kurt bounces slightly on the balls of his feet and grins at Blaine’s skeptically raised eyebrow. He moves his hand to his pocket, lifting up the daisy and holding it out towards Blaine.
Any ill feelings Blaine had moments before melt away as he takes the stem gently between his fingers, voicing a quiet and touched, “Kurt.” They share a smile and Blaine tucks the flower behind his ear with a flourish, immediately lightening the situation and making Kurt laugh. “Sit with me?” He asks hopefully, and Kurt nods again, letting Blaine guide him to the edge of the rock and then squawking indignantly as Blaine pulls him down, too hard and too fast, so that Kurt’s boots are scrambling against the steep cliffside.
“Blaine!” He admonishes, gripping at Blaine’s arm, and he laughs.
“Ninety-eight years and I finally got you back for that.”
Kurt can’t help himself; he laughs, elbowing at Blaine’s side and pressing his face into Blaine’s shoulder.
“You are absolutely ridiculous.”
Blaine hums in agreement and Kurt’s smile widens. He turns his head until he can look out, his and Blaine’s hands finding each other and locking together in the same instant that Blaine’s head falls to rest against Kurt’s. It’s habitual now, after all this time. They orbit one another, attuned to every nuance of movement, locked forever in the dance that is Kurt-and-Blaine.
The view has changed. Where before there was an endless ocean of trees, now they can see buildings and suburbs and the glint of the sun off of car windshields. The world around them has changed and they’ve remained, being shaped with every passing decade, but with fingers linked the entire time.
“And if you have a minute why don’t we go,” Blaine begins to sing quietly and Kurt can’t help the small, silent laugh that vibrates through him. “Talk about it somewhere only we know.” Kurt squeezes Blaine’s hand and Blaine squeezes back. “This could be the end of everything...”
“So why don’t we go, somewhere only we know,” Kurt sings with him, smiling, and then shakes his head. “You have an obsession with that song and us.”
“It’s perfect, Kurt.”
Kurt hums, unconvinced.
“I think Keane may be onto us.”
“Blaine.”
“No, seriously, I think they know something.”
Kurt laughs, lifting his head as Blaine babbles on about conspiracy theories. He takes Blaine’s face in his hands-on one side, just his hand, and on the other, their fingers laced together-and kisses him.
“You are the biggest dork,” Kurt says with a chuckle. “And I love you.” Blaine’s eyes flood with warmth and he smiles, pressing their noses together and closing his eyes, but not saying anything in response. He doesn’t need to.
“I remember the first time I saw you,” Blaine whispers out of nowhere. Kurt closes his eyes and lets himself listen. He’s heard the story so many times. “And I didn’t understand what love was, or what love could be. I didn’t know how many different ways there were to love someone.” Kurt feels his throat thicken-it’s always the same story, but Blaine never tells it the same way.
“I didn’t know, looking at you, that you would teach me all those things.”
When Kurt opens his eyes, Blaine is looking at him again, eyes too bright with his own unshed tears. Kurt strokes his fingers along Blaine’s face, feeling the slightest hint of stubble, and smiles.
“You taught me... Everything,” Blaine breathes. “Taught me about love, and family, and acceptance. You taught me how to be who I am, to not be afraid of who I am, and to hold onto that when the rest of the world tries to make me forget.” His grin turns silly. “You taught me how to thread a needle and lattice a pie crust. How to drive a car and how to fix one. And even if you like to pretend it never happened, you taught me how to tie-dye a t-shirt.” Blaine’s laughing and Kurt can’t help but laugh too, even at the horrible memories (fashion wise, especially) that the sixties dredge up.
But Blaine’s face turns serious again and Kurt still says nothing, waiting for whatever ending Blaine will come to this time.
“It’s been ninety-eight years since we met, and in those ninety eight years, you have taught me everything I could ever want to learn in life. It’s true now, and it will be true in another ninety-eight years, and another ninety-eight after that.” Blaine turns his head and kisses the heel of Kurt’s hand. “Ninety-eight years, and you’ve held my hand as the world changed, continues to change, but we... We’re everlasting, Kurt.”
Kurt feels emotion choke up his throat, so he just nods, feeling his heart beat wildly in his chest. This story feels different than all the others. Kurt isn’t sure if it’s the place, or the words, or the way Blaine is looking at him, but he knows that there is something different, something important, about the story this time.
“We’ve seen all the changes, and we’ll continue to see them. Together. We’ve seen the world change its mind, again and again. We’ve seen wars fought and people fighting for freedom, and so much acceptance, Kurt.” Blaine grabs tightly at Kurt’s hand where it’s still pressed against his own cheek. “We’ve spent so long looking for it, and it’s not perfect, but we’re... We’re almost there.”
A small noise escapes Kurt, giving away what exactly Blaine’s speech is doing to him, as he blinks at the pressure building behind his eyes.
“I can marry you, Kurt.” Blaine whispers fervently, and Kurt’s breath catches in his throat. “If I wanted to marry you, I could.”
Kurt stares at him, mouth parted but unable to form the question, and he swallows down the block in his throat.
“Do you want to?” Kurt's voice is quiet and slightly strangled, but he doesn’t feel scared. Blaine has loved him and will love him until the end of the world, looking at Kurt with those same eyes and that same smile and closing Kurt’s hands tightly around Blaine’s heart.
Blaine leans in and kisses him, gently, slowly, just barely pulling back enough so that, when he speaks, the words are a breath pressed between their lips.
“I’ve wanted to marry you for ninety-eight years.”
i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi. vii. viii. epilogue.
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