Everyday (Part 4)

[whatiknew]

Kurt wakes up, as usual, far too warm. It’s late in the morning, when the sun is unrelenting and already prepared to make the day hell, judging by the brightness pressing against his eyelids, but now there’s the added component of the living, breathing space heater currently curled around him, clinging like a koala.

He keeps his eyes closed for a moment. Blaine’s weight is heavy against him; he must have shifted during the night because his head is now pillowed on Kurt’s chest. His arm is wrapped securely around Kurt’s waist, and there’s an ankle entwined with Kurt’s good leg. Kurt wiggles his fingers trying to place where his arms are, both a little numb with how little he seems to have moved during the night. One hand meets the somehow cool fabric of the pillow where his head rests, the other warm skin.

That makes him open his eyes.

He blinks heavily against the light, groaning involuntarily and wincing at the noise; Blaine’s still out cold, snuffling lightly into his chest. He glances down carefully, sees that his hand has slipped under the fabric of Blaine’s shirt and is resting on the small of his back. He’s laying half on his stomach, essentially sprawled across the bed and Kurt’s body, and when Kurt cranes his neck he can see Blaine’s face. His eyelids are fluttering but his face is peaceful; the worry lines that have been there since last week are gone, at least for now, and his brow isn’t creased the way it had been the past few mornings during Kurt’s (completely innocent and only marginally creepy) observation routine.

“Good morning,” Kurt says quietly when Blaine shifts eventually. He runs his hand softly across Blaine’s back, reminding him where he is. Blaine had been such a wreck when he finally fell asleep last night that he doesn’t want him to panic when his brain catches up. Kurt realizes he’s still touching skin (and rubbing it, now, actually) and takes a deep breath.

“Mmm,” Blaine mumbles, tightening his arm around Kurt’s waist. “Morning baby.” Kurt holds still; Blaine’s voice is low, hoarse with sleep (and likely from last night’s tears), and the endearment vibrates through him, leaving even more warmth in its wake. He can tell the moment Blaine fully wakes up, realizes what’s happening; his arm goes slack around Kurt’s waist and he freezes.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, untangling himself and rolling onto his back. Only when he’s put a little distance between them does he look over and he’s relieved to see that the worry he feels isn’t mirrored in Kurt’s eyes, which are still morning-soft, but intent in a new way. “I. It slipped out. And - I cling, it can’t be helped. Um. Thanks. For - last night. I didn’t mean to...”

“It’s alright,” Kurt smiles, interrupting before Blaine can melt down again. “I can’t imagine dealing with this from your side of things. Ignorance is bliss or...something.”

“But still. I shouldn’t - I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” Kurt shrugs. “You don’t.”

“Ok, but if I do...”

“You’ll know. I’m sure there will be some unattractive face or yelp to serve as a warning.” Blaine laughs at that and Kurt sits up, claps his hands together. “Since we’re talking about being uncomfortable, grab your bathing suit. I need a shower.”

They’re just finishing breakfast, Blaine loading the dishwasher while Kurt wipes down the table (because he insists on doing something but neither of them are eager to watch him try to carry dishes while on crutches) when Blaine turns, leans back against the kitchen island.

“What do you want to do today? You’re strong enough on your crutches now, maybe we could...”

“No,” Kurt interrupts. He takes a deep breath because he’s been trying to find a way to bring this up for days now, been avoiding it for longer, but this is as good a time as any. Blaine raises an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I want you to tell me about us.”

“O-ok,” Blaine stutters. He tightens his hands on the edge of the counter. “Wait, really?”

“Of course.” Kurt sighs as he stands up, waits until he has his back to Blaine and is halfway to the couch before he keeps talking because he knows why Blaine is surprised. Knows he should’ve asked Blaine days ago, shouldn’t have said tomorrow and tomorrow and then not said anything at all.

“I...” he trails off. “I want to know everything. I’m just - scared.”

“Of what?” Blaine’s voice is soft but much closer than he expected, and he looks up as he falls onto the couch to see Blaine following him into the room, hovering between the sofa and the armchair. Kurt pats the cushion next to him, shifts to lean against the arm and busies himself picking at a loose thread along the seam on the top as Blaine sits, mirroring his posture.

“I’ve kind of...built it up in my head,” Kurt admits. “First I was just overwhelmed and there were so many people and there was no time to really talk like I figured we should. And then it became a thing. A capital C Conversation and I just thought...this could be what makes me remember. And then it was this has to be what makes me remember. And then what if this doesn’t make me remember?”

“Kurt,” Blaine sighs. He reaches across the distance between them, hand almost to Kurt’s arm before he pulls it back suddenly and lets it drop heavily into his lap. “Kurt, there’s no point in freaking out. It might be today. It might be next week. It might...” he trails off. (It might never happen.) He doesn’t say it out loud but it hangs in the air, rolling in like a sudden fog.

“I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

Blaine barely hears it, only understands because he’s had years of training watching Kurt try to avoid saying something. “Hey. No.” His hands curl into fists and Kurt watches him take a deep breath through his nose, release it through clenched teeth. He seems angry, suddenly, his words choppy like he can’t finish a thought before another one crowds it out. “I could never. I almost. (I almost gave up.) They said you were. (They said you were gone.) I - Kurt. You are breathing and walking...hobbling,” he gives a wry smile and Kurt feels the sudden tension evaporating. “Around on this planet. I am incapable of being disappointed.”

“But what if...”

“What if a meteor hits the apartment?” Blaine deflects, because he is optimistic but mostly because he can’t do this, not right now. He’s only had him back for a week, he’s not ready to let go again. Kurt must understand his point, or the panic barely concealed underneath it, because he nods slightly, one corner of his mouth lifting. “There are a lot of what ifs, Kurt. But I believe you requested a story?” Kurt nods and Blaine jumps up, pulling a large album off the bookshelf and settling back in closer to the middle of the couch.

Kurt shifts too, inching closer to Blaine until the sides of their bodies are pressed together, shoulder to knee, and bites his lip, darting a glance at Blaine, who smiles softly and nudges his shoulder a little. He settles the album over their laps and asks, “Alright. Abridged, or nitty gritty details?” Kurt taps a finger to his lips, glancing at the ceiling in thought.

“Does ‘detailed overview’ make sense?” he asks. “I mean. 10 years. That’s a lot of nitty gritty. But I don’t want the Cliff’s Notes.”

“Got it,” Blaine smiles. “Well, we were set to be your competition for regionals - I went to Dalton, in Westerville - and you came to spy. You stopped me on the way to a performance.”

“Love at first sight?” Kurt asks, and there’s a little teasing lilt to his voice, but it’s layered with something else that Blaine hasn’t heard in so long. That slight sense of awe, the delight that crossed Kurt’s face so often in the beginning of their relationship each time something happened that he’d filed firmly away as maybe someday.

“I think so...” Blaine trails off, because they’ve talked about this, when they knew vs. when they knew, and Blaine always insists that he knew from the start but was just too stupid to know that he knew, and then Kurt makes fun of him. He smiles at the thought. “But it took us a while to get there.”

So Blaine talks.

It’s practiced by now, this tale. They’re a novelty in all of their circles, a novelty in the world in general, really; high school sweethearts who stayed together. Gay high school sweethearts living in homophobic middle America, at that. Everyone wants the story of how they met. It’s a bit strange doing all of the talking; Blaine’s used to the give and take of tandem storytelling, trading lines with Kurt over judgmental eyebrows, embarrassed groans, fond smiles.

“Wait,” Kurt interrupts as Blaine is blushing his way through the Baby It’s Cold Outside debacle, remembering once again how thoroughly dumb he’d been. “Why...why exactly did I transfer? You said I was having ‘trouble,’ but...I went back before the beginning of senior year. No one’s talking about whatever drove me away. Please, Blaine,” he adds when he sees Blaine hesitate.

“The bullying got...worse. More concentrated. McKinley, the students, the teachers, everyone...they were just completely incapable of handling it. Dalton presented itself, so you left. You went back when your friends kind of...took matters into their own hands to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Who?” Kurt asks quietly.

“Dave Karofsky.”

“Oh, I think I know who that is. Stocky guy? Plays hockey?” Blaine nods, eyes growing wide as pieces start slotting together in his mind. He almost doesn’t hear Kurt’s sarcastic, “Well, good to know I branch out to attract the ire of new, exciting groups of people” because there’s so much blood rushing in his ears with his realization that this is a Kurt pre-Karofsky and everyone he represents.

And so many things fall into place. Kurt, for all intents and purposes, has been over everything those guys did to him for years; Blaine trusts him when he says so, and has no reason to believe otherwise. But he’s been bullied physically and emotionally for so many of the basic qualities of himself; his voice, his style, who he loves, and behind the irascible strength there’s a haunted look in his eyes, the look of someone who’s come out the other side, but not unscathed.

The man in front of him doesn’t have that. He’s bullied, sure; his reaction to Finn proved that even if Blaine hadn’t long ago been told. But it’s still...abstract. He’s tossed in dumpsters and slushied and picked on in the vague way that everyone other than the top of the heap gets picked on when they’re 14. So much hasn’t been said aloud yet, still exists in the realm of assumptions and self-preservation.

And that’s why this Kurt’s eyes are a little softer, his voice quieter. He’d told Blaine, years ago, that before he came out and started ‘screaming just to be heard’ he’d been content just to get through the day, get by. Blaine had sympathized; he was no stranger to keeping his head down and hoping for the best. But to see it right in front of him makes his heart clench.

“But hey. We can get to all that later. This is supposed to be a happy story.” He nudges Kurt’s shoulder again; Kurt’s eyes are downcast and he’s picking at another loose thread, and Blaine reaches out, again barely catching himself at the last moment and pulling his hand back. Kurt’s eyes snap up at the movement and he shifts a little to face Blaine, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath before looking at Blaine hesitantly.

“You can touch me.”

Blaine’s eyes widen before his brow furrows in confusion, and Kurt breathes deeply again, charging ahead.

“I mean. You don’t have to touch me. I just - I see you stopping yourself. A lot. And it’s ok. I know it’s probably natural to you. That you want to.” He can feel his face heating up at the way Blaine’s just looking at him. But he’s been watching Blaine twitch and jump for days now, willing him to close the rest of the distance. He’s been curious, and last night was a start but Blaine was practically hysterical and it’s different, just here on the couch in the light of day.

“Kurt, it’s ok,” Blaine starts, but Kurt’s speaking again, almost inaudibly.

“I...want you to. I think.” He looks up and there’s that hesitance, the imperceptible bracing for rejection.

“Ok,” Blaine breathes, smiling and giving in to what he’s almost done a million times this week. He raises his hand, so slowly, telegraphing his intent. His fingertips land just to the side of Kurt’s chin, slide back until he’s gently cupping his jaw. He brushes his thumb along a sharp cheekbone, inhaling sharply when Kurt leans into the touch and his eyes flutter closed.

They sit like that for what feels like forever, Blaine tracing the line of Kurt’s cheekbone as Kurt practically nuzzles his palm. Blaine’s hand is warm, broad, the skin soft except for the edge of calluses that he guesses came from the array of instruments in the other room, and it just feels so nice that he presses into it, wants to keep the contact. When he opens his eyes, Blaine is still looking at him.

“Hi,” Blaine says quietly, his smile shifting into something smaller but somehow brighter.

“Hi.” Kurt’s staring at him a little blankly, his eyes unfocused, and Blaine can feel his skin heating under his palm. His lips are parted just a little and Blaine isn’t sure which of them is actually leaning in but Kurt’s face is so much closer now and he just wants to...

Kurt coughs, loudly and suddenly, jerking back so quickly that Blaine’s hand falls with a smack onto Kurt’s knee. His face is pink, heading toward beet red, and he’s unbelievably interested in a throw pillow.

Blaine remembers the string of almosts they had before his brain finally caught up with his heart, endless moments that inevitably ended in a nervous laugh, a too loud cough. He feels the sting of rejection at his husband shying away from him, just for a second, because something that’s been clawing at the edge of Blaine’s awareness for a few minutes clicks then, and he can’t believe he didn’t realize it immediately. Since this Kurt doesn’t know Karofsky, he hasn’t been kissed by Karofsky.

He hasn’ been kissed by anyone.

It’s not just that Kurt is nervous about the thought of kissing Blaine, not that Blaine would blame him, not that he expected anything like what just happened; it’s that Kurt is nervous about kissing. He hasn’t given his first kiss to a girl in experimentation, hasn’t had it stolen by a bully. Kurt, who has been thoroughly debauched and done much debauching himself over the past decade, sits in front of him having never been kissed. Blaine is too warm all of a sudden, some strange mixture of excitement and gratitude and arousal twisting in his stomach at the thought that he can truly be Kurt’s first kiss, no qualifiers needed.

Blaine shakes himself back to reality; now is not the time, not with Kurt somehow getting even redder, all the way down his neck and up into his hair. He coughs, grimaces when he hears exactly how fake it sounded, and hits Kurt lightly on the knee as he speaks.

“Oh god, I have to tell you about Valentine’s Day. It’ll make you appreciate my journey to the Gap the other night...”

Blaine’s voice is practically hoarse by the end of the day; he’s made it through the ‘detailed overview,’ only stopping for meals and a check-in call from Burt, and by the time he’s done he’s yawning around his answers to Kurt’s half-yawned questions.

“Should we go to bed?” Kurt asks, eyes widening when he hears the question out loud. “I mean. I should. And you look tired. And I figured you were sleeping with me - in the bed, with me, I mean. Oh shut up,” he finishes with a huff, glowering as Blaine grins widely at him.

“Bed sounds good,” Blaine says simply.

Kurt isn’t hugging the edge of the bed quite as closely as he was the night before, but he’s still further away than Blaine would like. Maybe he’s flying high on emotion and nostalgia, maybe he’s just giddy with the exhaustion of replaying the highlights of a decade with someone, but Blaine feels brave, so he props himself up on one elbow, turns toward Kurt with his head resting on his hand.

“Hey, Kurt?” It’s dark enough where he can’t see him clearly, can just see the dim reflection of the street light in his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I was wondering...and you can totally say no. But, we’ve already established that I’m a clingy sleeper and I’m probably going to end up wrapped around you regardless. So. I wanted to...could I, um, hold you?” Kurt doesn’t say anything for a minute and Blaine wonders if he’s pushed too far.

“Y-yeah,” Kurt says finally, then repeats it more firmly. “Yeah.” Blaine sees him shift toward the middle of the bed, then stop, seeking out Blaine’s eyes in the dark. “I don’t...how?” he asks, and Blaine figures out what he means.

“C’mere,” Blaine says softly, scooting closer to the middle of the bed as well and laying his head back on his pillow. He turns onto his side and lifts his arm, sees the recognition in Kurt’s eyes even in the dark as he turns his back to Blaine and shifts backward.

“Spooning, huh?” Kurt asks quietly, voice a little giddy with nerves and novelty.

“Mmhmm, ‘s awesome,” Blaine murmurs as he wraps his arm around Kurt’s waist, already closer to sleep with the proximity. “Is this ok?”

Blaine is solid and warm against his back, his arm a welcome weight across his waist. His knees are pressing against where Kurt’s are bent and he can feel Blaine’s steady breaths ghost against the back of his neck. He’s tingling at every point of contact. His eyes feel heavier and he exhales deeply, sinking into the mattress and wiggling a bit more into Blaine’s hold, a smile tugging at his lips when he hears a happy, nonsensical murmur from Blaine, feels it rumble in his chest.

“It’s ok.”

It’s more than ok.

“Clingy” really isn’t an exaggeration when discussing Blaine’s sleeping habits. Kurt wakes up Saturday morning overheated again, but not unpleasantly. The already small amount of space left between them last night has completely disappeared and he can feel Blaine’s nose pressed into the nape of his neck, warm breath doing nothing to dissipate the heat. The sunlight filtering through the window is still weak, and Kurt’s grateful, because he has to be at his physical therapy appointment early in the afternoon (and their strange little morning routine takes a while), but a little surprised; this bed is extremely comfortable, as is the man sharing it with him, and he feels like he could sleep all day, so why is he awake so ear--

Oh.

He’s woken up hard before, relatively often lately, actually (If by ‘lately’ you mean 13 years ago, his brain reminds him. Not getting off that easy. No, don’t say get off) so this shouldn’t be the crisis situation he’s trying to make it. It’s physiology. He’s a guy. Sporting an (impressive, actually. Wow, growth spurt. Don’t say spurt) erection.

That is currently resting about an inch below where Blaine’s hand is resting on his stomach, straining up against the fabric of his pajamas. (It’s like it knows.) There’s no way he’s going to get out from under Blaine’s arm, onto his crutches, and out of the room without waking Blaine. But Kurt is fine. He is going to think unsexy thoughts. He is going to lay very still and take deep, calming breaths. He is Kurt Hummel and he is going to will his erection away. This is not up for debate.

He’s halfway through his first deep breath when he feels more than hears a low, grumbling sound deep in Blaine’s chest. Blaine shifts a little, his hips arching forward, and then many things happen all at once at once.

Kurt feels the unmistakable line of Blaine’s equally hard (and equally impressive, wow) dick pressing right against his ass, and freezes. Blaine makes a confused, sleepy sound, then goes equally still for a moment before jerking his arm away from Kurt so quickly that he almost turns him onto his back. Kurt yelps, resisting the movement, overcompensating and tumbling onto his stomach, trying to muffle the hiss at the unexpected friction from the mattress.

Blaine leaps from the bed, crossing the room in two long strides and catching himself (back to the bed, thank god) before he can faceplant into his dresser when he sways, dizzy from the sudden movement and apparent lack of blood flow anywhere appropriate in his body (Oh my god these pajamas are so thin. This is obscene. It’s worse than if I was just naked). He glances over his shoulder to see Kurt still face down on the bed and laying very, very still.

Shit.

“Kurt,” Blaine starts, voice somehow both hoarse and squeaky and maybe if he shuts his eyes really, really tightly, he’ll wake up not molesting his amnesiac quasi-teenaged husband.

He tries.

It doesn’t work.

“Kurt, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh, (grind on you in my sleep) I wasn’t - I mean...”

“Blunsfone,” Kurt mumbles into the pillowcase, and it must sound garbled even to him, because he picks his head up a little and repeats, “Blaine. It’s fine.” He sounds a little embarrassed, but not panicked or even remotely as bothered as Blaine was expecting. Blaine exhales, glances down to see that complete mortification has taken care of his problem, anyway, and rolls his shoulders, lifting his head now that his equilibrium is back.

“Alright. I’m just...I’ll...”

“Why don’t you take a shower?” Kurt suggests, voice tight. “And then put on that godawful bathing suit and yell when you’re ready and then I’ll take a shower.”

“Ok,” Blaine nods, even though Kurt can’t see him because he’s still mostly talking into his pillow. He’s grateful Kurt is handling this so well, but then again, he thinks he’s 14, not 4. He’s probably familiar with the concept. He grabs his board shorts and shuffles quickly through the door.

Kurt buries his face in his pillow, tries to find an unused area in hopes of cooling his cheeks; he doesn’t even want to know how red he must be, laughs for a second because his arm has fallen asleep under the pillow and he thinks it must be because all of his blood is busy traveling between his dick and his face. He rolls over, restarts his deep breathing, and remembers the time his dad ordered ribs when they went out for dinner and spent the next 45 minutes trying to dislodge a piece of gristle that had gotten stuck in his teeth.

It works like a charm.

The shower is slightly awkward, only because they’re both trying so hard to make it not awkward, talking in overly loud, bright voices. Blaine points out that there’s a bit of a cool front coming through and it’s a perfect day for sightseeing if Kurt’s up for it (why does he sound shy all of a sudden?). Kurt admits to feeling a little bit of cabin fever, now that he’s settled, and the way Blaine nods quickly in agreement makes him laugh, which makes Blaine grin, and then it’s not so awkward.

Blaine makes breakfast while Kurt spends some quality time with his wardrobe, gawking at the designer labels that show no signs of wear (betraying their origins on ebay or thrift store racks) and names he doesn’t recognize but figures must be new in the past decade. He sees a pair of gorgeous pants, the label bearing the name of his apparent employer, and wonders if he designed them; there’s something in the line of the pockets that seems familiar, makes him think of the doodles he’d been playing around with last year in algebra. He makes a mental note to go through those sketches in the office; he’s itching to see where design is going, where his designs are going.

He laments the pants with an unimpressed glare at his walking cast, picks a pair of close fitting, tailored black shorts with a subtle stripe instead. He finds a bright blue button-down and a black vest that are structured without being heavy. It’s his first day out and about in New York City, after all. And he’ll be with Blaine, who he’s sure will look perfect because he kind of always looks perfect, even in that terrible bathing suit (although that bathing suit usually accompanies a phenomenal scalp massage, so, bias), and he wants to measure up, to fit in. He is definitely not trying to impress Blaine, who has probably seen all of these clothes a million times anyway. That’s not it at all.

Blaine’s still in a t-shirt and loose jeans, hair wet and slowly becoming ridiculous, pushing eggs around in a pan, when he hears the familiar clack-woosh-thud of Kurt making his way down the hallway. He turns, intending to ask if he wants toast, but the words die in his throat. Because Kurt is standing in front of him, looking a little shy and a little hopeful and completely, devastatingly gorgeous.

“Blaine?” Kurt asks, and Blaine realizes he’s probably been staring. For a while. He closes his mouth, because it seems to have fallen open (attractive), then smiles.

“You look great,” he says softly, because anything more seems a bit much right now, especially given this morning, but Kurt still colors rapidly at the small compliment and Blaine feels a bit of heat in his own face. He likes making Kurt blush - likes that he gets to again.

“Well,” Kurt says loftily, trying to distract from the way his stomach is intent on somersaulting from the way Blaine looked at him, the tone in his voice. “I need to blend in, right?” Blaine shakes his head, laughing a little as he holds up the bread in question, gestures to the table.

“When we were 17,” he starts, turning away to plate the eggs and bacon (turkey, of course). “You always said that you couldn’t wait to get to New York and blend in. Then you got here and still stuck out. You, I’m afraid, are doomed to outshine everyone for all of eternity.” When he turns around with the plates, Kurt is grinning dopily at his placemat.

“So do you want the grand tour today?” Blaine asks as they finish eating. “The full New York tourist greatest hits catalog?”

“Would you mind? I know that stuff might be boring for you but--”

“Not at all,” Blaine grins. Kurt had been the one to play tour guide the first time around, when Blaine visited; it’s his turn. He pops the last bite of toast into his mouth and stands. “I should get ready.” He brushes his hand along Kurt’s shoulders as he passes, just because he can, and feels the slight tremor that passes through Kurt’s body at the touch.

Kurt’s phone buzzes in his pocket a few minutes after Blaine disappears, and he pulls it out to see Rachel’s name on the screen. She’s taken to texting him throughout the day, just checking in, sometimes relaying random memories or amusing non sequiturs from her day (Constant exposure to me is really the best way to get used to it, Kurt, she’d said. It’s how we became friends the first time around; it’ll work this time, too.) He likes her. She’s a little intense, but he likes her, and she’d gripped his hand so tightly, he knows it must be mutual.

Rachel: Good luck at PT! Everything going ok?
Kurt: Thanks - yes, all good.

Kurt takes a deep breath, fingers ghosting over the keyboard, considering. He has the feeling Rachel is the person he goes to with...things. Knows Blaine is definitely that person, too, but Blaine isn’t an option, not with this. He closes his eyes, opens them, and types.

Kurt: Rachel, can I tell you something? And have you keep it to yourself?
Rachel: Of course. Anything.
Kurt: I think I have a crush on Blaine.

Kurt lets out the breath he’s been holding, setting his phone down before he can second guess what he just did. It begins to buzz rapidly, messages coming in rapid succession.

Rachel: Been there.
Rachel: Sorry.
Rachel: Don’t know if he told you about that.
Rachel: Not the point.
Rachel: This is stupid, I’m calling.

The phone rings and Kurt rolls his eyes as he answers, keeping his voice low because Blaine could reappear at any moment.

“Yes, he did,” Kurt says before she can start talking. “And it’s ok, I forgive you again. On the condition that I get to hear the song you wrote about it.”

“Ugh, fine,” Rachel scoffs, but he can hear the smile in her voice, and when she speaks again it’s very proper. “Rachel Berry doesn’t turn down an opportunity to perform.” He hears her breathe and her voice is different yet again when she continues - she has a lot of voices, he’s realizing, and he’s a little startled that he can keep track of them all.

“Kurt, sweetie,” she starts. “You know it’s totally fine that you like him, right? It’s good. Great, even.”

“It’s weird,” Kurt says weakly. “I don’t - know him, really.”

“Oh really? Other than your dad, who would you say you know best in the world?” Rachel asks. Kurt stops and thinks, and he sighs when he realizes.

“Blaine.”

“Mmhmm.” She has somehow managed to make a hum sound smug. “Kurt, I know it’s weird to think, but Blaine loves you. Has loved you. For almost a decade.”

“But--”

“And I’m not saying that means you owe him anything,” she continues, ignoring him. “But it’s ok if you like him. Our boy is damn charming.”

At that moment, Kurt hears footsteps in the hall. He says a quick goodbye and stows his phone back in his pocket, pulling himself up onto his crutches and starting toward the living room, the picture of nonchalance.

He stops in his tracks in the entryway.

“No,” he says firmly.

“What?” Blaine asks innocently, but Kurt can hear the wavering laughter in his voice. He’s wearing plaid cargo shorts (and seriously, why does he have all of these terrible shorts and why hasn’t Kurt thrown them our and/or set fire to them?) and an I <3 NY t-shirt that’s a size too small. What appear to be women’s sunglasses complete the look.

“No,” he repeats. “I’m disappointed in myself that any of this exists in our home. Take it off.”

“Ok,” Blaine shrugs. He pulls the t-shirt over his head. His hands are on the button to his shorts before Kurt’s brain catches up.

“N-na-not here!” he sputters. Blaine rests his thumbs on his waistband, and Kurt drags his eyes up (possibly a little more slowly than strictly necessary). Blaine is grinning widely, eyebrows raised. He feels himself blush again and god, that really has to stop.

“You’re not funny,” Kurt scoffs.

“I’ve been telling you for years,” Blaine sighs, bending to pick up the discarded t-shirt and draping it over his shoulder. “I’m hilarious.” He starts back toward the bedroom, turning to look over his shoulder at Kurt. “You’re just in denial.” He winks and disappears through the door, humming to himself, and Kurt’s really glad he has the crutches to support his weight.

Blaine leans against the back of the door when he closes it behind him, smiling to himself. He’d been terrified this morning that Kurt would withdraw from him, be too overwhelmed or feel...violated or something. But he keeps forgetting that no matter how old he is, 14 or 17 or 27, Kurt Hummel has always been strong and fierce and Blaine needs to stop treating him like he’s made of glass. Underneath it all, he’s still Kurt. He just doesn’t remember.

Blaine’s happy to remind him.

Blaine eventually emerges in an acceptable outfit (Kurt is mildly horrified to discover that those actually were a pair of Blaine’s sunglasses, but gives up when Blaine just shrugs and says that he stole them from Rachel) and they head out into the city. Blaine insists on taking cabs instead of the subway, refusing to let Kurt even contemplate going down the stairs to the track, but promises that once Kurt’s leg is healed he will take the subway “all the live long day” with him.

Physical therapy is easy; Kurt’s knee has healed beautifully and he gets the ok to try walking “short distances, only on carpet” without the crutches. Blaine suggests they head to Times Square to catch one of the bus tours (It’s a tourist must, and it lets you see way more of the city without having to walk so much) and Kurt doesn’t even try to stop himself from staring, wide-eyed, at the lights and billboards and the people. They’re everywhere.

They have to sit on the upper deck, Blaine insists, to which Kurt looks down at his foot and waves his crutches, looking skeptical that he’ll be able to manage the stairs. Blaine huffs and rolls his eyes fondly, turns his back to Kurt and pats his own shoulder blade.

“Wha-” Kurt starts, confused, and Blaine crouches a little.

“Come on, Hopalong,” he laughs, reaching back to take Kurt’s crutches and physically moving one arm around his neck. Kurt still looks skeptical. “I can manage,” Blaine grins. And he does, easily moving them up the stairs without so much as a labored breath. Kurt can feel the muscles in his back shifting, can smell his cologne, wants to bury his face in his neck. But he doesn’t.

Kurt splits his attention between the tour guide’s explanations and Blaine’s running commentary, a little smug that he’s getting a much more thorough tour than everyone else. “Blaine, look!” he says suddenly, pointing excitedly at the dance battle that seems to have sprung up out of nowhere on the sidewalk below. He grabs Blaine’s hand without thinking, manages to tear his eyes away from the catcalling crowd to turn back toward him. “Sorry,” he laughs. “Got excited.” Before he can release his grip, Blaine has flipped his hand so their palms meet, and he laces their fingers together, squeezing lightly.

“No problem,” Blaine smiles. He glances down at their hands, then back up to Kurt’s eyes, his own eyes questioning. Kurt answers by squeezing back, letting their joined hands rest on his thigh.

Where they stay for the rest of the tour.

“So much for that cold front,” Blaine mutters as his feet hit the sidewalk, stopping and crouching again to let Kurt slide easily to the sidewalk. Kurt feels like he should be embarrassed that he just got a piggyback ride, but he’s just not. He feels...attended to. Cared for. It’s nice. He hums in acknowledgement, probably couldn’t discern if it was 10 degrees or a hundred right now, because he’s in New York and who cares, really?

“That is our target,” Blaine says suddenly, pointing to a Starbucks a few blocks down. “Air conditioning. And we need to kill some time.” Kurt raises an eyebrow in question but Blaine just shrugs, winking again. “You’ll see.”

Kurt’s scanning the menu, trying to decide what to order - he doesn’t really drink coffee, and it’s a bit overwhelming to try to figure everything out, when Blaine steps up to the cashier without him, ordering a medium drip and a grande nonfat mocha like it’s second nature before turning back to Kurt.

“I - did you want something different?” he asks, and Kurt just shrugs and follows him to the waiting area after Blaine pays (he leaves a tip - Kurt likes that; it’s considerate).

“I have a coffee order?” Kurt asks.

“Of course you do,” Blaine scoffs, then he pauses, eyebrows furrowing. “You don’t drink coffee yet?” Kurt shakes his head no and Blaine smiles, just a tiny quirk of his mouth, and says, almost to himself, “Wonder when that started..”

They talk about the tour, Kurt mentioning places he’d like to go and see the next time they venture out (“Whenever you want,” Blaine says simply) and Blaine looking like he’s actually making a mental list, occasionally adding in his own suggestions. It’s easy, just being like this with Blaine; Kurt already knew it was easy to talk to him, has felt it since they were properly introduced, but sitting in a crowded coffee shop in the middle of Manhattan, listening to Blaine talk about the terrible first apartment they’d shared (with Rachel) when everyone was in school and no one had any money and they were all driving each other so crazy with their vocal warm-ups that Blaine had actually mandated group vocal exercises to eliminate the problem.

“No wonder you became a teacher,” Kurt laughs over the lid of his coffee cup (the mocha is delicious), and Blaine’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles back.

“Alright, Hopalong,” Blaine says, standing and offering a hand to Kurt. “We have dinner reservations.”

“Stop calling me that,” Kurt warns. “Or I will beat you with my crutches.”

“Good luck finding your way home,” Blaine shrugs. Kurt pokes him in the calf with the end of a crutch and Blaine laughs as he leads the way to the door, clearing a path. He hails a cab, talking to the driver for a minute before helping Kurt in, and within a few minutes they’re pulling back to the curb.

“REALLY?” Kurt yells, bouncing in the seat. He throws a cursory apology to the driver but is too busy craning his neck out the window to really care.

“You didn’t think you were doing your first day in the city without going to the Empire State Building?” Blaine asks, and Kurt squeaks again as they go through the doors.

“This is a restaurant,” Kurt says when the elevator opens decidedly not at the top of the Empire State Building.

“Very astute,” Blaine nods. He excuses himself to speak to the hostess, mentally thanking his last minute stroke of inspiration and Rachel’s unabashed ability and willingness to name drop in the name of dinner reservations. “The view at night is incredible, and as often as you try, you really can’t live on just coffee, so I thought it would be nice to eat dinner first,” he explains when he returns, gesturing for Kurt to follow the hostess to the table.

“This place is amazing,” Kurt breathes as they’re seated in a corner booth. There are windows immediately to his right and behind him, and he keeps turning in his seat, trying to look down at as much of the city as possible.

“It’s even better from the top,” Blaine grins.

Dinner passes as easily as the rest of the day had; Blaine feels like he’s been talking forever, so he brings up the fall lines they’d seen in the magazines Burt brought over and gets Kurt waxing philosophic on military detailing and just watches Kurt talk. Even at 14 he had such strong opinions and visions, and Blaine’s not quite sure why this wasn’t always his goal. He would’ve been a great asset to Broadway, no doubt, but Blaine remembers the day Kurt finally realized he was having more fun designing costumes for the spring musical than actually rehearsing for it, and it was like slotting the last piece of a puzzle into place. He’d always been a force, but from then on he was unstoppable.

“Blaine?” Kurt asks, and from his tone it’s not the first time he’s done so, and that seems to be the theme of the day, Blaine gaping at Kurt’s magnificence.

“Sorry,” Blaine ducks his head. “I just - like listening to you talk.” (Smooth. Amazingly smooth. Hi I think you’re pretty do you like me? Check yes or no.) Blaine can’t beat himself up too badly though, because Kurt’s smiling at the table again, biting the corner of his lip.

“It’s dark,” Kurt says as he signs the receipt. (He’d asked to pay the check, and when Blaine said that it was all coming from the same bank account, admitted that he’d never spent that much money on anything before, so could he please pay the check? Blaine doesn’t want to tell him how much the brown wingtips in his closet cost.) He has to look at the signature on the back of his card to get the “Anderson-Hummel” right. (“Hey, it’s alphabetical,” Blaine laughs when Kurt asks about it. “Also whenever people talk about us, it’s always Kurt-and-Blaine, so you threw me a bone.”)

“It is,” Blaine agrees. “Shall we?”

Manhattan at night is indescribable. There’s so much life. Lights in office buildings, apartments, lights on billboards and businesses and the headlights of cars moving through the ebb and flow of people, still out and about because it’s late in Lima but here, here the night is just beginning. There’s no need to prepare for tomorrow when there’s still so much tonight.

Blaine watches Kurt fall in love with New York all over again, making his way around the observatory to make sure he sees everything there is to be seen. Blaine’s seen it all; he prefers this view.

He’s been in love with Kurt for so long, longer than he understood the word, really, and so many people have asked him do you ever wonder? and aren’t you curious? and he’s always said no, because he wasn’t, isn’t. He has loved this man through all the selves they’ve become in the past 10 years, and he knows, logically, that growing together is a part of why they’re so strong. But right now, he’s falling a bit more in love with an incarnation of Kurt he never knew, and that seals it, in his mind. Every version of himself will always be in love with every version of Kurt, and that’s all there is to it.

“It’s beautiful,” Kurt murmurs, watching the play of lights on the streets.

“Yeah,” Blaine breathes, watching the play of lights reflecting in Kurt’s eyes.

Kurt turns and Blaine is much closer than he remembered. He’s looking at him again, not expectantly, just looking, and the corner of his mouth lifts again when Kurt meets his eyes. The air feels too thick as he watches the play of shadows across Blaine’s face and he could comment on the humidity, could point out a building or a tourist or a bird or anything and move them away from this, and Blaine would let him.

He doesn’t.

He keeps his eyes on Blaine, tries to keep his gaze on Blaine’s (impossibly large, impossibly beautiful) eyes, but it keeps slipping to his lips and then back up, a neverending, tortuous circuit. He shifts, or Blaine does, and they’re even closer. They’re close enough that he can see Blaine’s eyes widen just a bit more, can almost see the hope and the love there, and he has absolutely no idea what he’s doing right now, has no words, wonders if there’s some gesture or signal; maybe a secret handshake. He smiles, just a little.

It’s enough.

Blaine lifts his hand without looking away, like it’s a practiced gesture (which it probably is) and fits it to Kurt’s jaw, thumb stroking so softly along his cheekbone like it had before, and Kurt leans into the touch. One of them is moving again, maybe both, and he wants this so badly, wants to let himself want it. Lets himself have it as his eyes drift closed just before he feels the press of Blaine’s lips against his.

Blaine’s lips are warm against his, soft and just a little dry, and barely moving; just gentle pressure that Kurt still feels everywhere. Blaine pulls back sooner than Kurt would like and Kurt knows his eyes are still closed but his head is spinning and he’s not sure he can actually open them right now. Blaine just kissed him. Blaine, who is gorgeous and funny and sweet and smart and perfect. And, apparently, talking while Kurt is busy wondering if it’s too late at night to call his dad to tell him.

“Kurt?” Blaine asks, and Kurt finally blinks his eyes open. Blaine watches him hesitantly, finally exhaling when Kurt smiles a little. “Was that - ok?” Kurt bites his lip and nods jerkily, dropping his head and focusing intently on where the rubber on the grip of his crutch is peeling a little.

“Hey,” Blaine ducks, keeps stooping until he can catch Kurt’s eye and stands, bring Kurt’s focus with him. “What’s up?” The tips of his ears are bright red and he still won’t look at Blaine for very long. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, eyebrows furrowing slightly before he looks down again.

“I’ve never - did I do it right?” It’s more of an exhale than words, and Blaine only hears the question because he’s been listening to Kurt for 10 years, is pretty sure that by this point he has a sixth sense based on unconsciously tracking his every movement and breath.

“Did you -” Blaine huffs before he schools his voice into a more soothing tone. “Kurt, you’re...you’re perfect. That was - everything. Was it...did you...?” Kurt nods again, but he’s looking right at Blaine now, grinning brightly, and Blaine can’t help but match it as they turn back to the city lights, arms pressed together, knuckles brushing.

Saturday night isn’t the easiest time to get a cab; it’s past 11 when they spill through the front door, and Kurt is ready to fall over. He’s done more in the past 12 hours than in the past week and says as much around a yawn as he disappears into the bathroom. When he emerges, fresh-faced and pajama-clad, Blaine is standing awkwardly just inside the bedroom door.

“What’s wrong?” Kurt asks, and Blaine sees when he puts everything together, looking from Blaine (well, Blaine’s mouth, really) to the bed and back again. Things are different now.

“I can sleep on the couch,” Blaine says quickly, but Kurt is shaking his head before he finishes.

“That’s ridiculous. Blaine, it’s fine. Just because we - kissed (and Blaine sees the way he can’t help but smile through the word) - we don’t have to change everything.”

“Ok. Ok,” Blaine nods, smiling. “I just don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Just - whatever you want, ok?”

“How about...” Kurt trails off, tapping his lips thoughtfully. “If you, um, want to kiss me again, just...not on the bed?”

“Of course.” Blaine kind of likes the boundary, mostly because Kurt basically just said he wants him to kiss him again, and this makes for much less anxiety and room for error. He moves from his perch by the door, and is almost to the bed when Kurt’s hand darts out and closes around his arm.

“Don’t,” Kurt says quietly when Blaine turns to look at him. “Don’t get on the bed yet.”

“Wh...” Blaine’s question dies in his throat as he realizes what Kurt means; his hand is still wrapped around his bicep, tugging so lightly that Blaine could easily be imagining it, but he’s not. Kurt just asked to be kissed. And who is Blaine to deny him.

Blaine leans in with less warning this time, brushes his lips lightly against Kurt’s just once. He smirks a little when he pulls away and Kurt automatically follows, eyes still closed, then tilts his chin up to press a kiss to Kurt’s forehead.

“Bed?” Blaine asks quietly and Kurt opens his eyes and nods, flushed and a little breathless. Blaine leaves Kurt space, still a little worried about overwhelming him, but Kurt looks over after a minute, considering, before edging across the open space, stopping directly at Blaine’s side.

“Cuddles aren’t affected by the ‘not on the bed’ rule,” he says, halfway to a question but trying to sound confident.

“Thank god,” Blaine mutters, lifting his arm. Kurt slides under it carefully, resting his head on Blaine’s chest, and glances up at Blaine through his eyelashes.

“Good?”

“Perfect.”

Chapter 5