Archive of Our Own

(one)

Kurt comes home from the theater at midnight smelling like subway and the stale scent of his sailor costume. It’s ridiculously hot, and the city gives off an odor of too many people going too many places, sweat and urine and garbage and a dizzying mix of perfumes and colognes.

Their apartment is on a quiet, tree-lined street in Fort Greene, the top-floor unit in an old brownstone. They live among families and hipsters and immigrants and students, a typical New York tossed salad. Down the street is the Brooklyn Academy of Music; sometimes they hear strains of music late into the night, the elastic sway of the violin or the tinkling of a piano. Neither of them mind. Blaine likes to take his students there on field trips. I want them to know what’s possible, he says. 

Kurt and Blaine moved into this apartment at the end of June a year ago, another hot, humid summer day that had Kurt swearing up a storm and complaining about sweat and muscle strain and Oh my God we will never fit all this stuff in there, it is only 700 square feet!

Blaine seemed afraid to touch Kurt that day, and Kurt couldn’t blame him: he was so livid and tense, apprehension emanating off him in waves. Even Mercedes couldn't calm him down. Blaine watched them fight in the hallway with wide eyes as Kurt flailed his arms, near tears. Mercedes tried to tell him it will be okay, baby, don't— 

Kurt shouted, Why on earth didn't you talk me out of the motherfucking fourth floor walkup?

But many hours later it was done, miracle of all miracles. There were boxes everywhere, Kurt couldn't even feel his feet, he was so tired and his head was pounding, but it was done and this place was theirs, it was his and Blaine's, together. Kurt didn't care that they had to sleep on the floor because neither of them could be bothered to assemble the bed. He was going to sleep with Blaine in their apartment, and he couldn't remember ever wanting anything in his life as much as he wanted that.

Kurt sank down onto the sleeping bag they'd laid out on the floor under Blaine’s ridiculous and impractical Baby Grand piano. It was the only currently available floor space. When Blaine tried to pull him in Kurt shimmied away and said, I’m gross, Blaine, I haven't even showered yet.

I don't care, Blaine said, tugging Kurt into his arms and then flipping him onto his back, roughly enough that it knocked the wind out of him. Kurt's eyes widened. He knew Blaine could feel the twinge of Kurt's arousal, a shiver vibrating some invisible emotional thread.

I love you, Blaine whispered, and slid his hand through Kurt's hair, pushing it off his sweaty forehead. When Kurt kissed him he tasted like ocean, like salt and exhaustion.

There was a crackle and then a boom and Kurt tensed underneath him, hands encircling Blaine's wrists. Through the open window above them - they didn’t have curtains yet, Kurt needed to take care of that - they could see a spray of light, a halo of sparkle against the hazy night sky. 

Early fireworks, Kurt murmured. 

He pressed one hand against Blaine's stomach and left it there, not pushing him away, just wanting to touch.

Did you ever think it would be like this? Blaine asked. 

Blaine didn't even seem to know what he was asking, but Kurt felt like he understood.

Play me something, Kurt said softly.

Kurt turns the key in the lock and pushes it open with a creak. He finds Blaine sprawled on the floor in the living room with eight colors of poster board all around him, making signs illustrating musical terms. His heavily scented black marker squeaks as he writes, his tongue caught between his teeth.

“You’re going to be so tired in the morning,” Kurt observes.

Blaine loses his grip on his marker, leaving a jagged streak across one corner of a neon green poster board. He sighs.

“I’ll be okay,” Blaine says.

Kurt crouches down on the floor and pushes his hands into Blaine’s hair. Kurt loves the way Blaine’s hair feels between his fingers, thick and curly and complicated.

“How was your day as Broadway's best space sailor?” Blaine asks.

“A little bumpy,” Kurt says. “Kate forgot the words to ‘Ocean of Stars,’ and Matthew tripped on a set piece and almost gave himself a concussion.”

“You, I assume, were flawless,” Blaine says, mouth twitching.

“Always,” Kurt says in a bored voice.

Blaine’s breath hitches as Kurt tugs him forward. Their lips meet on his exhale.

“I love you,” Kurt whispers against Blaine’s lips.

“You too,” Blaine murmurs, and when they twist into each other’s arms they fit the way they always do, spirals into circles into an embrace.

&&&

Kurt hates getting up early in the morning, but he loves watching Blaine get ready, loves seeing Blaine emerge from the bathroom in a cloud of steam with a towel round his waist, his hair dripping wet but still curly. He loves watching the muscles of his back move as a rogue drop of water slides down his spine. He loves how Blaine will turn to look at him and give him a still-sleepy smile, the corners of his mouth pressing up.

“Rachel’s having a party,” Kurt tells him, managing to drag his eyes away for a moment to read a text.

Blaine pulls on his blazer and begins combing gel into his hair.

“Weekend?” Blaine asks, glancing around the room absently. Kurt reaches over and plucks Blaine’s wallet off the bedside table and tosses it to him.

“Monday, our day off,” Kurt says. “We should probably go. We haven’t made it to one of her parties in a long time.”

“I have parent-teacher conferences,” Blaine says, “but I can come later, after dinner.”

Kurt doesn’t relish the thought of braving one of Rachel’s parties alone – he’s not a fan of her theater friends, most of whom are bigger drama queens than Kurt, and that’s really saying something – but he doesn’t complain. He knows Blaine spends a lot of time waiting up for him.

“Have a good day,” Kurt says, and Blaine trots over to the bed and leans down, capturing Kurt’s mouth in a kiss that, if Blaine wasn’t about to leave, might lead places.

“I’ll see you later, gorgeous,” Blaine says with a wink, and Kurt shivers when Blaine’s fingertips press into his shoulders.

&&&

Blaine is asleep by the time Kurt gets home. Kurt showers and puts on his pajamas in the bathroom as quietly as he can, pulls the silk over his skin and wishes Blaine could see how he looks tonight, the cream of the silk contrasting with the flush in his cheeks.

Sometimes they go days without seeing each other for more than a few waking moments at a time. Those are the times Kurt is most grateful for their inexplicable subconscious bond. They share dreams. It’s only confusing when the lines between reality and dream blur and they find themselves talking about something that never actually happened, a conversation or an interaction they had in their vivid dream world.

Blaine shifts to make room for Kurt when he slips into bed. He’s only wearing boxers, and when Kurt curls into his arms, the slippery fabric of Kurt’s pajamas ghosts over Blaine’s nipples. Blaine bites his lip. Kurt wants so badly to slide his lips down over his chest and lick Blaine awake, but he knows Blaine has to be at work early in the morning. He forces himself to be satisfied with kissing Blaine’s neck until he shudders. He sleeps with one hand splayed across Blaine’s collarbone. 

&&&

“I want you to bring crème brulee,” Rachel tells Kurt over the phone on Sunday. 

Kurt has his phone on speaker as he makes omelets. Blaine looks up from his laptop with a delighted expression on his face.

“That is remarkably specific,” Kurt says, flipping the omelet with a flick of his wrist. “Isn’t crème brulee a bit high fashion for a Monday night dinner party?”

“All my parties are high fashion,” Rachel says in a haughty voice. “It’s not like we’re going to watch Monday Night Football.”

Blaine draws a :( on a Post-it note and passes it to Kurt across the counter. Kurt rolls his eyes.

“I don’t have gas for my crème brulee torch,” Kurt says, which is a lie. Kurt is always prepared to make crème brulee. “Will a nice bottle of wine do?”

“It will suffice,” Rachel says in a tone that clearly indicates it will not. 

Then: “Jesse will be there, you know.”

“Oh?” Kurt says, trying to keep the disdain out of his voice. He is trying to like Jesse, Rachel’s new boyfriend, but it’s hard. He’s one of those actors who embodies all the actor clichés - arrogant, self-involved, competitive. 

He seems intensely interested in Kurt, too, and it makes Kurt nervous.

“Be nice to him, Kurt,” Rachel warns.

Be nice, Kurt, Blaine writes on a post it and illustrates it with a bunch of hearts and flowers. 

Kurt sticks out his tongue at him.

&&&

Kurt watches Jesse out of the corner of his eye. He’s laughing, his hand high on Rachel’s thigh, and she’s curved forward around him, giggling into her glass of Pinot.

Kurt’s not jealous. That’s not it at all. When he and Rachel had a strained conversation a few days ago before rehearsal, Rachel had snapped: Are you the only one who gets to have an attractive, musically-inclined boyfriend? 

Kurt hadn’t known how to tell her: I don’t like the way he looks at me.

Jesse is looking at Kurt right now, across a room full of people vibrating with booze and dance and hormones. Jesse’s eyes are blue, but sometimes they look green, and every time Kurt catches him watching him he shivers. He does so now.

Blaine still isn’t here, held up by his meetings, and Kurt feels like he’s suffocating. He’s able to control it, most of the time - the way he picks up people’s emotions - but parties can be hard. Kurt needs air.

He gets up, setting his half-empty glass of wine down on a coaster on the coffee table, and makes his way to the back window. No one even seems to notice as he props it open and climbs out onto the fire escape.

The city buzzes below him, the hum of traffic mingling with sirens and shouts. Kurt loves the apartment he and Blaine share, strewn with Blaine’s sheet music and Kurt’s clothes, smelling like Kurt’s brunch experiments and Blaine’s cologne, but sometimes Kurt misses Tribeca and Blaine’s flat with its wide windows and impossible view. The energy is different in Manhattan. Brooklyn sweats; Manhattan burns.

“Hey, Kurt,” he hears, and turns to see Jesse climbing out onto the fire escape.

Kurt bites back a comment about needing space. This is Rachel’s boyfriend, he reminds himself. Play nice.

“I get the feeling you don’t like me very much,” Jesse says, and Kurt stiffens.

“I never—” Kurt says, but Jesse interrupts: “It’s okay. I’m not trying to start something. Relax.”

Jesse produces a cigarette and lighter from somewhere and ignites it with a flick of his thumb. He inhales deeply, and for a moment Kurt craves one himself, even though he’s never been a smoker.

“So does anyone know you’re fey, or is that totally a secret?” Jesse asks.

Kurt feels like someone dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. He balls his hands into fists.

“What?”

“I know you’re faerie,” Jesse says. “At least part. You can’t hide from me, Kurt. We always know our own kind.”

Kurt splutters. “I don’t know what—”

Jesse grasps Kurt’s arm, and Kurt gets a rush he’s never felt before, not with Blaine, not with anyone. It’s shocking and strange, and for a moment everything tastes like oranges and smells sweet. He’s dizzy, and he clutches at the railing of the fire escape as the streetlamps dance below.

“Whoa, okay,” Jesse says.

Kurt feels like he wants to put as much distance as he possibly can between him and Jesse, but when Jesse guides him to sit down, his touch is steadying, calming. 

“Apparently you are not used to that,” Jesse says.

“You could warn a guy,” Kurt gasps. “Holy shit.”

“I’m three-quarters,” Jesse says. “Father was full fey, mother half. You must be less. Only one parent?”

“My mother,” Kurt breathes.

“And she’s dead, right?” Jesse says. “Rachel mentioned.”

Kurt wonders in what context his mother’s death would have come up, but he’s not entirely surprised. Rachel has never been his most discreet friend.

“What the fuck, Jesse,” Kurt says.

“You’ve never spent time with the fey,” Jesse says, his gaze hanging heavy on Kurt. “And nobody knows?”

“Blaine knows,” Kurt says. “We have this weird - I don’t know, we can feel each other’s emotions—”

“That’s so interesting,” Jesse says, sounding almost clinical. “I’ve never heard of empathic exchange between faeries and humans. Maybe because you’re only part fey.”

Kurt bristles. “It doesn’t matter if I’m part sea creature or giraffe, I don’t do any of that weird magical shit. I’m normal.”

Jesse’s eyes change color, Kurt realizes, just like his do. It’s unnerving. Kurt curls his hand into his palm.

“Your mother never told you, huh,” Jesse says.

“Told me what?” Kurt demands.

“What you’re capable of,” Jesse murmurs.

There’s a creak and a clatter and Blaine climbs out onto the fire escape, all smiles.

“Should’ve known you would be out here,” Blaine says. “Kurt’s never completely satisfied unless he feels above everybody.”

“You’re hilarious,” Kurt says, voice dry. “Ha. Ha.”

Jesse is still watching him, unblinking.

Blaine wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist and pulls him close, his lips pressing a kiss into the base of Kurt’s neck.

“Hey, baby,” Blaine whispers.

Normally Kurt loves this, loves being close to Blaine and being held, but right now he feels smothered.

“I want to go home,” Kurt says softly.

Blaine stiffens behind him but doesn’t protest when Kurt wrestles out of Blaine’s embrace so he can slip back through the window.

&&&

Kurt can tell Blaine wants to ask as they climb into bed, wants to know what’s wrong, but Blaine has learned to wait Kurt out on nights like this. So Blaine doesn’t ask; he just pulls Kurt into the cradle of his arms and begins to kiss him, slow but not teasing. Kurt rolls on top of him and presses down and swallows Blaine’s desperate sounds. They fuck fast, not caring about drawing it out, and when Blaine whispers you, you into the sweat-slick skin of Kurt’s neck, Kurt stops caring about anything else for that moment, stops caring about Jesse and faerie magic and secrets that can’t stay secrets forever.

&&&

“You know faeries don’t usually mate with humans,” Kurt hears as he unfurls himself from a forward bend to see Jesse standing above him with an arched eyebrow.

“Mate?” Kurt says. His muscles feel tight all over again. Great. A half hour warm-up, wasted.

“It’s uncommon for a full faerie to mate with a full human,” Jesse says. “Your parents were very unusual.”

Blaine and I are very unusual, Kurt thinks.

“Is this why you came to harass me on your lunch break?” Kurt asks. “Because you want to educate me on faerie mating habits?”

Rachel is in A Star is Born and Jesse is in Hair, both of which are being staged only a couple blocks from the theater where Kurt’s space opera is headquartered. Normally Kurt enjoys having a friend so nearby, but not so much if it means her weirdo boyfriend is going to stalk him.

“I thought it might be of interest to you,” Jesse says. 

“Why are you talking about this here?” Kurt asks, gesturing wildly with his hands. Thankfully, the theater is empty – everyone has gone out for a smoke break.

“Why do you want to keep this a secret?” Jesse counters.

“That is one of the dumbest questions I have ever heard,” Kurt snaps.

“This is about Blaine, isn’t it?” Jesse says. “He doesn’t want you to be some kind of fey freak.”

“I thought humans and faeries don’t usually mate,” Kurt retorts. “So Blaine and I are doomed anyway, right?”

Jesse pushes a curl off his forehead, his eyes shaded an icy blue. “I never said faeries can’t fool around with humans.”

“Blaine and I aren’t fooling around,” Kurt says, “and thanks for letting me know you’re basically just fucking with one of my best friends.”

“Rachel knows it’s not serious,” Jesse says. “Anyway, she can take care of herself.”

Kurt’s not so sure about that. Rachel is astoundingly competent in so many ways, but she has a weak spot when it comes to emotionally-stunted men.

“Does she know you’re a faerie?” Kurt asks. “Since you’re all about full disclosure? Out and proud?”

Jesse narrows his eyes, but he doesn’t answer.

“I think you should come with me to this club,” Jesse says instead, and flicks a small, rectangular card into Kurt’s lap. The card bears a picture of a pair of holographic green eyes. When Kurt picks it up the eyes go from green to blue. The letters GLAMOUR are written across it in silver script.

“Why,” Kurt says, “would I want go there?”

“Because I think you’re curious,” Jesse says. “And I think your mother would want you to know who you really are.”

&&&

Kurt is so agitated when he gets home that he can’t sleep. He tiptoes past a sleeping Blaine into the bathroom and runs a bath in their claw-footed tub, hot as he can stand it. When he climbs in, he hisses as his limbs sink into the water.

Tension is just beginning to drain from his muscles when he hears a soft knock at the door.

“Kurt?” Blaine says. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” Kurt says. 

The running water must have woken Blaine. Kurt would feel bad, but the truth is he needs Blaine tonight, more than either of them need sleep.

Blaine pads in wearing a pair of ratty black pajama pants, hair a bed-tousled mess, eyes still blurred with sleep. Kurt smothers a sigh. Blaine never even has to try. It is so patently unfair.

He crouches down next to the tub and kisses Kurt’s forehead. “You didn’t kiss me hello.”

“You were asleep!” Kurt protests.

“Doesn’t mean I won’t feel it,” Blaine says, pouting.

“Oh my God, you are pathetic,” Kurt says, but he’s laughing. Blaine braces himself on the edge of the tub so he can kiss him more deeply, slipping his tongue between Kurt’s parted lips.

“You’re all wet and naked,” Blaine breathes against Kurt’s mouth, then flicks his tongue at the corner of Kurt’s lips and elicits a gasp.

“What’re you gonna do about it?” Kurt says.

Blaine slides his hand into the water and fists Kurt’s cock.

“Wow, hello,” Kurt says, hips bucking.

Blaine strokes up and down, looking very pleased with himself, but Kurt can feel how turned on he is, pressing along the seams of his mind. Kurt looks up at Blaine from under his eyelashes and Blaine sucks in a breath, flushing.

We’re not fooling around, Kurt thinks.

So why can’t Kurt push Jesse’s stupid baiting comments aside? Why did he keep that card instead of throwing it away the second Jesse left?

“Sometimes I wish I could actually read your mind,” Blaine murmurs, squeezing around Kurt’s cock. “But sometimes I really don’t.”

Kurt exhales heavily and wraps one hand around the back of Blaine’s neck.

“Just kiss me,” he whispers.

&&&

“I have a problem,” Kurt tells his dad over the phone as he looks for Ibuprofen in Duane Reade. He realizes they are nearly out of lube. He could have timed this phone call better.

“What’s going on?” Burt asks. 

Kurt can hear the revving of an engine in the background. His dad is clearly still at work.

“Someone found out,” Kurt says. “About – you know.”

There’s a pause on the other end, and then his father covers the phone and shouts something. When he comes back on it’s much quieter.

“How did someone find out?” Burt says. “You said found out, right? You didn’t tell ‘em.”

“My friend Rachel, her boyfriend – he’s a…” Kurt lowers his voice to a whisper, and then says, all in a rush, “He’s fey. He wants to take me to some club and show me what our powers are, or something.”

Kurt can almost hear his dad thinking over the phone. His skin feels itchy with his apprehension.

“You wanna go to this club?” Burt asks.

Kurt takes in a breath. 

“I – no, not really,” Kurt says. “I mean, why do I need to meet—”

“It’s okay if you want to meet other faeries, Kurt,” Burt says. “It’s a part of you. You don’t need to be ashamed of it.”

Kurt stops in the middle of the aisle, clutching the phone more tightly. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Burt asks. “It sounds like you already made up your mind.”

Kurt’s throat feels dry.

“Jesse said he thinks Mom would want me to do this,” Kurt says. “I keep feeling like – this is a gift she gave me, right? So why am I acting like it doesn’t exist? Why did we never talk about this, Dad?”

Burt is quiet for a few moments.

“I didn’t know how to talk about it,” Burt says. “I never really understood the whole faerie thing, to be honest. Your mom – she wanted you to be raised as normal as possible. I got the feeling there were things about faeries that—”

“I can make people do things,” Kurt blurts out. “Whether they want to or not. Did you know that?”

He can picture his dad now, in his cluttered office, shoulders sinking as he slumps into his desk chair. The few moments before his dad answers are torturous.

“I – yeah,” Burt says softly. “I had a feeling.”

They breathe together. Kurt picks up a bottle of shampoo, but he can’t read any of the words on the label.

“You know I love you, don’t you, son?” Burt says. “And your mother – she loved you more than anything. More than anything or anyone.”

Kurt swallows. He is not going to cry in a fucking drug store.

“Whatever you do,” Burt says, voice rough, “be careful. All right?”

&&&

When Jesse texts Kurt that afternoon with goin 2 glamour come with? Kurt sits down in front of the mirror in his dressing room backstage and stares at his reflection for a good five minutes. 

His hair is parted perfectly to the side, cheekbones slightly dusted with freckles he will cover with make-up. Kurt has always thought he was on the prettier side as far as boys go, but not the conversation-stopping type. Blaine tells him he loves the sharp line of his jaw and the curve of his ears. And your eyes, Blaine says. Your eyes are magical.

Kurt’s phone buzzes with a message from Blaine: thinking of you. not conducive to lesson planning.

Kurt’s stomach flips as he texts back, <3 will be later tonite. going out with the girls.

&&&

The club tastes like hurt. It’s a strange taste, one Kurt has only recently been able to identify – salty and bitter like the ocean, but also the tiniest bit sweet. 

A few weeks ago he and Blaine fought, one of their standard fights about not having enough time together, schedules conflicting, always being too tired, testy and frustrated. 

This is my dream, Blaine, Kurt had snapped. Do you want me to give it up? Wait tables my whole fucking life? 

Blaine had drawn back, stung, and that was when Kurt had tasted it, sharp and insistent in the back of his throat.

Here, in this club, the taste is overwhelming, almost more potent than the smell of sweat and smoke and spilled liquor. Lights flash and swirl and Kurt reaches out for Jesse, needing someone to steady him. Jesse hardly seems to notice, already poring over the crowd for – Kurt is not sure what. 

Kurt doesn’t even know why they’re here, or more specifically, why he is here. He could be at home with Blaine right now. He can feel Blaine, tugging at him in that way he does when he’s trying not to. It aches. Sometimes Kurt will feel it when he’s onstage and will know that Blaine is there, in the audience, watching. He never sees him, and afterward Blaine pretends like he wasn’t there. On those nights Kurt holds Blaine closer than usual in bed, feeling the words get caught just before they spill out. I miss you too. More than you will ever know.

Kurt realizes with a start that there are humans in this club, not just fey. He can feel them, their confusion and bewilderment, their unease and sharp arousal. A girl lays sprawled across a couch in front of them, her skirt rucked up to her waist. She looks dazed. Jesse moves forward and presses his hand to her forehead, a quick, easy movement. Her eyelids flutter and she reaches out for him, but Jesse darts away, laughing.

“Never gets old,” he tells Kurt with a sharp smile.

Kurt feels ill.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He knows it’s Blaine, and part of him doesn’t want to look. He does anyway. It reads: hope ur having a good time w/ the girls

Kurt swallows.

“What are you doing?” Jesse asks, grabbing Kurt’s wrist, pulling him along. Kurt hastily slips his phone back into his pocket. 

They’ve come to a long bar embedded with glitter that glints under the flickering lights. Jesse signals the bartender, a beautiful girl with long, green hair. “Two pixies on the rocks.”

She nods and turns away, plucking a bottle containing something strange and blue off the shelf.

It would be funny if it wasn’t so terrifying, Kurt thinks. He wants so desperately to find this funny.

Kurt watches as a man with dyed silver hair leads another man onto the dance floor. At first they just move together to the rhythm of music, a thumping, steady beat. But then the silver-haired man wraps his hand around the other man’s waist, and the other man goes limp. The silver-haired man begins to kiss the other man’s neck. He offers no resistance.

“How do you like it?” Jesse asks.

That is when Kurt decides that the only way to clear his mind is to cloud it. He downs the drink Jesse hands him in one swallow before ordering another.

“You can do this too,” Jesse says, angling his head toward the two men.

“I don’t think—”

“You probably don’t know how powerful you are,” Jesse says. “Even if you’re half, you can still bend humans to your will, you know.”

But I wouldn’t, Kurt thinks. Not Blaine, not ever.

“That’s crazy,” Kurt says, voice hoarse.

Jesse lifts an eyebrow. He spreads his arms out, mouth curling into a smile that makes Kurt’s stomach hurt.

“Look at where you are, man,” Jesse says. 

&&&

“You look like new blood,” a voice comes from behind him, and Kurt turns to see a tall, well-built blond standing behind him. He’s got wide blue eyes and pouty lips, and he gives Kurt a genuine smile.

“I – what?” Kurt says. 

Everything feels hazy. He’s lost count of the number of drinks he’s had, and Jesse disappeared a while ago, abandoning him in this sea of unfamiliar bodies. He has a vague notion that he should be going somewhere – home? Where is home, exactly?

“I’m Sam,” the man says, holding out his hand, and Kurt takes it without thinking.

The second he does, he regrets it. Sam’s handshake feels like instant sex, a head rush that makes Kurt’s knees buckle.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” Sam says, steering Kurt toward a chair and letting him sink down into it, then perches on the arm of a nearby couch. “I thought – you’re mixed, aren’t you?”

Kurt hates the way Sam and Jesse say this, like it’s something that’s wrong with him, a quality to be pitied.

“Half and half,” Kurt replies. “But don’t try to put me in your coffee.”

Sam laughs. He has a big, friendly laugh – in fact, everything about him is big and friendly, open and warm.

“You been here before?” Sam asks.

“No,” Kurt says, taking another sip of his sweet drink.

“It’s kind of a drag,” Sam says. “I like this place on 52nd street better. More of a coffee house set-up, people just chillin’ out. Here it’s like everybody’s trying to impress each other.”

Kurt sits up a little straighter in his chair. “Are you a full faerie?”

Sam tugs his hand through his shaggy hair, flushing a bit. “Yup.”

“Do you – do you ever do stuff like this?” Kurt asks, gesturing over to where a slender man has a human girl in his lap, stroking her face as her eyelashes flutter.

Sam looks uncomfortable. “I – I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kurt leans forward. “Don’t play stupid, Sam. It’s not cute.”

Sam’s lips twists into a frown, and his eyes look silver. Kurt pulls back. He wonders if it’s just the liquor that makes it seem like Sam’s face is – shifting –

But then Kurt has a flash of sharper, more gaunt features, and suddenly Sam looks almost skeletal, his eyes reddish, his lips a pale blue and his skin a dull grey.

“What—” Kurt gasps, but when he blinks, Sam looks like he did before – like a boy Kurt might see anywhere, on the street, in the grocery store, playing guitar at that 52nd street coffee shop.

“Oh, fuck,” Kurt breathes. “I have to go.”

&&&

Kurt fumbles with the lock, barely managing the coordination needed to open the door. He’s struggling to fit his key in when the door slide open to reveal Blaine standing there.

“Hi…Kurt,” Blaine says, his eyebrows furrowing.

“Hi,” Kurt huffs out.

Kurt reaches out on automatic, trusting Blaine to help him keep his balance. Blaine tugs Kurt inside, steering him until they reach the couch and Kurt collapses onto it.

“You had a lot to drink,” Blaine states, his mouth curving down. “You feel all – fuzzy.”

Kurt smoothes down his hair and tries to focus. “Yeah, I—yeah.”

“Did the girls bring you home or get you a cab?” Blaine asks. “I could have come and gotten you, you know.”

Kurt has a brief, panicked flash of Blaine at that fey club watching humans crumple and sway, their eyes empty and clouded over.

“Kurt, say something,” Blaine murmurs, pushing Kurt’s hair off his forehead. 

Kurt realizes he’s sweating. He can’t lie to Blaine. It’s too exhausting, like putting up a wall and then constantly sealing over all the cracks.

“I wasn’t with the girls,” Kurt slurs. “Was with Jesse.”

Blaine’s eyes go distant. “With Jesse? Did you go out with Rachel? Why didn’t you tell me—”

“Just Jesse,” Kurt says. “He’s – he’s like me, Blaine.”

Blaine takes a moment to process this, his hand freezing in the motion of stroking over Kurt’s forehead. 

Kurt knows Blaine doesn’t even think in those terms: like Kurt, not human. Kurt and Blaine are alike and together. They are magnets that can’t be pulled apart.

But Kurt has never known another faerie. He has never known anyone more like him than Blaine.

Is he really more like Jesse? Or Sam?

“Where did you go?” Blaine asks.

His voice is flat, and Kurt can’t connect to his emotional aura at all.

“This place called Glamour,” Kurt says. “Just some club in Harlem.”

“A faerie club,” Blaine says. “I’ve heard of it.”

“You’ve heard of it?” Kurt asks.

“When we first got together, I did research,” Blaine says. “I found every place with fey connections in the city. I wanted to know if this stuff was real.”

Kurt stares at Blaine, open-mouthed. He shouldn’t be surprised. It makes sense that Blaine would investigate, that he’d want to know what he was getting into.

“Why did you go with Jesse?” Blaine asks. “He seems like kind of a creep.”

“I know,” Kurt says. “But he made it seem like I was ashamed of my mother for not wanting to know more about - about what the fey can do.”

Blaine takes Kurt’s hands, lacing their fingers together. Kurt feels the immediate buzz he always does when they touch, a low purr, a contented white noise.

“You know I love you,” Blaine says. “All of you, Kurt.”

Kurt kisses Blaine lightly on the lips. The air around them hums.

“Tell me about the club,” Blaine whispers. “Please?”

Kurt shudders. 

“It was awful,” Kurt says. “Humans acting like zombies, Blaine, I—”

“Is it like how—” Blaine stops, biting his lip.

Kurt doesn’t need Blaine to finish.

“Like what happened with Karofsky, yes,” Kurt says. “But so much worse. They can make people powerless. They can make them do anything they want.”

“Do you ever think about doing that?” Blaine asks, his grip tightening. “I mean – to me?”

Kurt’s eyes widen. “No! No, I would never—”

“I’m not asking whether you would do it, Kurt,” Blaine says softly. “I’m asking if you’ve thought about it.”

Even in his slurred, drunken state, Kurt’s heart is beating too fast, enough to make him gasp for breath.

“Are you asking me if I’ve thought about raping you?” Kurt asks.

Blaine winces at the word rape, but he doesn’t let go of Kurt’s hands

“Do you hold back with me?” Blaine says. “When we’re…intimate, do you—”

“Of course I do!” Kurt shouts. “Of course I hold back, because I don’t want to force you—”

“I don’t want you to hold back,” Blaine says. “I want you to be totally open with me. I don’t want you to be afraid, Kurt.”

Kurt feels like he’s going to throw up. He tries to wrestle out of Blaine’s grip. 

“Would you try it with me?" Blaine asks.

“What?” Kurt yelps.

Blaine pushes him down onto the couch, pressing his hands into the leather behind Kurt’s head. 

“Do - everything, everything you can do to me. I can take it,” Blaine says. 

Kurt bucks his hips, but Blaine is solid and strong and doesn’t let go. 

“I'm asking you,” Blaine whispers. “Please.”

Kurt wants to ignore the curl of arousal in his stomach, the way Blaine’s words burn up his spine.

“Fuck you,” Kurt growls. “I’m not going to—”

“Do you think,” Blaine says, voice hoarse, “that I can’t take it? That I’m not strong enough—”

“It’s not about strength,” Kurt says. “I have these powers. It’s not fair to you for me to—”

Blaine’s lower lip curls in anger. “Is it fair for you to lie to me? To go out to these clubs so you can—what?”

“I don’t know why I went,” Kurt says. “Because I wanted to understand, I guess—”

“—what you’ve been missing?” Blaine says.

Blaine presses Kurt’s hands down harder, his eyes flashing, and Kurt gasps.

It all happens so fast. One moment Blaine is above him, pinning him to the couch, the next Blaine is flat on his back on the floor, Kurt above him, straddling his hips. 

Except he doesn’t remember pushing, and he’s not holding Blaine down.

Blaine can’t move. He’s breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed. His hands curl and uncurl at his sides, and his eyelids flutter.

God, he’s gorgeous.

Kurt feels it: the power, the heady rush of it. 

I want to fuck him like this, Kurt realizes. I want him to whimper and beg. I want to own him. 

Blaine turns his head to the side, a small whine escaping his lips. His eyes are wild.

Kurt leans down and brushes his lips against Blaine’s. Blaine kisses him back, biting Kurt’s bottom lip. They both groan.

I could do it, Kurt thinks. I could make him do anything. I could make him think he wants it too.

“No!” Kurt yelps, scrambling off him and backing away until his back is pressed against the wall, knees tucked into his chin.

“Kurt,” Blaine rasps, and all Kurt can taste is hurt, in his throat and his mouth, bitter and salty and sweet, everywhere around him.

&&&

It’s raining outside, and Kurt runs the twelve blocks to where Mercedes and Santana live. By the time he gets there he’s panting and soaked and entirely sober.

Mercedes answers the doorbell in a silk bathrobe with a frown, but the second she sees Kurt her expression shifts from grumpy to concern. “Kurt! What are you - did you walk here?”

“Ran, actually,” Kurt breathes, and he hears Santana call from inside, “Is that Hummel? Because I just got a text from his smitten kitten, and he is freaking out.”

“Go to bed, Santana,” Mercedes calls out without turning around. “Baby, are you okay?”

“Not exactly,” Kurt says.

Mercedes tugs Kurt by the sleeve into their apartment. “You are soaked. Take off your clothes and I’ll get you something dry.”

“Yeah, strip, Hummel!” Santana says from where she’s standing in the kitchen doorway. “We don’t get to see you naked nearly enough. You do love your layers.”

Kurt makes an ugly face at her, and Santana cackles like the witch she is.

“Will you please leave?” Mercedes says, hand on her hip. “You’re not helping.”

“Blaine says you left your phone,” Santana informs Kurt. “Am I allowed to tell him you aren’t dead so he doesn’t lose his mind?”

“Yes,” Kurt says softly. 

When Mercedes hands him a towel, he slides off his t-shirt. His skin feels cool and clammy despite the way heat hangs heavy in the apartment - Mercedes and Santana don’t have central air, and the living room is always too warm in summer.

“Done and done,” Santana says, tapping something into her phone. “My good deed for the evening. Good night, ladies.”

Santana blows them a kiss, then disappears into her bedroom and shuts the door.

Mercedes hands Kurt a dry shirt. He takes it but doesn’t move to put it on, staring at the wrinkled cotton in his hands like it’s something he’s never seen before.

“Honey, you don’t have to talk to me about this, but—”

“I can’t,” Kurt says, and he means it - he can’t talk to Mercedes about this, not without opening a vein. This is too much - this night, this week, this secret. Maybe he will tell her. Maybe he will have to, one day soon, but not tonight.

“Okay,” Mercedes says, rubbing his bare back lightly, hand warm between his shoulder blades. He closes his eyes and feels exhaustion cloak him. All his limbs drag. He remembers this feeling, this tiredness that goes bone-deep. He felt it last time he used his powers to control people - to control Karofsky.

That was awful then, but Karofsky was threatening Kurt. What Kurt had done could be construed as self-defense. With Blaine - God. Kurt had done that to Blaine. His stomach turns over.

“I can stay with you,” Mercedes says. 

Kurt can feel how scared she is. He wants to reassure her, but anything he could tell her right now would be a lie.

“Go to bed,” Kurt murmurs. “It’s - it’s fine.”

Mercedes sits very still for a few silent moments, then takes his hand and squeezes it.

“You need anything, you just shout,” she says.

“Thank you,” Kurt says.

He waits until she’s shut her bedroom door to cry.

&&&

Because the world is cruel, he dreams of Blaine. 

After Blaine quit his stockbroker job, he spent a few months out of work before he got a teaching assistant position and enrolled at CUNY to get his credential. Blaine was terrible at being unemployed, restless and anxious, but Kurt couldn’t help it - he liked having more time to spend with him, waking up beside him in Blaine’s big bed, sleepy sex before coffee, finding Blaine’s lips in the dark, bodies moving together as they slowly came into consciousness. He liked making him breakfast, the way Blaine would stand behind him in the kitchen as Kurt flipped pancakes, slipping his arms round Kurt’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. You’re going to make me burn these, Kurt said as Blaine pressed into his back. Blaine kissed his neck, whispering: What happens if I stick my hand down your pants? Will you set the building on fire?

Everything was so new then, so new and so scary and so wonderful. Every day came with revelations - Kurt learned Blaine’s favorite color (navy blue); and what he was allergic to (strawberries, penicillin); what apps he had downloaded to his phone, and what song he liked to wake up to in the morning. Kurt told him how he wanted to be in Wicked, and Evita, and Gypsy, and one day Blaine sat down at the piano Kurt had thought was merely decorative and showed Kurt how to play the melody to “Defying Gravity.” 

You’re good at this, Kurt said as Blaine moved Kurt’s fingers into the right position. 

Good at what? Blaine asked. 

Kurt said: Maybe you should teach.

Kurt dreams of the Tuesday morning they went to the Empire State Building because Blaine confessed he’d never been to the top. They took the elevator up and stood along the railing and breathed. The city stretched out below them, this sprawling, frenetic animal, and Kurt had been grateful for Blaine’s hand, so tightly clasping his.

This city, Blaine sighed.

My whole life I wanted to live here, Kurt said.

I never wanted to come here, Blaine said. Is that weird? It was just where I ended up, because this is where you come if you want to be a stockbroker.

You never thought about being anything else? Kurt asked.

Blaine grasped the railing with his free hand, leaning forward. Kurt resisted the temptation to pull him back.

I don’t know, Blaine said. I don’t remember really wanting to be anything until I met you.

Kurt sucked in a breath. Blaine lifted his hand to Kurt’s cheek.

What do you want to be now? Kurt asked.

Blaine’s eyes flicked back and forth across Kurt’s face like anxious birds.

Worthy, he said.

&&&

Kurt awakes to Santana sprawled on top of him, legs tangled with his.

“Nnngh?” Kurt tries, and Santana stares down at him with heavily-lined eyes.

“What up, Porcelain,” Santana says. “Whoa, you have stubble. That’s kind of hot.”

“Why are you on me right now?” Kurt asks.

“Because this is my couch, and I want to sit here and drink my coffee,” Santana says. “It’s not my fault you’re in my way.”

Kurt groans and falls back on the couch pillows.

“You look a mess,” Santana informs him.

“Yeah, well, I had a rough night,” Kurt says.

“Did you cheat on Eyebrows?” Santana asks. “I thought you two were fucking like rainbow bunnies.”

Kurt rubs at his eyes. “I am not talking to you about this.”

“I can be sensitive,” Santana insists. “Seriously!”

“It’s not even that you are a total heinous witch most of the time,” Kurt says, attempting to smooth down his hair. “It’s that I know you’re on Team Blaine.”

Santana attempts to look innocent, which in her case mostly comes across as indigestion.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You went with him to that exhibit on Avant Garde trans art at the MOMA,” Kurt says, arching an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t even go with him to that.”

“Because you’re uncultured,” Santana says, then pours three packets of sugar into her coffee.

“Clearly,” Kurt says.

“So I like Blaine better than you, whatever,” Santana says with a wave of her hand. “That doesn’t mean I’m not rooting for you to be together. For one thing, Blaine is so into you it’s kind of sick. Like, I keep telling him to seek mental help, but he never listens.”

Kurt snorts.

“You two are the most domesticated, adorable farm animals ever,” Santana says. “You’re like fluffy ducklings, or – wait, what are those birds that mate for life?”

“Swans?” Kurt asks.

“You’re like swans,” Santana says, jabbing him in the chest.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Kurt says.

“You’re like swans if one of the swans was kind of a ruthless bitch,” Santana continues, “and the other was too sweet and cheerful to live.”

“…and the magic is gone,” Kurt sighs.

“I don’t want you to break up,” Santana says. “Blaine will cry and cry and cry and I’ll have to get him drunk and tell him positive things about himself and his future and I am not good at that shit, Hummel. Don’t put me through that.”

“I don’t know how this became about you,” Kurt says.

“Everything is about me,” Santana says, tweaking his nose. “Everything else is details.”

&&&

Kurt finds a note on the coffee table from Mercedes once he manages to wrestle out from under Santana. It reads:had to work but call me later please? <3 you. Kurt folds it into a square and goes into the bathroom and washes his face four times until the water gets cold.

He’s going to go to work today, because he’ll be damned if he lets that bastard Hunter actually take over for him.

But first he has to go see Rachel.

He changes back into his now-dry clothes and catches the train into the city. He feels so strange not having his phone, but he doesn’t want to go back to the apartment. Blaine’s supposed to be at work, but what if he stayed home sick or something? Kurt isn’t ready to talk to him yet.

Kurt presses open the door to the theater, the security guard giving him a familiar nod. He knows he’ll find Rachel where she always is before a show - backstage in the dressing room, warming up and primping in front of the mirror. He walks down the aisle and through a narrow corridor and knocks on the door that reads Rachel Berrywith gold stars placed on either side.

“Who is it?” Rachel trills, and Kurt says, “It’s me, honey.”

The door swings open and Rachel stands there in an embroidered silk bathrobe. “Hello, darling,” she says grandly. “You look terrible! Do you have one of those Posturepedic mattresses? You must get one, the regular ones are murder on your—”

“Rachel,” Kurt says, and Rachel stops, staring at him with wide eyes.

She reaches out and touches Kurt’s arm, fingers pressing into his skin.

“I want to talk to you about something,” Kurt says, voice rough. “I want to talk to you about Jesse.”

Rachel’s mouth curves down.

“I know this is going to sound crazy,” Kurt says, “but I want you to stay away from him. He’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Rachel arches an eyebrow. “Come on, Kurt, don’t be dramatic.”

“But he is, Rachel,” Kurt insists. “You have to believe me.”

“What do you know?” Rachel asks. “Tell me.”

Kurt can hear the thud thud of blood pounding in his ears. He can see Jesse and his tilted smile, can hear him saying, Rachel can take care of herself.

“I - I can’t,” Kurt says. “You just have to trust me.”

Rachel bites her lip. “This is unfair.”

It is unfair. It’s unfair for Kurt to expect Rachel to give up something - someone - that makes her happy just because Kurt says so.

“You should go,” Rachel says.

&&&

Kurt has this recurring dream. Every time he has it he wants to change the way it goes, but he’s powerless. All he can do is watch it unfold. 

He knows this is because it’s not a dream - it’s a memory.

He stands next to a hospital bed, clasping a woman’s thin, pale hand. She’s emaciated and breathing with difficulty, but she’s still beautiful. Her eyes are a cool green-blue.

Don’t be afraid, Kurt says. 

He’s just a kid. He squeezes her hand.

I’m not afraid, sweetheart, the woman says. I just don’t want to go.

Then don’t go, Kurt says. Don’t leave me. Mommy—

She exhales. Kurt, I can’t—

You can, you don’t have to - you can stay. Why can’t you stay? I need you...

I know, darling, she says. But they need me more.

Kurt wakes up shaking. He reaches out for Blaine, tugging him close, feeling the way he is trembling too. 

Who you really are, Jesse had said. This part of him, this desire that exists inside of him - is that who Kurt really is? Was that who his mother was too?

He wants to believe that he is Kurt Hummel who lives in Brooklyn and owns far too many pairs of boots and sweaters and subscribes to twelve different fashion magazines and has Sunday brunches with his lady friends and stars in Sail Away and loves his father more than anything and his mother more than that. 

He wants to believe that he is the Kurt Hummel who loves Blaine Anderson, who is in love with Blaine, who can’t imagine a life without him. Not just because Blaine is gorgeous and goofy and has music flowing through his veins, but because he and Blaine are connected in some inexplicable, unfathomable way that means he feels Blaine even when he’s not there, a phantom presence under his skin, a haunting tune he can never get out of his head. 

Even now, Blaine is here, inside of him: he is shaky and tired and scared. Kurt is all these things too, but mostly he is ashamed.

(two)

“I can’t do this,” Blaine says as Santana slurps a milkshake across from him at Veselka. Somehow she conned him into paying for her food – something about making her come all the way to the Lower East Side on her afternoon off, even though both of them had to come from Brooklyn – and seems to be enjoying every bit of it.

“Can’t do what? Eat? I’ll eat your fries,” Santana says, and grabs a generous handful and stuffs them into her mouth.

“Santana, you know what I mean,” Blaine sighs.

“Yeah, but I want you to explain, because I don’t really know what you mean, lover. Lay it down for me.”

Santana props her chin on her hands and bats her eyelashes. Sometimes Blaine hates that Santana is basically the best friend he has aside from Kurt, but she is honestly the only person who knows how to pull the one thing out of him that he’s afraid of: anger.

“Kurt and I – we’ve been having problems—”

“Oh, really? Because I thought he showed up at 2 am at our apartment because he missed us and thought we’d be up for mani-pedis.”

Blaine shoots Santana a pointed look.

“I’m sorry,” Santana says, rolling her eyes. “Do continue.”

“It’s my fault,” Blaine says, “because I pushed him and pushed him until he did something he didn’t want to do, and then he freaked out, and now it’s like there’s this wedge between us because he doesn’t want to freak me out, and the truth is that I am freaked out, because—”

“Are you talking in code about kinky bedroom shenanigans?” Santana says. “Because if you are, I need details. Descriptive ones. And maybe pictures.”

“I give up,” Blaine mutters.

“Aw, come on now, Anderson. I kid because I love. This sounds super fucked up. I always thought you two were so vanilla, too, but I should’ve known, stockbrokers are twisted as fuck and Lord knows when Kurt gets wasted he says the craziest shit—”

“What kind of crazy shit?” Blaine asks.

“You don’t even want to know. My lips are sealed. Hungover brunch is a sacred space.”

Blaine hums and takes a sip of his milkshake.

“Look, I only know one thing, and you don’t get to judge me for saying this,” Santana says.

Blaine arches an eyebrow. 

“Ever since Kurt met you and you guys hooked up, he has been, like, the happiest bunny in the forest,” she says. “He tries to play it off and act all nonchalant, but that boy is wrecked about you. Destroyed, comprende? And I feel like it’s worth it to work for something like that, because I know you’re totally fucked up over him too.”

“You make it sound horrible,” Blaine says.

“Bitch, I’m trying to say – you gots to cherish each other,” Santana says, then flicks her straw wrapper at him. “Whatever, you and Kurt would make pretty, pale children. You should work on that.”

“I think you’re misunderstanding something very important about biology, Santana,” Blaine says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Pretty, pale, and with amazing eyelashes,” Santana says thoughtfully.

Blaine blurts out for no sensible reason, “It’s possible I bought him a ring.”

Santana’s eyes go wide, and her hand grabs Blaine’s wrist, long fingernails digging into his skin.

“Hey!” he yelps.

“Did you just say you bought Cream Puff a ring?” Santana says, so loudly that a few people turn around to look at them. “Am I to assume that ring is to symbolize marriage?”

“If he wants to marry me, then yes,” Blaine says.

“Are you kidding me with this shit, Anderson?” Santana says. “Why don’t you ask him to marry you? I’m sure that’ll fix anything that’s wrong. Kurt’ll bury himself in a copy of Modern Bride and not come out for months.”

“Yes, because that’s an excellent reason to marry someone,” Blaine says. “To distract them from the problems with your relationship.”

“How long have you had this ring?” Santana asks.

Blaine gets very interested in the cracks in the table top.

“Oh, I see,” Santana says, sounding smug. “Don’t be a pussy, Blaine. What is it that you always used to say?Courage?”

“I hate you,” Blaine says.

“Only because I speak the truth,” Santana says, and makes a gross slurping sound with her straw.

&&&

Courage, Blaine thinks, many times over, and makes his way to the theater that night. He pays for a ticket and watches the show. He’s seen it so many times, but every time it’s different. Tonight Blaine can see that Kurt is pulling from his reserve, tugging and twisting the songs out of his body, pushing aside all the damage of the last 24 hours so he can inhabit his character. He told Blaine once that he used to do this at Cheery-Ohs too, sometimes, on nights when he was exhausted and frustrated and simply done. Theater is what I love, he said, but there are still days when it’s just work.

Blaine leaves during the curtain call and gets one of the ushers to take him backstage and let him into Kurt’s dressing room. They all know him here; Ben, one of the lighting guys, gives him a cheerful salute, while Lila, the costume designer (and consequently Kurt’s favorite member of the crew) blows him a kiss. 

He closes himself in the dressing room and presses his palms into his closed eyelids, then settles into a chair by the mirror with his bouquet of irises in his lap.

Blaine has always said that he’s okay with Kurt being part-faerie, because he is - Kurt’s strangeness is part of him, his otherworldliness a source of fascination for both of them. 

But Blaine only ever understood this part of Kurt as something which brings them closer, which grants them this bone-deep empathy. Until last night, Blaine never thought of this as being something that might separate them. Kurt is different, yes, but they are different in so many ways. It’s part of what makes them strong, complementary.

Kurt likes to watch Blaine plant things – he’s told Blaine this. Kurt has no interest in gardening himself – he is just fine buying his fruits and vegetables at the farmer’s market, thank you very much – but he likes to watch Blaine. Blaine buys herbs in their little flats, takes them out one by one, situates them in potting soil, pats them down and waters them until the dirt is a dark, rich brown that’s almost black. Then he waits, and waits, and waits until they grow. They always do. 

You’re so gentle, Kurt says. 

He tells Kurt: All they need is sunlight and water, and I can give them that.

How can you be so kind and so patient to these beings that give so little back? Kurt asked him once, when Blaine was telling him about a particularly difficult student who was acting out in class. Blaine realized then that Kurt needs direct feedback, needs applause; Blaine is a performer, too, but he can feel appreciated in the most minor of ways, by a bright green shoot or a slow grin from a floppy-haired kid who’s finally mastered D major on the guitar. 

They balance each other out.

The door shuts with a bang, and he can hear Kurt’s sharp intake of breath. He looks up to see Kurt standing, frozen, looking small and fragile in his sailor costume. He has a hand on the doorknob as if he’s ready to flee.

Blaine can feel his desperation and fear and love, love, love, and it’s overwhelming and beautiful and awful, so so awful.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, “will you talk to me? Please?”

Kurt sinks into a chair several feet away, body curving inward. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Kurt says. “What I did to you—”

“—was something I pushed you into doing,” Blaine says. “I’m so sorry, Kurt.”

“You’re sorry?” Kurt lifts his eyes to meet Blaine’s. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“I just - I want you to be able to be honest with me,” Blaine says. “About everything. I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide anything, even the scary things. Even the things you’re scared of.”

Kurt takes a deep breath.

“When I was little, my mom used to read me stories,” Kurt says. “The faeries in them were never honest. They shape-shifted and they were manipulative and they transformed trash into gold that wasn’t really gold and traded it for real things. I know a lot of these were just stories, but I don’t want to be like that, Blaine, and it’s so easy for me to—”

“You are one of the most honest people I know,” Blaine interrupts him.

“All this stuff is inside of me,” Kurt says. “It’s my DNA. I didn’t choose it but it’s there, and it’s incredible and horrible, and I keep thinking if I ignore it, it’ll go away. But I don’t want it to go away, not really. Because if it did, we wouldn’t have this, Blaine. What we feel, the way we feel it—”

“I know,” Blaine says, reaching forward and taking Kurt’s hands. 

God, Blaine misses this, even when they’re only apart for a day - the comfort of it, the way he knows all the ridges of Kurt’s fingers, the hum and whir when they touch.

“Please don’t cry,” Blaine whispers, and that’s when Kurt seems to realize that he is.

He brushes a tear away from Kurt’s cheek, and Kurt sucks in a breath, his shoulders pulling up when he inhales. 

“Will you go somewhere with me?” Kurt says.

Blaine blinks. 

“I - yes,” Blaine says, “of course.”

Kurt tugs the fabric of his sailor costume away from his skin, grimacing. “I am so gross. All I have is yesterday’s clothes, and—”

“I brought you a change,” Blaine says, and thrusts a paper bag containing clean clothes at him.

Kurt’s mouth tweaks up at the corners.

“I knew I loved you for a reason,” he murmurs.

&&&

Blaine lets Kurt lead him along, out of the theater and down the street to the subway, hands intertwined. Kurt is oddly closed off to Blaine right now, silent in all ways. Blaine wonders if this is something Kurt is learning to do: shut him out.

“Here,” Kurt says suddenly, fingers clasping Blaine’s wrist and pulling him off the train. They are in the hundreds -Harlem, Blaine realizes, and stiffens.

“You know where we’re going,” Kurt says, and Blaine nods, a quick jerk of the head. 

“We don’t have to go,” Kurt says. “You can tell me no.”

But this is the crux of it all: Blaine can’t tell Kurt no. He doesn’t know how. He couldn’t when Kurt told him to be truthful to himself and to his friends; not when he said Blaine, why don’t you teach?; not when he insisted,Brooklyn, you should move to Brooklyn, you should move in with me.

Not even when he held him down with a force that was more than muscular, a force that was supernatural.

“Can you tell me why?” Blaine asks.

Kurt’s cheeks are painted pink from heat. When Blaine touches Kurt’s fingers he feels it: anticipation, fear, no no please don’t go.

“I want you to see this,” Kurt says. “This is me telling you the truth.”

&&&

Blaine gets dizzy when they enter the club. It’s not the smoke or the heat, though there is a fair amount of both. It’smore - it’s the feeling of a hundred Kurts, tugging on his emotions, pulling, insistent and angry and forceful and fierce.

Kurt squeezes his hand. The lights above them glitter and swoop and fall. Blaine notices the floor is cement, embedded with glass so it glints under the moving lights. Everything is moving. Kurt holds on to him, hand clutching Blaine’s shoulder. His mouth finds Blaine’s ear.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” Kurt asks.

Blaine turns so their lips touch, just brushing.

“It feels like you’re everywhere,” Blaine says, and he doesn’t even care if he makes sense.

Kurt is about to say something back when someone grabs his arm and wrenches him back. Blaine feels it like a punch in the stomach - deep and mean-spirited and filled with fuck you.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here again, Hummel,” Jesse spits. “Being as you hate everything faerie.”

“I never said that,” Kurt hisses. “Let go of me.”

“Don’t touch him,” Blaine says, redundant, but Kurt’s anger is bleeding into his, and everywhere is red and dripping.

“That’s cute,” Jesse says, narrowing his eyes at Blaine. “You think you can do anything to me? You must be joking.”

Blaine is not the type to start fights. It doesn’t matter: he swings without thinking, catching Jesse on the corner of his jaw. Jesse reels back, and Blaine feels an invisible weight push into him, forcing him to his knees.

“Control your human,” Jesse says, and Blaine wants to laugh, because who says things like that? But Blaine can’t move his arms, and all of this is more dreadful than it is funny.

“Let him go, you fucking bastard,” Blaine hears Kurt say. “I don’t care if you’re three-quarters or five-eighths or whatever-the-hell, let him go or I will kill you.”

“It’s not nice, is it?” Jesse snarls. “When someone messes with your boyfriend?”

Blaine has no idea what’s going on, but he knows Kurt is afraid, and that makes him afraid. Kurt is not easily frightened.

“I didn’t do anything to Rachel, Jesse,” Kurt says.

“You told her to stay away from me,” Jesse says. “Because I’m ‘dangerous,’ right?”

“Rachel makes her own decisions,” Kurt says, “and you’re sort of proving my point right now, you mentally-imbalanced freak.”

Blaine feels pain slice between his shoulder blades, and he cries out, doubling over.

“I am dangerous,” Jesse says, his voice gravel, “and you should be afraid of me.”

“Oh, now, Jesse, really?” Blaine hears a higher, female voice above him. “Are we starting with all this again? We talked about how you need to learn to channel your anger in a more appropriate way.”

Blaine straightens, his back twinging, and looks up. There is a pretty, redheaded woman standing beside Jesse, a hand on his shoulder. Jesse is shaking. Kurt looks caught between being terrified and a little bit smug.

“I’m Emma Pillsbury,” Emma says, holding out her hand to Kurt.

Kurt takes it and shakes it.

“I’m Kurt,” he says. 

“Kurt Hummel, correct?” Emma says, retracting her hand with a small grimace. "I need some hand wipes, please do excuse me—”

“Have we met?” Kurt says, eyebrows furrowing.

“Oh, yes,” Emma says, nodding. “I knew your mother.”

&&&

“I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to tidy up,” Emma is saying, bustling around the spotless room she’s invited them into. It’s an office of sorts, with a desk and a couch and some chairs, but it doesn’t look like any office Blaine has ever seen. Filmy fabrics hang from the ceiling, and the entire place glitters with pinpoints of light.

Blaine can’t actually tell where the light is coming from.

Kurt seems as flustered as Blaine feels. He hovers near one chair, placing his hand on the leather back, then removing it. Blaine wants to reach out and hold his hand, but everything is so tender right now, so uneasy. Instead he waits.

“How did you know my mom?” Kurt blurts out. “I mean - that was in Ohio. Ohio’s a long way from Harlem.”

“I love Ohio,” Emma says, smiling. “It’s so calming. Your mom wasn’t from Ohio, though, Kurt. You know that.”

Kurt fidgets, his eyes skimming the floor. “I don’t know a lot about my mother.”

“She did die unfortunately young,” Emma says. “She was a lovely woman, though. Everyone liked her.”

“And you were good friends?” Kurt says.

Emma nods. “Very good friends. I’m so glad I was finally able to find you. I—”

“Find me?” Kurt asks. “You were—”

“Yes, I’ve wanted to get in touch with you for ages,” Emma says. “I left Ohio not long after she died, and I’d hoped to keep up with you, somehow, but your father wasn’t – he was very protective. He was so deeply hurt by your mother’s death, and I think I reminded him of her a bit too much.”

“How did you find me?” Kurt asks.

“It’s the most amazing thing,” Emma says, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been living in New York for years, and then one morning I opened my newspaper and saw that you were in that new play, the musical about the ship in space—”

“Sail Away,” Kurt says.

“Yes, that one. And I was so thrilled! I didn’t want to alarm you, though, by approaching you as your mother’s faerie friend – I wasn’t even sure how much you knew about what your mother was. But I knew Jesse was working on Broadway, and I thought perhaps he could connect me to you, so I gave him your name.”

Kurt scowls. “Jesse is a douchebag.”

Emma looks alarmed at Kurt’s choice of words. “He is volatile, it’s true, and I am so sorry he—”

“He hurt Blaine,” Kurt says.

In that moment, Emma seems to notice Blaine is there, standing just behind Kurt. He’s feeling about as useful as a bicycle at NASCAR.

“Blaine,” Emma says, tilting her head to one side. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Blaine says softly. 

Kurt slips his arm around Blaine’s waist, a protective gesture. Blaine can feel his anxiety. It raises goosebumps on his arms.

“You’re full fey, right?” Kurt says. “Jesse said faeries don’t mate with humans. Why?”

Emma glances between Blaine and Kurt, looking puzzled. “Kurt, what do you—”

“I want to know,” Kurt says. “I want to know why we can’t be together.”

Blaine can’t breathe.

“I mean, why humans and faeries - why they can’t mix,” Kurt stumbles over his words. “Why—”

“Because faeries are powerful,” Emma interrupts him. “To be with humans, faeries have to smother their power, or else they can never be equal to each other. Faeries value their powers, Kurt. The more pure faerie blood is, the more powerful a faerie is. When we mate with humans, it dulls our power, makes us—”

“—like me,” Kurt finishes. “A half-breed.”

Emma doesn’t say anything. She picks up a bottle of anti-bacterial gel and begins to rub her hands with it.

“Fuck this,” Kurt swears under his breath. “Fuck this, I can’t—”

He moves to leave, but Blaine catches him by the arm and holds on.

“Wait,” Blaine says. “There’s something about Kurt and me that we’ve never understood.”

“Blaine,” Kurt whispers.

“We - we have heightened empathy. We can feel each other’s emotions. I know faeries can do this, but why—”

“Faeries can feel emotional auras, yes,” Emma says, brow furrowing. “But humans who have fey blood in them, any part, can also be empathically linked with other humans who are part fey.”

Blaine feels the realization roll over him like a wave.

“Are you saying – are you saying I’m part fey?” Blaine says.

“Oh!” Emma says, looking surprised. “I thought – I thought you knew. I could feel – I mean, with both of you. When I saw you, I assumed – a very small part, I think, but still…”

Kurt’s body has gone rigid beside him. His hand grasps at Blaine’s waist, fingers pressing into his side. 

“Oh my God,” Kurt breathes.

Blaine is overwhelmed by a series of images and memories, all flashes: Kurt struggling for breath, clutching at Blaine’s arms, arching his back to get closer, closer; laughing in the kitchen, listening to Blaine recount scenes from his day; on stage in costume, a twist of his lips, an arch of his eyebrow and the crowd falls apart laughing; Kurt’s voice, God, his voice, the notes he hits, the purity of it, the impossibility; holding out his hand, smiling, sayingmaybe not such a stranger, huh? 

Maybe not such a stranger, huh?

Blaine can’t quite process it all in that moment, doesn’t know what to say. Only one thing rings true, spiraling through his mind over and over again: Different, but not so different after all.

&&&

Kurt holds Blaine’s hand all the way back on the subway, holds it even when their palms get sweaty and slide against each other, threads their fingers together and bites his lip and doesn’t smile even when Blaine squeezes back.

They’re inside the apartment, the only sound the low hum of the fridge and the ceiling fan, when Kurt asks, voice high and trembling: “Are you afraid of me?”

Blaine feels motion-sick, like he needs to sit down, but instead he tugs Kurt close and says, “No. Are you afraid of me? I mean, if I have—”

“Blaine,” Kurt murmurs against the skin of his neck. “You know it’s not – you know I can still do things—”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Blaine says.

“Show me?” Kurt asks, and Blaine doesn’t understand what Kurt means until Kurt begins to kiss him, lips pressing at the corner of Blaine’s mouth and along his cheekbone and down his neck.

Blaine pushes Kurt into the door, hard enough that it shudders, and grabs his hips to bring their bodies flush. Kurt sucks in a breath and curls his hand in Blaine’s sleeve, dragging his fingers over the crook of Blaine’s elbow.

“I’m not afraid of you, or what you can do,” Blaine murmurs, “because I know you will always stop if I want you to stop.”

“How will I know?” Kurt asks. “How will I know if you want—”

“You always know,” Blaine says.

Kurt exhales and tilts his hips. He closes his eyes, leaning back against the door. His eyelashes look like wings.

He is so beautiful. 

Blaine brought him a simple collared shirt and tailored grey slacks to change into, afraid to attempt anything more adventurous without Kurt’s direction, and it means Kurt is dressed considerably less flamboyantly than usual. Blaine likes it. As much as he loves Kurt’s instinctual theatricality, he knows there is a quieter, softer part of Kurt that comes out when he takes his daily costumes off. Kurt wears clothes like armor.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Kurt,” Blaine says.

Kurt opens his eyes, and the feeling etched in the vivid blue is so strong Blaine doesn’t need any empathic connection to know what it means.

His eyes flicker over to the piano, where Blaine had placed another dozen irises in a vase.

“You always bring me irises,” Kurt says, tilting his head to one side. “I never asked you why.”

Blaine doesn’t know how to answer, because every time he buys Kurt flowers it means something different. Sometimes it’s I’m sorry or I love you or I think about you always. All he knows is that Kurt matches irises, somehow: their cool contrast.

“The word iris means rainbow,” Blaine says.

Kurt snorts. “Are you saying I’m the gayest flower, Blaine?”

“I’m saying you’re all the colors,” Blaine says, cupping his cheek. “You’re everything.”

When Kurt blinks, his eyelashes skim Blaine’s cheeks.

He kisses Kurt softly at first, then with more pressure, running his thumb along the line of Blaine’s jaw. Kurt pushes his hand into Blaine’s hair and tugs, angling the kiss and deepening it.

The kiss goes from exploratory to hungry, Blaine’s hand finding the back of Kurt’s neck, their bodies snug together. Blaine can feel the air settle around Kurt, the uncomfortable crackle of nerves nearly gone. When they kiss it feels like exhaling, like letting go.

He untucks Kurt’s shirt from his pants, sliding his hands up Kurt’s sides. Kurt makes a small, choked-off moan and says, “Bed. Now.”

It’s times like these that Blaine’s grateful their apartment is so small. They stumble down the hall, and Kurt has him flat on his back on the bed in under a minute. 

His palms are cool against Blaine’s stomach, pushing Blaine’s shirt up under his armpits. Kurt leans down and flicks his tongue over Blaine’s nipple. Blaine arches into his touch, shuddering.

“If I—” Kurt starts to say, and Blaine can feel Kurt’s anxiety at his temples, an insistent, thrumming pressure.

“Kurt,” Blaine says, catching Kurt’s wrist in his hand and squeezing it. “Anything. I trust you.”

Kurt chews on his lower lip, then straddles Blaine on the bed. Blaine’s breath catches.

“You have to let me know if you—” Kurt insists, but Blaine just tilts his hips up so their cocks grind together through the fabric of their pants, making Kurt lose his breath.

Kurt stares at him for a long moment, his eyes containing intense focus.

Blaine feels as if he’s melting into the bed, Kurt’s weight more than that of his body.

“Like this,” Kurt says, moving Blaine’s arms above his head and pinning them there.

When Kurt removes his hands, Blaine finds he can’t move. For a split second he panics. It’s a reflex, a reaction to not being in control.

But he can still see Kurt’s bright eyes and small smile, and suddenly he’s not afraid.

“And now, for my next trick…” Kurt whispers, and Blaine can’t help laughing quietly. Kurt is such a nerd. 

Kurt pushes Blaine’s pants down, hands lingering on his hips, thumbs dragging along his hip bones. Blaine feels his breathing speed up as Kurt leans down and presses a kiss to his stomach, tongue circling his belly button.

Blaine feels hazy and hot and his body is sensitive everywhere, his vision blurring. He could swear Kurt is glowing.

“You are so…” Kurt whispers against his skin, and when he presses his hand to Blaine’s stomach, Blaine can feel that he’s trembling.

It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, Blaine tries to telegraph to Kurt. He knows he’s trying to reassure them both. I love you, I love you, I will always love you.

Something shifts in Kurt’s eyes. His mouth turns up at the corners, and he pushes one of Blaine’s curls out of his eyes. “You are the cheesiest boyfriend ever.”

I want to be your everything, Blaine thinks, and he may be imagining it, but he thinks he sees Kurt’s cheeks flush a deeper pink.

When Kurt curls his hand around Blaine’s cock and strokes, it feels almost too good. He remembers how quickly things had been over the first time they’d been intimate, their connection too intense for either of them to last.

“Let me touch you,” Blaine murmurs, and Kurt shifts backward with surprise.

I’m not supposed to be able to do this, Blaine realizes. To resist.

Kurt doesn’t say anything, but the weight on Blaine’s hands eases up. He immediately grabs Kurt’s hips, shifting him forward so he can feel how hard Kurt is. Kurt’s throat works, his lips parting.

Fuck me, Blaine thinks, and Kurt shudders.

Kurt moves off the bed to slip off his shirt, pants and underwear. Blaine shoves off his own pants and pulls off his shirt with far less grace. He growls when Kurt climbs back on top of him, bringing them finally skin to skin.

They kiss, open-mouthed and panting. Kurt bites at Blaine’s lower lip and Blaine’s hands find Kurt’s ass, holding him close so they slide together.

“I don’t need fingers,” Blaine manages, and Kurt groans, burying his face in Blaine’s neck.

Blaine reaches blindly for the supplies in the bedside table, but he finds himself pressed down into the bed by invisible hands.

When he looks up he sees Kurt is flushed, making extremely quick work of putting on a condom. Blaine watches him and tries not to come just from the visuals running through his mind. He doesn’t know if they are Kurt’s or his own. Everything melts and blurs.

Just fuck me, just do it, I want it, I swear I want it, you don’t have to worry, I always want you, I—

“Okay okay okay,” Kurt says, looking flustered, reaching down to hold Blaine open and shifting his hips so he can press inside. He does it slowly and so carefully, and Blaine clutches at the sheets and groans. Kurt cups Blaine’s cheek with one hand and thrusts. Blaine can hear his breath hitch once, twice.

When he’s fully inside he stops and draws in a deep breath. He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters something Blaine can’t catch.

“Why are you—”

“I can’t I can’t I can’t,” Kurt says, voice high and desperate. “I don’t want to come yet and I am so – close – will you just—”

“What do you want me to do?” Blaine asks, grasping Kurt’s wrist.

“Nothing, don’t do anything, don’t, like, breathe or think or – fuck,” Kurt swears, hitching one of Blaine’s legs up and changing the angle. 

Blaine feels shocks spark up and down his spine, and he moans and clenches around him.

“You are so terrible at following directions,” Kurt says, biting his lip. He snaps his hips and elicits another low groan. “Figures you would be the human exception to my mind control powers because you’re, like, one sixteenth faerie or whatever…”

Blaine lets Kurt’s words fade in and out, unable to focus on anything but the way Kurt is fucking him, hard and precise and unforgiving. When he wrenches Kurt down to kiss him, Kurt’s words turn into helpless whimpers.

Kurt is close, true to his word – Blaine can feel it in the way his thrusts are getting more sloppy and erratic, his hips stuttering. Blaine reaches down to stroke himself as Kurt sucks on his bottom lip, grinding into him and making fireworks explode behind his eyelids.

I want to marry you, Blaine thinks, unable to stop the tumble of images that follow – Kurt in a tux, Kurt dancing with him close, Kurt holding up his hand to the light, ring glinting. 

I want to marry you and I never ever want this to end.

Kurt’s eyes widen, a gasp escaping him as he thrusts in one last time and comes.

“Did you really—” Kurt says.

Blaine yanks his hand forward to they can jerk him off together, saying, “Please, so close, so—”

Kurt does a nasty little twist of his wrist that sends Blaine spiraling into orgasm.

When Blaine blinks his eyes open, Kurt is staring at him with a soft, uncertain smile.

“Yes,” Blaine rasps. “Yes, I meant it, yes, I mean it, yes, I want to marry you.”

Kurt’s face is sweaty and flushed and his eyes are so bright Blaine can hardly handle it.

“I’ve wanted to ask you for months,” Blaine says. “I – I was afraid you’d say no.”

Kurt’s eyes are that crazy, clear blue that makes Blaine think of cloudless sky. He brings his hand up to Blaine’s face, thumb tracing his cheek.

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt murmurs, “in what world would I ever say no?”

&&&

Blaine remembers the first time he and Kurt said I love you. They were walking in Central Park, street lamps lighting their way. Kurt hadn’t wanted to walk through the park, said it was dangerous, but Blaine insisted. He loved the park at night, how the city dimmed and pulsed more gently, not sleeping but almost in a trance. He wanted to share this with Kurt.

Do you ever think about what you would have been if you hadn’t come here? Kurt asked.

They were holding hands, and Kurt swung their joined arms as they walked.

Bored, Blaine joked, and Kurt fixed him with his come on, be serious look.

I wouldn’t have met you, Blaine offered. That would be sad.

You would have met someone else, though, Kurt said. Some hot guy who played in a band, maybe, or a businessman with an expense account and a luxury car—

But I wouldn’t have met you, Blaine said.

Blaine realized, in that moment, that he couldn’t envision an alternate path for himself anymore, couldn’t imagine living some other life in another city with some other man. 

All paths led to Kurt.

Kurt stopped in the middle of the path, squeezing Blaine’s hands. Blaine squeezed back. Kurt’s eyes, in the low light, looked black, but his skin seemed to be glimmering silver.

I love you, Kurt said.

Blaine felt like the breath had been sucked out of him. It took him a moment to say, I love you too.

They stood completely still and stared at each other for what felt like a long time, and then Kurt said softly, Let’s go back to your place before we get abducted and murdered.

You’re so romantic, Blaine said.

I know, Kurt said, one side of his mouth tilting up. That’s why you keep me around.

&&&

When the doorbell chimes the next morning, Kurt turns over in his sleep and nearly pushes Blaine off the bed. Blaine is instantly awake.

“Kurt,” Blaine murmurs. “I think there’s somebody—”

“Early,” Kurt mutters into his shoulder, and Blaine can’t suppress a shudder at the feeling of Kurt’s lips against his skin.

“Actually, it’s almost noon,” Blaine says. “Do you want me to…”

Kurt turns over and buries his face in the pillows, making incoherent snuffling sounds. Blaine smiles, then swings his legs off the bed.

He slips on a robe, cinching it tight around his waist, and pads to the door, which buzzes again.

“All right, all right, hold your—” Blaine says, swinging open the door, and then stops.

Rachel stands in their doorway, hands on her hips. Behind her is Jesse St. James.

Blaine feels sick. He can still feel the phantom pain between his shoulder blades, an echo of Jesse’s touch.

“Hello, Blaine,” Rachel says, giving him a quick smile. “I’m sorry to disturb you on your Sunday morning, but it’s rather important. Is Kurt here?”

“Um,” Blaine says stupidly. “Yes, he’s—”

“Who’s there?” Kurt says, sounding sleepy. Blaine opens the door wider so he can see, and Kurt’s eyes widen. He pulls his robe tighter around his waist.

“Good morning, Rachel,” Kurt says.

Blaine admires his ability to keep his voice even.

“May we come in?” Rachel asks.

Blaine can feel Kurt pressing at the edges of his mind: Is this okay? Is this okay? 

He moves to the side to let them in, keeping his eyes focused on Kurt’s face and refusing to look at Jesse.

“Coffee?” Kurt asks, encircling Blaine’s wrist with his hand. Jesse presses past them and Blaine realizes he can feel Jesse’s brittle, sour emotions.

“That is kind of your to offer, but we have something we need to talk to you about,” Rachel says, settling onto the couch and crossing her legs. “It’s urgent.”

“I told her, Kurt,” Jesse says, suddenly. “I told her what you are. What we are.”

Blaine’s stomach drops. Kurt grasps his wrist in a vice grip, body going tense all over.

“What exactly did you tell her?” Kurt asks, voice tight.

“He told me you are both some sort of magical beings,” Rachel says. “He said faeries, but—”

“Will you just back me up on this?” Jesse says. “Your friends should know. I can’t believe you’ve kept it a secret from them this long—”

“Jesse,” Kurt says softly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Blaine’s stomach twists.

You are one of the most honest people I know.

Jesse looks pale and furious. “Are you seriously going to tell me that you—”

“I told you, Rachel,” Kurt says, turning to his friend and taking one of her hands in his. “I told you he was dangerous.”

“This is bullshit,” Jesse hisses.

“He’s crazy,” Kurt says. “He’s crazy, and you deserve better.”

Rachel’s eyes dart between Jesse and Kurt. Blaine feels caught and useless.

After a moment of tense silence, Rachel removes her hand from Kurt’s and smoothes out an invisible wrinkle in her skirt.

“Jesse, you should go,” Rachel says.

Jesse looks like he wants to grab Rachel and shake her. Kurt looks at him, chin lifted, and Blaine catches a flash of an image he projects: Emma. Emma with her hand on Jesse’s shoulder, Jesse trembling under her touch.

It’s not a reminder. It’s a threat.

“Fuck you, Hummel,” Jesse snarls. “And you too, Rachel.”

He turns on his heel, slams out the door and is gone.

Blaine realizes that Rachel is crying. Kurt crouches down in front of her, taking both of his hands in hers and squeezing.

“I’m sorry,” Kurt says, voice so soft he’s almost inaudible. 

Blaine knows it’s a dual apology: for Jesse, the sadistic jerk who hurt her, and for the lie he had to tell to protect them all.

“That was awful,” Rachel hiccups. “How did I not realize how awful he was?”

“You work in theater, babe,” Kurt says. “It’s a world full of con artists.”

The intensity of Kurt’s shame is so strong, Blaine takes a step back and places his hand on the piano for balance.

“Can I stay here for a little while?” Rachel asks, wiping away a tear with her handkerchief. “I don’t want to go home just yet.”

“Of course,” Kurt says. “I’ll make some crème brulee, and Blaine will play something on the piano.”

“That sounds delightful,” Rachel says, her eyes brightening immediately.

“We have some news, too,” Blaine says, meeting Kurt’s eyes. Kurt nods.

“What kind of news?” Rachel says, trying to smile. “I could use some good news at the moment.”

“We’re engaged,” Kurt announces.

Rachel squeals, raising a hand to her mouth.

“Oh, oh, really?” Rachel says, tugging Kurt forward so he almost loses his balance. “You’re getting married? When did this happen? Oh my God!”

Kurt laughs, getting to his feet and pulling Rachel up into a hug. “Just last night. You are officially the first person to know.”

“Oh, that’s – oh!” Rachel is overcome. She turns to Blaine and pulls him into a tight embrace. “I am so, so happy for you.”

“You know something?” Kurt says. “We could use some help with planning the engagement party.”

Rachel claps her hands. “Well, I do know how to plan a party.”

Kurt gives her a swift kiss on the cheek. “Indeed you do, darling.”

&&&

Later, much later, when Rachel is gone, Kurt is washing dishes in their cramped kitchen while Blaine dries them. They do it in silence, the running water white noise as they pass the plates between them.

“I had to do it,” Kurt says, finally.

Blaine doesn’t know what to say.

“I couldn’t – it would have scared her, Blaine. And I couldn’t see the benefit of her knowing that about me or about Jesse or you – not now, not when—”

“Kurt,” Blaine murmurs, and places a hand on his arm. Kurt stills. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“There are good secrets sometimes,” Kurt whispers. “Right?”

Blaine kisses Kurt’s cheek, gently, and brushes his hair off his forehead. He thinks of them wrapped up in each other on the couch, playing piano side by side, bodies pressed against each other, dancing in the kitchen to quiet music while the city buzzes around them. He thinks of these things until Kurt’s eyes flutter closed and he expels a soft sigh.

&&&

“I don’t understand why you won’t give me the ring before the engagement party,” Kurt whines.

Blaine wraps his hands around Kurt’s waist, molding their bodies together. Kurt flips on the switch for the coffee, jostling Blaine with a resentful elbow.

“I want to give it to you in front of all our friends,” Blaine says.

“You do love a ridiculous romantic gesture,” Kurt says. He still sounds irritated, but his eyelashes flutter as Blaine leans down to kiss his neck. “You do realize you’re going against tradition, right?”

“You’re making your own engagement party brunch,” Blaine says. “We could have gone to a restaurant, Kurt.”

“My brunch is better,” Kurt sniffs.

“Not going to argue with that,” Blaine murmurs, licking at the ridge of Kurt’s collarbone revealed by his undershirt.

“I need to get dressed,” Kurt says, voice slurred. “You need to…stop that.”

“You don’t sound all that convincing,” Blaine says, hands grasping Kurt’s waist and pulling him back against him.

“You are the worst,” Kurt says, breath hitching. “The absolute worst.”

Blaine muffles his laughter in the soft skin of Kurt’s neck.

The doorbell rings, and they both freeze.

“Dammit,” Kurt mutters. “I bet you anything that’s my dad.”

Blaine’s heartbeat speeds up. He loves Kurt’s dad and thinks he’s one of the most amazing parents he’s ever met, but he’s a tiny bit afraid of him, too. Especially since Blaine just asked his only child to marry him.

“He’s early,” Blaine says.

“My dad is never early,” Kurt says with a smirk. “Things start when he gets there.”

Kurt wriggles out of Blaine’s embrace and makes his way to the front door. When he swings it open, sure enough, Burt is standing there, baseball cap pulled low on his forehead and hands stuffed in his pockets. 

“Dad!” Kurt says, and launches himself into his father’s arms.

Burt hugs Kurt tightly and with no macho resistance. Blaine’s throat feels dry. He can’t remember a time his father ever hugged him like that.

“Hello, Blaine,” Burt says with a chuckle, and holds out his hand. “Good to see you.”

“Good to see you too, sir,” Blaine says, and shakes it, keeping his grip firm and tight.

“Coffee?” Kurt says as he lets his dad inside.

“Sure,” Burt says. 

“Rachel will be here soon, I’m afraid,” Kurt says. “She’s technically in charge of this soiree.”

“Rachel’s the one who’s a bit of a ball-buster, am I right?” Burt says, looking amused.

“Rachel is…Rachel,” Kurt says, with a wave of his hand, and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Burt and Blaine alone.

Burt examines the artwork Kurt has mounted on the walls, a mixture of abstract and classical. He stops in front of a Pre-Raphaelite print showing a water nymph. Blaine always thought that one looked a bit like Kurt.

“What do you think about all this, Blaine?” Burt says, suddenly.

“About what, exactly, sir?” Blaine says.

“The faerie stuff,” Burt says, settling down onto their couch. “Magic and all that.”

Blaine still doesn’t know what Burt means, but he also doesn’t want to look like an idiot. “Well, I…I think it’s amazing.”

“Don’t put him on the spot, Dad,” Kurt calls out.

“I can’t ask your fiancé a few questions?” Burt says, his eyes not leaving Blaine’s.

Kurt makes some sort of indignant noise.

“Human to human,” Burt says, lowering his voice so Kurt can’t hear, “it’s kind of scary, isn’t it?”

“Kurt’s pretty scary without the faerie stuff,” Blaine says, and Burt laughs.

“That’s true,” Burt says. “Have you ever seen him at a sample sale?”

“Have you?” Blaine asks, trying to imagine Burt Hummel with his arms filled with clothes, surrounded by frantic shoppers thirsty for deals.

“He tricked me into it once!” Burt says. “He told me were just going to stop by and pick up a few things.”

Kurt sets several mugs of coffee down on the coffee table, then fixes Burt with a sharp look. “Don’t tell Blaine bad things about me.”

He turns to Blaine.

“Don’t tell my father bad things about me.”

“You’re very bossy,” Blaine says, and Kurt arches an eyebrow.

“Have you met me?” Kurt says.

He slides onto the couch next to Blaine so their thighs are touching. The mental image he protects at Blaine makes Blaine choke on his first sip of coffee and cough into his fist.

“Can’t believe you’re doing this,” Burt says, hand grasping Kurt’s knee. His face breaks into a wide smile, and Kurt looks at him with such naked affection that Blaine swallows, wondering if he should leave them alone.

“No,” Kurt says suddenly. “Stay.”

Blaine freezes, and Burt looks at them both like they’ve grown second heads.

“It’s something Blaine and I can do,” Kurt says when he sees his father’s face. “We - we have heightened empathy. Like how I know sometimes that you’re not okay even when you’re far away? Except - like a hundred times stronger.”

Burt doesn’t seem to know what to do with this information. He takes off his hat and places it on the couch beside him, then picks it up again and pulls it back on with some force.

“It’s because I’m part-fey,” Blaine says, voice shaky. “Or – I mean, I think I am. A small part. We’re pretty sure.”

Burt glances between them, mouth dropping open. “Jesus, really?”

“Dad,” Kurt says, and Blaine can’t tell if it’s a warning or a question. “It’s not—” Kurt starts to say, but Burt shakes his head.

“Gimme a second, Kurt,” he says.

There’s a moment of awkward silence. Kurt plays with a stray thread on the couch.

Burt reaches forward and grabs Blaine’s hand, taking him by surprise. He looks at him straight on, his eyes an intense blue that reminds Blaine of Kurt.

“I am so glad—” Burt says, then stops, needing to collect himself. “I am so glad you found each other.”

Blaine doesn’t want to cry in front of Burt Hummel, but he’s pretty damn close. Instead he squeezes Burt’s hand and thinks: Me too. Me too. 

&&&

An hour later, Kurt and Blaine are miraculously dressed, the dining-room table is laid out with their matched collection of china (which belonged to Kurt’s grandmother), a vase of irises, many champagne glasses and a slender silver candle holder Kurt found at an antique store in Chelsea.

Rachel circles the table like a lion stalking its prey, tapping one finger against her lip.

“It needs something,” she says.

“I think it’s fine, Rachel,” Blaine says.

“Do we have the pink salt?” Kurt calls from the kitchen. “Did you buy—”

“In the cabinet next to the stove,” Blaine says.

“Don’t you dare touch the table, Rachel Berry,” Kurt shouts. “I just got it the way I want it.”

“He is so bossy,” Rachel tells Blaine. Blaine stifles a laugh.

“That’s my son,” Burt says, appearing from the kitchen, wearing an apron and a grin. “Apparently I am no use in the kitchen. Do you need any help?”

“I didn’t say you were no use,” Blaine can hear Kurt say. “I said you were in the way.”

The doorbell rings.

Brittany, Santana and Mercedes are the first to arrive, shoving their way in, laden down with boxes and bags.

“Mercedes said we had to buy you shit,” Santana says. “I thought it was only at the wedding itself. Maybe I should get married. Such a racket.”

“Lovely to see you, Santana,” Blaine says, and Santana leans in and presses a kiss to Blaine’s cheek.

“Way to man up, Anderson,” she whispers in his ear.

“I still hate you,” he whispers back.

Quinn arrives next, tugging along a somewhat nervous-looking Finn.

“Finn is my date,” Quinn tells Blaine, and Finn gives him a small smile.

“Hi, Finn,” Blaine says, and Finn opens his mouth to say something, then pulls him into a tight hug.

Finn’s phone buzzes loudly, and he apologies about six times before taking it out and glancing at it.

“Puckerman says he’s bringing Lauren, and is that okay?” Finn says. “You should meet Lauren, man, she is hilarious, and she, like, owns him—”

Puck shows up about five minutes later with Lauren, making Blaine suspect he was waiting outside the building for the go-ahead, which is kind of adorable. 

“Hello, gorgeous,” Lauren says, shaking Blaine’s hand with a grip so strong he trembles a little. “I can see why Kurt would want to lock you down.”

Blaine flushes. He’s rescued by Puck, who hands Kurt the biggest bouquet of pink roses Blaine’s ever seen, saying, “Congratulations, dude! You’re the girl, right?”

“Not exactly,” Kurt says, eyebrow twitching, and Blaine steers him back into the kitchen to make mimosas before he says anything else.

Blaine steals a kiss between pours. 

Someone switches Kurt’s demure jazz out for Motown, and soon there’s a loud singalong going on to the Jackson Five.

“Our friends are pretty amazing,” he says.

“They’re definitely something,” Kurt says, frowning in concentration as he tries to equalize the proportions of orange juice and champagne.

“Kurt,” Blaine says softly.

Kurt looks up.

Blaine pulls the small black box out of the pocket of his suit jacket, and Kurt’s eyes widen.

“I thought you wanted to—”

“I’ve waited long enough to do this,” Blaine says, “and I didn’t do it right before.”

He kneels down on the kitchen tile.

“Blaine, your pants – that floor isn’t—”

“Shhhh,” Blaine says gently. He opens the box and holds it out. 

“Kurt Hummel, will you—”

“Oh my God, that is beautiful,” Kurt says, taking the box from Blaine so he can examine it more closely. It’s a silver band with a small, European-cut diamond, set on both sides with sapphires.

“Don’t you want to hear the rest of what I was going to say?” Blaine asks, amused.

“Of course I’ll marry you. Now get off the floor, you’re making me anxious.” Kurt says.

Blaine laughs as Kurt helps him to his feet. Kurt’s mouth twitches at the corners, but his eyes are shining.

“I have something for you too,” Kurt says. “It’s not quite as fancy as this.”

“Kurt, I don’t care if—”

Kurt presses a finger to his lips, then tugs a gold chain out from under his collar. Dangling from it is a thin gold ring.

Kurt slips off the necklace and slides the ring off the chain and into his palm.

“It belonged to my mother,” Kurt says quietly.

He presses it into Blaine’s hand. Blaine can feel it immediately – the way the air shifts around them, the low vibration, the heat.

“For better or for worse,” Kurt says, curling his hand around Blaine’s.

“For better,” Blaine says, only loud enough for Kurt to hear.