Above All Things (5b/9+Epilogue)
Their two-month anniversary falls on a Friday, which gives them the perfect excuse for a proper celebration. Kurt decides to kick Rachel out of the apartment for the night so that he can cook Blaine dinner with the advantage of his own kitchen appliances, acquired over years of very specific birthday requests and saved-up Christmas checks. Blaine hasn’t made it out to Bushwick yet, either, so this seems like the perfect opportunity.
Sebastian shows up to rehearsal that day. He tries, as he usually does these days, to arrange a dinner date, but Blaine is ready with an excuse.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, suitably regretful. “I’ve promised Rachel we’d stay late to work on our scenes. Opening night is just around the corner.”
Sebastian doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t push the issue, either. It’s actually a little strange, how quickly he gives up.
Kurt leaves early to get a start on dinner, but not before Blaine pulls him by the elbow to a hidden nook in the corridor and kisses him so thoroughly he nearly forgets they’re in public.
“What was that for?” he whispers.
“Just…Happy Anniversary. I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
Kurt reaches up and smooths a strand of Blaine’s hair he touseled loose in their frenzy.
“Me too. See you at 8?”
“Can’t wait.”
They smile dopily at each other for a few more seconds before Blaine starts to get anxious about being missed. Kurt kisses him one last time and hums under his breath all the way to his subway stop.
Kurt has decided to go with a French theme for the meal: French onion soup to start, followed by herbed, roasted chicken, and chocolate soufflé for dessert. He picks up a bottle of white wine on the way home - expensive, so it must be good - and a few blocks of imported cheese to complete the menu.
He jumps right into cooking as soon as he gets home, singing snippets of the songs that won’t leave his head as he works. There’s this one that’s been living there for the better part of a week, but it’s wispy, without form, and Kurt doesn’t know exactly what it can be, yet. He’s learned that he can’t rush these things, or force them. For now, it’s just a little tune that’s driving him crazy, but soon enough the words will make themselves known. He’s just got to be patient.
Everything goes according to plan. The soup burbles beautifully, the chicken is roasted to perfection, the soufflé rises and fluffs. The table is set and ready by 8 on the dot.
It’s just Blaine that’s missing.
At 8:05, Kurt texts him. Where are you? Call me if you need directions!
No response.
8:10. Dinner’s starting to get cold… J
8:15. Seriously, Blaine, where are you?
He puts the food back in the oven to warm. He checks his phone, just in case. The ringer is set to loud, but you never know.
Nothing.
At 8:20, he calls instead. It rings out to voicemail.
“Blaine, I’m starting to get worried, here. You didn’t get mugged on the way to my apartment, did you? Call me, okay?”
8:30. If you’re not here by 9, I’m eating without you.
He isn’t. Kurt gives it until 9:15, just in case.
He’s lost his appetite. He wraps up the chicken and stores it in the fridge. He pours the soup down the garbage disposal and runs it with a vicious flick of the switch. He picks at the soufflé and can’t manage more than a bite. It goes in the trash.
He doesn’t understand. Their plans were clear. There’s no way Blaine forgot, or misunderstood the time. Tonight was important. Unless he lost his phone or forgot it at home or something and got epically lost on the way to Bushwick, the only reasons he could have for missing their date are…well, unthinkably horrible.
By 9:30, Kurt is convinced that Blaine is lying in an alley somewhere, bleeding out onto the dirty cement. He texts Sam, but there’s no response. He considers calling the hospitals. He almost calls the police.
He opens up his perfectly chilled wine instead. No need for it to go to waste like the rest of the meal.
By 10:30, Kurt is angry. He thinks of Blaine, batting his eyes up at Sebastian like they’re in on a secret, thinks of him leaning into the weight of Sebastian’s hands. He thinks of Sebastian holding him down and Blaine willing and eager beneath him.
It doesn’t matter if it’s an act, because if Blaine chose to go to Sebastian tonight and didn’t even have the decency to tell Kurt… He isn’t sure what that would mean, but it isn’t anything good. Even the thought feels an awful lot like betrayal.
By 11:30, he’s finished the bottle and gone back to worry. The world is full of terrible people, and Blaine is so very good. So many things could have happened to him on the way to Bushwick, and Kurt would have no way of knowing. What if he was pushed onto the subway track by a homeless guy with undiagnosed schizophrenia? There wouldn’t even be enough of him left for Kurt to identify the body.
The resulting image has him running for the bathroom and throwing up wine that hasn’t even had the chance to hit his bloodstream.
At 11:45, he thinks Sebastian is probably laughing at him. And maybe Blaine, too.
At 11:50, he’s convinced that Blaine is lying unconscious on his bathroom floor as his brain slowly dies of hemorrhage.
And so on and so forth, until, by 1:30, Kurt has cycled through so many times that he can barely even tell the difference anymore. He passes out, fully clothed and sprawled on top of the fresh, clean sheets he changed only hours before. It’s a fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares, but it keeps him in its grip until morning.
He wakes up groggy, with a pounding headache and that weird, hungover feeling he’s never gotten used to. He chugs down some water, forces down a couple of painkillers, and stumbles to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
It’s then that he remembers.
His heart lurches. He pounces on his phone, and he realizes what woke him up.
A new message. From Blaine. Timestamped just ten minutes ago.
I’m so, so sorry. Please let me come over so that I can explain?
Kurt types back Yes, so quickly he has to delete and re-write it three times before it comes out without typos.
I’m already on the subway. Be there soon.
Something in Kurt eases. Blaine isn’t dead, at least. That’s something.
Clearer-headed now, with the light of day and an entire pot of coffee to bring him to his senses, Kurt knows that he went down a crazy spiral last night. He trusts Blaine, he does, it’s just… There’s only so much Blaine can control, where Sebastian is concerned. He can’t quite shake the worry that’s still eating away at his brain, little by little.
Blaine is there less than half an hour after his last text, pale-faced and disheveled. His eyes are huge with remorse and underlined with dark smudges that speak eloquently to the kind of night he had.
“Kurt,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t have my phone and neither did Sam, or I would have called, I swear.”
“Wait, slow down. Sam?”
Blaine nods. “Yeah, he was - do you think we could sit, for this?”
He looks a little wobbly on his feet. Kurt shakes himself and plants a guiding hand between Blaine’s shoulder blades in case he should need the support. His worry dials up a notch.
“Of course.”
He leads him to the living area, waits for him to get settled. Blaine takes a deep breath and looks Kurt in the eye.
“Okay. I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“That…would be helpful, yes.”
“Sue knows,” he says, without preamble.
“Wha - how did she - ?”
“She saw us in the hallway yesterday.”
Oh, God.
“What did she do?”
“She pulled me aside after rehearsal and told me - she said Sebastian talked to her, told her he was unhappy with how hard I’ve been working. She said she’d take care of it, and that he should go ahead and make dinner reservations, and then she told me… She wants us to end it, Kurt.”
“What? But that’s - that’s crazy, that’s…” He trails off, takes in the way Blaine is avoiding his eyes. “What did you say, Blaine?”
“I told her it was my choice.”
Kurt chooses his next words carefully.
“Is that where you were last night? With Sebastian?”
Blaine’s eyes widen.
“No! That’s - I was getting to that part. Um. Sam saw me right after, and he could tell I was shaken up. I figured - I needed someone to talk to, you know? So he came home with me and I told him what had happened and then… I started to feel really overwhelmed, and it turned into a panic attack, and Sam freaked out and took me to the hospital, and then I was stuck in the ER for the rest of the night, and - ”
“Wait. A panic attack? Are you okay? What did the doctors say?”
“I’m fine,” he says dismissively. “They just checked me out, ran some tests, and told me I was okay to go.”
“What kind of tests?”
“Just - blood pressure, blood sample, that kind of thing. I don’t know, I really just wanted to get out of there.”
“Is that - has that kind of thing happened to you before?”
“No, never. I’m sure it was just the stress, honestly. It was no big deal.”
Kurt sighs, letting go of the spike of worry that jumpstarted his heart the second he heard the word “hospital.” Panic attacks aren’t nothing, but they’re treatable. He resolves to do some research on the subject as soon as he can get to his computer.
“I was worried out of my mind, Blaine.”
Blaine takes both of Kurt’s hands in his, fingers curling together and holding tightly.
“I’m fine. Really. It was a pain, and I hated missing our date, but I’m more concerned about…”
“Sebastian.”
He can’t keep the anger out of his voice, or the defeat. Blaine nods, wary. He tightens his grip on Kurt’s fingers.
“Sue called me this morning. He was furious - he thought I’d stood him up, and he threatened to pull funding.”
“What?”
“He said he was tired of playing games. Sue managed to placate him, but he wants to re-negotiate the contract.”
“Can he do that?”
“Of course he can. Don’t you get it, Kurt? He has all of the power here, all of it, and the only reason he isn’t exercising it right now is that he thinks - ” He cuts himself off, looks away. “He thinks he’s wooing me.”
“I know.”
“Sue convinced him to give me time to focus on the play, but in exchange, he - he wants to add six months.”
Kurt sucks in a breath.
“Blaine.”
“If it keeps him happy…”
And, God, but that’s it - Kurt’s had enough.
“No, Blaine. You can’t let him do this. Nothing you do will ever be enough, because what he wants is to own you, and he can’t, because you’re a person - and you said it yourself, you hate this. You hate what it does to you, and I hate it, too. I can’t stand to watch him put his hands all over you and think that it means anything at all. Nothing could possibly be worth that.”
Blaine’s eyes flash.
“You’re wrong. Nothing is what I’ll have if I back out now - no options, no future, just The Moulin Rouge and this cage I’ve built for myself. And I’m not the only one that needs this, Kurt. Those people are my family. They’re depending on me, and I can’t fail them - I can’t. It’s not an option.”
His breath is shallow and hectic through the tears that are choking him off and refusing to fall down his cheeks. Kurt just wants to make it better.
“I know. I understand - ”
“No, you don’t. What I get out of this - I’ll have a life, Kurt. I’ll have you, and a career, and my freedom. That’s worth everything to me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that.”
“Blaine, I - ”
“I know it’s a lot to ask of you, and I know I don’t have the right, because it means hiding and pretending, and knowing that he… I know it would make the most sense if we - if we ended things - ”
Kurt’s grip tightens.
“That’s not what I want, Blaine. I don’t. I never could.”
Blaine studies him for a moment. His breathing starts to calm, go deeper.
“I’ll have to sleep with him. I’ll have to let him touch me and pretend to like it. He’ll have to believe I’m in love with him. You’ll have to watch it, and the jealousy will drive you mad.”
Kurt shakes his head.
“No. I won’t get jealous.”
Blaine levels him a look.
“Kurt - ”
“I mean it - I trust you. I just don’t like watching him try to make you…less.”
Blaine sighs and looks away.
“Maybe we should…put things on hold, while the contract is active. You won’t have to see it, and we won’t have to hide - ”
“No, I told you, that’s not the solution. We just - we have to trust each other.”
Blaine swallows. He doesn’t say anything.
Kurt gently frees his hands and reaches out to draw Blaine’s gaze back to his. He tries to communicate with his eyes and his touch and, just, his being how very much this means. He’s Blaine’s from inside out because he chooses to be, every day, and he always will. Together, they can heal their own hearts and save their own souls, because, together, there isn’t a demon in the world they can’t face.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, the song has words.
“I’ll write a song,” he says abruptly. “And we’ll put it in the show, and no matter how bad things get, or whatever happens - whenever you hear it, or you sing it, or whistle it, or hum it, you’ll know. It will mean that we love one another.”
“Kurt…” His eyes are sad, almost pleading. “That’s not enough. That’s not how it works.”
“It’s a start. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. We’re enough, Blaine.”
Kurt runs his thumbs over Blaine’s cheekbones, willing him to just have faith and take this leap with him.
Blaine breathes in, faint and shaky, and his face crumples. Kurt pulls him close and holds him tight as he lets out his sobs, scratching lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. He can feel the shaking of Blaine’s body as it reverberates through his own, and the pinprick points of pain where Blaine’s blunt nails dig into his back. He resists the urge to smother the harsh sound of it with soothing nonsense, because he knows that’s not what Blaine needs, but it kind of breaks his heart.
It subsides, eventually, and Blaine sniffs, and pulls back. He nods.
There’s a suspended moment while they just look at each other, and then they’re meeting in the middle for a hard, desperate kiss.
They rest forehead to forehead, fingers clutching in the space between. Their eyes are open and watching, eyelashes brushing as they blink. Kurt feels his own go damp with the remnants of Blaine’s tears.
“Sing with me,” murmurs Kurt.
“What do you want us to sing?”
“Our song.”
Come what may, I will love you until my dying day.
Chapter 6
Sebastian shows up to rehearsal that day. He tries, as he usually does these days, to arrange a dinner date, but Blaine is ready with an excuse.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, suitably regretful. “I’ve promised Rachel we’d stay late to work on our scenes. Opening night is just around the corner.”
Sebastian doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t push the issue, either. It’s actually a little strange, how quickly he gives up.
Kurt leaves early to get a start on dinner, but not before Blaine pulls him by the elbow to a hidden nook in the corridor and kisses him so thoroughly he nearly forgets they’re in public.
“What was that for?” he whispers.
“Just…Happy Anniversary. I’ve been wanting to do that all day.”
Kurt reaches up and smooths a strand of Blaine’s hair he touseled loose in their frenzy.
“Me too. See you at 8?”
“Can’t wait.”
They smile dopily at each other for a few more seconds before Blaine starts to get anxious about being missed. Kurt kisses him one last time and hums under his breath all the way to his subway stop.
Kurt has decided to go with a French theme for the meal: French onion soup to start, followed by herbed, roasted chicken, and chocolate soufflé for dessert. He picks up a bottle of white wine on the way home - expensive, so it must be good - and a few blocks of imported cheese to complete the menu.
He jumps right into cooking as soon as he gets home, singing snippets of the songs that won’t leave his head as he works. There’s this one that’s been living there for the better part of a week, but it’s wispy, without form, and Kurt doesn’t know exactly what it can be, yet. He’s learned that he can’t rush these things, or force them. For now, it’s just a little tune that’s driving him crazy, but soon enough the words will make themselves known. He’s just got to be patient.
Everything goes according to plan. The soup burbles beautifully, the chicken is roasted to perfection, the soufflé rises and fluffs. The table is set and ready by 8 on the dot.
It’s just Blaine that’s missing.
At 8:05, Kurt texts him. Where are you? Call me if you need directions!
No response.
8:10. Dinner’s starting to get cold… J
8:15. Seriously, Blaine, where are you?
He puts the food back in the oven to warm. He checks his phone, just in case. The ringer is set to loud, but you never know.
Nothing.
At 8:20, he calls instead. It rings out to voicemail.
“Blaine, I’m starting to get worried, here. You didn’t get mugged on the way to my apartment, did you? Call me, okay?”
8:30. If you’re not here by 9, I’m eating without you.
He isn’t. Kurt gives it until 9:15, just in case.
He’s lost his appetite. He wraps up the chicken and stores it in the fridge. He pours the soup down the garbage disposal and runs it with a vicious flick of the switch. He picks at the soufflé and can’t manage more than a bite. It goes in the trash.
He doesn’t understand. Their plans were clear. There’s no way Blaine forgot, or misunderstood the time. Tonight was important. Unless he lost his phone or forgot it at home or something and got epically lost on the way to Bushwick, the only reasons he could have for missing their date are…well, unthinkably horrible.
By 9:30, Kurt is convinced that Blaine is lying in an alley somewhere, bleeding out onto the dirty cement. He texts Sam, but there’s no response. He considers calling the hospitals. He almost calls the police.
He opens up his perfectly chilled wine instead. No need for it to go to waste like the rest of the meal.
By 10:30, Kurt is angry. He thinks of Blaine, batting his eyes up at Sebastian like they’re in on a secret, thinks of him leaning into the weight of Sebastian’s hands. He thinks of Sebastian holding him down and Blaine willing and eager beneath him.
It doesn’t matter if it’s an act, because if Blaine chose to go to Sebastian tonight and didn’t even have the decency to tell Kurt… He isn’t sure what that would mean, but it isn’t anything good. Even the thought feels an awful lot like betrayal.
By 11:30, he’s finished the bottle and gone back to worry. The world is full of terrible people, and Blaine is so very good. So many things could have happened to him on the way to Bushwick, and Kurt would have no way of knowing. What if he was pushed onto the subway track by a homeless guy with undiagnosed schizophrenia? There wouldn’t even be enough of him left for Kurt to identify the body.
The resulting image has him running for the bathroom and throwing up wine that hasn’t even had the chance to hit his bloodstream.
At 11:45, he thinks Sebastian is probably laughing at him. And maybe Blaine, too.
At 11:50, he’s convinced that Blaine is lying unconscious on his bathroom floor as his brain slowly dies of hemorrhage.
And so on and so forth, until, by 1:30, Kurt has cycled through so many times that he can barely even tell the difference anymore. He passes out, fully clothed and sprawled on top of the fresh, clean sheets he changed only hours before. It’s a fitful sleep, haunted by nightmares, but it keeps him in its grip until morning.
He wakes up groggy, with a pounding headache and that weird, hungover feeling he’s never gotten used to. He chugs down some water, forces down a couple of painkillers, and stumbles to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
It’s then that he remembers.
His heart lurches. He pounces on his phone, and he realizes what woke him up.
A new message. From Blaine. Timestamped just ten minutes ago.
I’m so, so sorry. Please let me come over so that I can explain?
Kurt types back Yes, so quickly he has to delete and re-write it three times before it comes out without typos.
I’m already on the subway. Be there soon.
Something in Kurt eases. Blaine isn’t dead, at least. That’s something.
Clearer-headed now, with the light of day and an entire pot of coffee to bring him to his senses, Kurt knows that he went down a crazy spiral last night. He trusts Blaine, he does, it’s just… There’s only so much Blaine can control, where Sebastian is concerned. He can’t quite shake the worry that’s still eating away at his brain, little by little.
Blaine is there less than half an hour after his last text, pale-faced and disheveled. His eyes are huge with remorse and underlined with dark smudges that speak eloquently to the kind of night he had.
“Kurt,” he breathes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t have my phone and neither did Sam, or I would have called, I swear.”
“Wait, slow down. Sam?”
Blaine nods. “Yeah, he was - do you think we could sit, for this?”
He looks a little wobbly on his feet. Kurt shakes himself and plants a guiding hand between Blaine’s shoulder blades in case he should need the support. His worry dials up a notch.
“Of course.”
He leads him to the living area, waits for him to get settled. Blaine takes a deep breath and looks Kurt in the eye.
“Okay. I guess I should start at the beginning.”
“That…would be helpful, yes.”
“Sue knows,” he says, without preamble.
“Wha - how did she - ?”
“She saw us in the hallway yesterday.”
Oh, God.
“What did she do?”
“She pulled me aside after rehearsal and told me - she said Sebastian talked to her, told her he was unhappy with how hard I’ve been working. She said she’d take care of it, and that he should go ahead and make dinner reservations, and then she told me… She wants us to end it, Kurt.”
“What? But that’s - that’s crazy, that’s…” He trails off, takes in the way Blaine is avoiding his eyes. “What did you say, Blaine?”
“I told her it was my choice.”
Kurt chooses his next words carefully.
“Is that where you were last night? With Sebastian?”
Blaine’s eyes widen.
“No! That’s - I was getting to that part. Um. Sam saw me right after, and he could tell I was shaken up. I figured - I needed someone to talk to, you know? So he came home with me and I told him what had happened and then… I started to feel really overwhelmed, and it turned into a panic attack, and Sam freaked out and took me to the hospital, and then I was stuck in the ER for the rest of the night, and - ”
“Wait. A panic attack? Are you okay? What did the doctors say?”
“I’m fine,” he says dismissively. “They just checked me out, ran some tests, and told me I was okay to go.”
“What kind of tests?”
“Just - blood pressure, blood sample, that kind of thing. I don’t know, I really just wanted to get out of there.”
“Is that - has that kind of thing happened to you before?”
“No, never. I’m sure it was just the stress, honestly. It was no big deal.”
Kurt sighs, letting go of the spike of worry that jumpstarted his heart the second he heard the word “hospital.” Panic attacks aren’t nothing, but they’re treatable. He resolves to do some research on the subject as soon as he can get to his computer.
“I was worried out of my mind, Blaine.”
Blaine takes both of Kurt’s hands in his, fingers curling together and holding tightly.
“I’m fine. Really. It was a pain, and I hated missing our date, but I’m more concerned about…”
“Sebastian.”
He can’t keep the anger out of his voice, or the defeat. Blaine nods, wary. He tightens his grip on Kurt’s fingers.
“Sue called me this morning. He was furious - he thought I’d stood him up, and he threatened to pull funding.”
“What?”
“He said he was tired of playing games. Sue managed to placate him, but he wants to re-negotiate the contract.”
“Can he do that?”
“Of course he can. Don’t you get it, Kurt? He has all of the power here, all of it, and the only reason he isn’t exercising it right now is that he thinks - ” He cuts himself off, looks away. “He thinks he’s wooing me.”
“I know.”
“Sue convinced him to give me time to focus on the play, but in exchange, he - he wants to add six months.”
Kurt sucks in a breath.
“Blaine.”
“If it keeps him happy…”
And, God, but that’s it - Kurt’s had enough.
“No, Blaine. You can’t let him do this. Nothing you do will ever be enough, because what he wants is to own you, and he can’t, because you’re a person - and you said it yourself, you hate this. You hate what it does to you, and I hate it, too. I can’t stand to watch him put his hands all over you and think that it means anything at all. Nothing could possibly be worth that.”
Blaine’s eyes flash.
“You’re wrong. Nothing is what I’ll have if I back out now - no options, no future, just The Moulin Rouge and this cage I’ve built for myself. And I’m not the only one that needs this, Kurt. Those people are my family. They’re depending on me, and I can’t fail them - I can’t. It’s not an option.”
His breath is shallow and hectic through the tears that are choking him off and refusing to fall down his cheeks. Kurt just wants to make it better.
“I know. I understand - ”
“No, you don’t. What I get out of this - I’ll have a life, Kurt. I’ll have you, and a career, and my freedom. That’s worth everything to me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for that.”
“Blaine, I - ”
“I know it’s a lot to ask of you, and I know I don’t have the right, because it means hiding and pretending, and knowing that he… I know it would make the most sense if we - if we ended things - ”
Kurt’s grip tightens.
“That’s not what I want, Blaine. I don’t. I never could.”
Blaine studies him for a moment. His breathing starts to calm, go deeper.
“I’ll have to sleep with him. I’ll have to let him touch me and pretend to like it. He’ll have to believe I’m in love with him. You’ll have to watch it, and the jealousy will drive you mad.”
Kurt shakes his head.
“No. I won’t get jealous.”
Blaine levels him a look.
“Kurt - ”
“I mean it - I trust you. I just don’t like watching him try to make you…less.”
Blaine sighs and looks away.
“Maybe we should…put things on hold, while the contract is active. You won’t have to see it, and we won’t have to hide - ”
“No, I told you, that’s not the solution. We just - we have to trust each other.”
Blaine swallows. He doesn’t say anything.
Kurt gently frees his hands and reaches out to draw Blaine’s gaze back to his. He tries to communicate with his eyes and his touch and, just, his being how very much this means. He’s Blaine’s from inside out because he chooses to be, every day, and he always will. Together, they can heal their own hearts and save their own souls, because, together, there isn’t a demon in the world they can’t face.
And suddenly, out of nowhere, the song has words.
“I’ll write a song,” he says abruptly. “And we’ll put it in the show, and no matter how bad things get, or whatever happens - whenever you hear it, or you sing it, or whistle it, or hum it, you’ll know. It will mean that we love one another.”
“Kurt…” His eyes are sad, almost pleading. “That’s not enough. That’s not how it works.”
“It’s a start. We’ll figure out the rest as we go. We’re enough, Blaine.”
Kurt runs his thumbs over Blaine’s cheekbones, willing him to just have faith and take this leap with him.
Blaine breathes in, faint and shaky, and his face crumples. Kurt pulls him close and holds him tight as he lets out his sobs, scratching lightly through the hair at the nape of his neck. He can feel the shaking of Blaine’s body as it reverberates through his own, and the pinprick points of pain where Blaine’s blunt nails dig into his back. He resists the urge to smother the harsh sound of it with soothing nonsense, because he knows that’s not what Blaine needs, but it kind of breaks his heart.
It subsides, eventually, and Blaine sniffs, and pulls back. He nods.
There’s a suspended moment while they just look at each other, and then they’re meeting in the middle for a hard, desperate kiss.
They rest forehead to forehead, fingers clutching in the space between. Their eyes are open and watching, eyelashes brushing as they blink. Kurt feels his own go damp with the remnants of Blaine’s tears.
“Sing with me,” murmurs Kurt.
“What do you want us to sing?”
“Our song.”
Come what may, I will love you until my dying day.
Chapter 6