Everlasting: iii.

[michellemabelle]

The treeline ends abruptly, and suddenly the horse’s hooves are trodding against the soft ground that shores a rather large, beautiful lake. Blaine had never known there was a lake in this forest; he isn’t even sure if his father knows that much. They continue on in silence and Blaine can’t help but wonder if Kurt had been lying before; maybe they’re going to throw him into the lake. It would work, after all-he can’t swim.

Blaine doesn’t notice the house until the horse is slowing down. In fact, if he hadn’t known they were headed somewhere, he wouldn’t have seen it at all. It’s made completely of wood, but it actually looks like wood, unlike the houses in town. There’s no paint on the outside, no iron gates or fixings. There’s a porch, two windows, and a door, but Blaine can’t see much else. The little house disappears back into the woods, hidden from sight, almost like the walls and roof grew straight out of the trees.

There are myriad clotheslines stretched from the roof to a tall, thick tree that hangs with ornaments like it’s Christmas time. But they aren’t the sort of ornaments Blaine is used to seeing during the holidays; there are bottles full of sand, random pieces of silverware and cloth, buttons, trinkets, and glittering prisms tied to branches by pieces of ribbon and string. It’s the strangest thing Blaine thinks he’s ever seen and he can just imagine what his mother’s reaction would be.

There’s a woman crouched in a small, fenced garden at the side of the house, a large straw hat sitting on her head as she hums and plucks carrots into her woven basket.

“Finn? Did you go and get Kurt for-” Her voice falters as she turns to look over her shoulder, her eyes homing in on Blaine immediately. He feels small in her gaze in a way he’s been raised not to; he’s an Anderson, he’s better than them, and yet every inch of him feels so childish at that moment.

He’s just a silly boy who threw a fit and ran into the woods.

“Kurt...” She looks at the boy tucked up tightly against Blaine’s back and Blaine can feel how Kurt’s sigh tickles at his scalp.

“He saw me at the spring,” Kurt admits, his voice level. He swings off from behind Blaine so abruptly that Blaine is sure he’ll fall, but Kurt just tugs Blaine off the horse as well. He falls to his knees, his legs wobbly and unable to support him, and he stays there, staring at the ground. Blaine’s terrified.

“...he’s an Anderson.”

The woman gasps and it makes Blaine wince. He can’t even look up at her, is afraid of what he’ll see on her face. That wasn’t the sort of gasp his mother makes when unexpected company comes by and she needs to primp and call for tea. It was the bad kind of gasp, like when Blaine wakes up from a nightmare or the water in his bath is too cold.

There’s a sudden warm hand on his shoulder and Blaine starts, head snapping up to see the woman there. She’s older, older than his mother but not terribly old, and her face is warm and kind beneath the shade of her hat.

“Come off the ground now, child. You can’t be comfortable down there.”

Blaine bristles slightly-he is not a child-but he stands. He’s not about to start arguing with his kidnappers. She helps him up, her hands soothing and motherly and Blaine fights not to be comforted by them.

“I want to go home,” he whispers, petulant, and the woman frowns at him, eyebrows knit together with worry. She’s silent, hand smoothing over his arm, and then she’s glancing over his shoulder.

“Kurt? Go and fetch your father, will you?”

“I sent Finn.”

Finn must be the other boy, the one who’d caught Blaine to begin with. He’s beginning to wonder how many of them there are and what chances he’ll have of ever escaping. Then again, he wouldn’t get far. They rode the horse for what seemed like a good long time and all the scenery they’d passed had looked the same.

Even if he could escape he’d be lost within minutes and they’d no doubt catch him again.

“Then you can help me with dinner. Come on, let’s get inside.” She goes to wrap her arm around Blaine’s shoulders and he steps back and away from her, right into Kurt’s chest. He feels so trapped.

“Please.” He stares at this kind woman and hopes that her kindness supersedes whatever reason they brought him here. “Please, I just want to go home. Can’t I go home?”

She looks over his shoulder at Kurt again and then smiles sadly at him.

“We’ll get you home as soon as we can,” she assures, but Blaine doesn’t feel very comforted. It’s been many years since a mother’s empty promises have held any consolation for him.

Blaine crosses his arms around himself protectively, turning his head away and staring into the forest. The stupid forest that is the whole reason he’s in this mess now. Did he really have much of a choice, though? He’d be a prisoner either way.

At least at Dalton I would have been a prisoner by choice, he thinks dismally.

“Do you like stew, Mr. Anderson?” The woman asks and just having someone addressing him properly makes his shoulders draw back so that he’s standing taller. But this isn’t a woman in his mother’s social circle; he doesn’t even know her name, much less what kind of family she comes from.

Blaine’s certainly never heard of a family who lives in the woods.

He nods minutely, because he was asked a question and he is still a proper gentleman, and the woman smiles. She clasps her hands together and then turns, basket of carrots swaying in the bend of her elbow as she heads up the steps to the porch.

“Carole,” Kurt says from behind him, and Blaine turns with a raised eyebrow. “Her name is Carole.” He doesn’t provide a last name and Blaine doesn’t call people his senior by their first names, that’s completely improper. But Kurt is referring to his own mother by her first name and that in itself is incredibly peculiar. Then again, this entire situation is peculiar.

When Blaine continues to not respond, Kurt touches his arm gently and gives him a little nudge forward.

“Come inside. Running into those woods is more dangerous now than coming with us.” Kurt turns to stare into the darkness of the forest, his eyes far away. “The trees go for miles and you’d be lost in minutes.”

The forest has secrets, and Blaine is suddenly sure that Kurt and his family aren’t the worst of them.

The wood of the porch is sturdy and weathered and so raw beneath his feet; he’s used to polished wooden panels and slabs of marble and granite, and this is all so incredibly new. The inside is one large room with two doors set into the back wall and a ladder leading up to the rafters, boards laid across them to create a makeshift second floor. It might lack the ornate qualities that come with gilding and paint, but most of the wood is delicately carved into intricate shapes and the fabrics of the curtains and furniture are rich and beautiful.

It’s so unlike any home Blaine has ever been in before, but it’s the only one that has ever felt properly lived in. Every inch of it looks and feels loved and it’s so strange to Blaine that he can’t move more than a few steps into the room, feet rooted in the floor.

“My pa built this house,” Kurt says from the doorway behind him. “A long time ago.” He’s silent and still for a few moments before he moves around Blaine to join Carole in the corner of the room that serves as their kitchen.

Blaine’s father built their house, too, but he knows the difference. Blaine’s father hadn’t used his own hands; he’d designed every inch of it but he hadn’t touched a single tool as it came together. But Kurt’s father built this entire building, down to the glass fit into the windowpanes.

The summer heat in Ohio is sticky, but a cool breeze blows into the house off the lake and chills Blaine’s back. His eyes trace every contour of the room but he’s particularly transfixed by the ornate carvings of trees, vines, and leaves on one of the main pillars supporting the ceiling. Before he’s aware of it, he’s standing right in front of it, hands tracing over the delicate shapes cut into the wood.

“Burt was a carpenter,” a voice says from behind him, and Blaine turns to see Carole standing there and smiling. “Long time ago now,” she muses, admiring the work.

“Did he…?” Blaine asks before he can stop himself, and Carole smiles at him.

“No. That’d be Kurt. Burt taught him to whittle when he was a wee thing and Kurt covered every bit of wood with his carvings. Burt never understood it much, but I always thought it was lovely.”

Blaine looks over at Kurt in the kitchen, his face pinched in concentration as his hand guides a blade in chopping carrots. Aside from playing the piano, Blaine can’t do very much with his hands. He couldn’t cut carrots if he was asked to-he’d never been expected to do something as simple as that. He can’t cook or clean or make any sort of living for himself with the skills he has. He has a basic education, but a lot of good that’ll do him if he doesn’t get further schooling.

His thoughts are broken as Kurt starts to whistle, the notes high and clear in the silence of the house, almost like birdsong. It’s lovely and… Strangely familiar.

“I know that song,” Blaine says softly, and Carole turns to look at him, eyebrows raised.

“Kurt always whistles or hums it. Has for a long time. I reckon the mockingbirds decided they liked it quite a bit,” Carole supplies and Blaine nods absently. Yes, that must be it-it’s why Blaine had likened it to birdsong in the first place, surely.

“Now, Mr. Anderson, you don’t need to lend a hand, don’t feel that you have to, but it’d be mighty helpful if you were up to peeling some potatoes.”

The stew is simmering on the stovetop and Blaine is hissing as Carole dabs at all the little nicks on his fingers with a damp cloth. Peeling potatoes hadn’t sounded hard, but Blaine had never done it before and he’d certainly never held a knife that small. Carole kept insisting that none of the cuts were that bad, but they still stung like no other.

“Just a few war wounds,” she says, patting at his hands and smiling, and he pulls them closer to his body, inspecting the tiny cuts.

The sun is long past gone now and the cabin is lit with candles and oil-burning lamps; it’s dimmer than Blaine’s own home, and he surprisingly doesn’t find the abundance of shadows eerie. Kurt left some time ago, and it’s just been him and Carole. She’s kind, and her presence isn’t as demanding as Kurt’s seems to be; when he’s in the room, he draws all of Blaine’s attention and it’s distracting as well as confusing.

She doesn’t force conversation on him, and hums to herself and smiles whenever he happens to glance over. She’s trying to put him at ease and it works, to a degree, but the world around him is strange and it’s hard for him to feel settled.

“We don’t mean you any harm, you know,” Carole says suddenly and Blaine looks up at her from where he’d been staring at his hands. He frowns and looks away again, flexing his fingers and staring at the marks on his hands as if they’re proof of how much harm they are causing him.

“If that’s true, then why did you bring me here?” He asks quietly, still not looking at her. “Why am I here?” Blaine might have run away, but he finds he’d give anything to go home again, to forget about this family and their small and intricate home, and the boy with the too-blue eyes. Maybe his parents will be more reasonable now; maybe they’ll let him negotiate some sort of compromise.

Maybe he can even marry Rachel like his father had suggested.

Blaine thinks of Kurt for a moment, just a moment, and he shrinks away from that idea. No. He won’t marry for anything but love and he certainly doesn’t love Rachel, even if her company can be quite entertaining.

“I want to go home,” Blaine whispers for what feels like the hundredth time that day, and Carole’s hand settles lightly on his shoulder.

“I know you’re upset,” she says quietly, her tone full of regret. “Lord knows your family must be worried sick about you. I know I’d be, if it were my boys gone and disappeared into the woods.”

Blaine keeps his eyes averted and stops himself from asking the obvious question; if she understands, why won’t she just let him go?

The door opens, and Blaine sees her stand out of the corner of his eye. He lifts his head at the sound of heavy footsteps against the wooden floor and sees a balding, gruff-looking man entering the house, trailed by Kurt and Finn.

“This the child?” He asks and Blaine has the urge to shrink back into the couch. Not for the first time, he wishes he could go back and stop himself from ever entering the woods.

“He’s no child, Burt,” Carole chides, sending a small smile to Blaine. He’s not, but right now might not be the best time to point that out.

So this is Burt.

Blaine’s eyes flick back and forth between father and son and it’s strange, how little resemblance they have to one another. Burt is shorter than his sons, and broad, with strong shoulders and large hands, and signs of hardship written all over his face. There are wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, signs of laughter and smiling, and Blaine thinks that he must not always be so horribly intimidating.

He feels pathetic, shrinking into the arm of the couch like a cornered mouse, but he can’t think of what else to do.

Four pairs of eyes are trained on him and no one is speaking as Burt’s heavy footsteps approach Blaine. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at him, eyes moving rapidly as if he’s looking for something and having a hard time finding it. Blaine doesn’t move under the scrutiny, his muscles only relaxing when Burt turns to Carole and they move to the other side of the house where Kurt and Finn are waiting.

Blaine contemplates running again. He looks at the door and wonders how far he would get, but he knows that in the dark, he’d be even more hopeless.

You’d be lost in minutes, Kurt’s voice taunts him in his head, and Blaine frowns. Not to mention that Kurt and his family own a horse and probably know these woods as well as Blaine knows his own bedroom.

Instead, he watches them. They’re circled together, voices hushed, and every so often one of them looks over at him. Blaine tries to think of what he could have possibly done to end up in this position, but he comes up blank every time. These woods belong to his father, he knows that much, so there’s no way he’s in trouble for trespassing. If anything, they’re the ones on his land.

What do they want with him?

Why won’t they let him go home?

He’s still staring at them when Kurt’s eyes flick up to meet his and stay there. His look is resigned as he stares at Blaine, and Blaine feels something like fear knot in his stomach. They’re going to kill me.

What else would they do with him?

Kurt looks away and Blaine feels the breath rush out of him, the weight of his fate hitting him in the gut. If he’s going to die, the least they could do is tell him why first.

He stands on stiff legs, feeling like he’s somehow become the wood that surrounds him on every side, and walks slowly over to them. They aren’t throwing glances his way anymore, and as he approaches he can hear the tail end of their discussion.

“-too dangerous, we can’t have someone out there knowing.”

“That’s why I brought him to you, Burt, you said that if anyone found out-”

“And I keep telling you he doesn’t know anything. Pa, I told you. He saw me, that’s it.”

“But if he knows where-”

“He doesn’t. Trust me, he couldn’t get back there no matter how many times he tried. He got lost leaving his own house, he’s not going to know-”

“What don’t I know?” Blaine asks before he can help himself, and all four heads turn in his direction at once. It’s clear he’s surprised them but it doesn’t stop him from rooting to the spot, feeling like prey in the eyes of a snake.

All of them are silent. They don’t offer any further information as they look at him, and Blaine shifts his weight, wishing for the imagined safety the corner of the couch had provided him.

“Burt,” Carole says suddenly, shattering the silence. “This is Mr. Anderson.”

Blaine feels as if it’s a little late for introductions, but he doesn’t comment. It’s not his business to concern himself with how improper others are, or so his mother had always told him. It doesn’t matter if they all should have introduced themselves properly upon first meeting; it merely colors Blaine’s opinions of their upbringing and their manners.

Not to mention the fact that they kidnapped him, and that’s reason enough to have issues with their character.

But despite his reluctance, Blaine won’t let their impropriety diminish his upbringing as a gentleman. He gives a bow of his head and offers his hand; he doesn’t accompany it with his normal, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” because it most certainly is not a pleasure in any way.

Burt surveys him for a moment before an amused sort of grin stretches across his face, his hand closing around Blaine’s in a shake-it’s rough, much rougher than Kurt’s hand had been when they’d shaken earlier, but Carole had mentioned that Burt was once a carpenter, so every callous makes sense.

The others watch them, lips pressed together as if they’re trying not to laugh, and Burt keeps hold of his hand much longer than is strictly necessary. Blaine feels at a loss again, like he’s in the midst of a joke that he’ll never hear the beginning or end of.

“This is the most important thing to happen in this house in... What?” Burt looks over his shoulder, eyebrows drawn up and his face suddenly seems so much kinder.

“Eighty years, give or take,” Carole supplies, her voice warm, and Burt nods.

“Eighty years.” He turns back to Blaine and finally releases his hand. Blaine pulls it back, flexing his fingers and looking between the four of them warily.

“You must not get houseguests very often,” he concludes, because what’s so important about Blaine being there? But rather than offering any information, in a way Blaine is beginning to assume is quite natural for them, they all start laughing.

Blaine is suddenly concerned that he’s been kidnapped by a family of crazy people.

“You hungry, Mr. Anderson?” Burt asks, grinning at him in full this time-Blaine can see the way his wrinkles fold into their laugh lines and he really does look kind and friendly now. If Blaine had perhaps met him in town, in the street, he’d have never taken him for a kidnapper. Strange to think how wrong he would have been.

“Dinner should be good and ready,” Carole interjects, and begins herding them towards the table. “Mr. Anderson even helped-peeled the potatoes and everything.”

Blaine resists the urge to groan; he’s sure that peeling potatoes isn’t normally a novelty, but he’s an Anderson so of course it would be reason enough for gossip. If his mother ever found out he peeled potatoes, he’d never hear the end of it-of that Blaine is quite certain. Feeling quite humiliated, he hides his hands surreptitiously behind his back and shuffles along after the family to their kitchen table. It’s oddly large for a family of four, but he doesn’t comment on it.

When he does glance up, though, Kurt is looking at him again. It’s a simple shared glance, but this time Kurt smiles, small and hesitantly. It’s the first smile Kurt has shown him since their initial meeting in the woods-it seems so long ago now, the memory light and harmless and completely misleading. And still this smile is different; where before Kurt had been teasing and mocking him, his smiles full of amusement, now his smile seems genuine. So Blaine returns it with just as much caution before Carole is drawing his attention and directing him into a chair.

He’s thankful when she sits beside him, smiling and thanking him again for the potatoes. He doesn’t trust these people, but he’s spent the most time with Carole and she’s done nothing but show him kindness. He turns to look at her as the others settle at the table, feeling the manners he was raised with come to the surface. She glances over at him, looking expectant but patient.

“I... Just wanted to thank you for your hospitality, Mrs-” He stops, feeling embarrassment heat his cheeks, because he has no idea what these people’s last name is.

“Hummel, dear.” She pats his arm reassuringly.

“Mrs. Hummel, then.”

Something clatters on the table and Blaine’s attention is drawn to it; Kurt is sitting right across from him and has apparently tipped over his empty glass. He’s staring at Blaine again, but it’s different this time; his mouth is open in surprise and there’s something close to pain in his eyes. But then it’s gone-Kurt looks down, rights his cup, and the moment is swallowed up as conversation swells around the table.

“No fish?” Finn grumbles and Blaine watches as Burt gives him a glare, but Carole just laughs and brushes the criticism away with a brush of her hand.

“They just weren’t biting today, I’m afraid. Maybe tomorrow you and Burt could take the boat out?”

“You be quiet and eat your stew, boy,” Burt says and Finn just grins.

“It’s good stew, ma.”

She preens slightly, opening her mouth to talk again, but Blaine doesn’t pay attention. The conversation becomes a buzz as he stares down at his soup, pushing a piece of carrot around with his spoon. He really should be hungry; he hasn’t eaten since breakfast and he knows that the ache in his stomach comes from the fact that it’s empty.

“You should eat.”

Blaine looks up and Kurt is staring across at him again. Kurt’s face is incredibly expressive but it doesn’t help Blaine if he can’t read the emotions that flash across it. He’s never had to read people before; among their social circles, everyone wears a mask and no one ever tries to look past it. Blaine accepts all of those people at face value because he doesn’t want to know what’s behind the façade, what those people are really like.

Kurt’s wearing a mask, but it’s unlike any mask Blaine has ever seen before. And this time Blaine is dying to know what lies underneath it.

“I’m not hungry,” he replies with a dismissive shrug. Kurt watches him, eyebrows knit together in what Blaine would call concern if that emotion made any sense on Kurt’s face. Kurt’s the reason he’s here-there’s no reason for him to be concerned. Do kidnappers normally treat their prisoners with such hospitality?

“No, you’re in shock.”

Blaine looks up from where his attention had drifted back to his stew, surprised that Kurt is still talking to him.

“I wonder why,” Blaine bites back before he can help himself, and immediately colors at how rude he just was. But Kurt doesn’t look offended; he cocks an eyebrow and regards Blaine as if he’s the puzzle in this equation. Blaine stops himself from pointing out that no, Kurt is most certainly the enigma that Blaine finds himself desperately wanting to understand.

But it’s not just Kurt. It’s this entire family. Blaine doesn’t know what it is, but there’s something different about them that he can’t put his finger on. In the end, the question is whether or not his curiosity is worth it. Does he give in and let himself be held captive just for the chance of solving the riddle? Or does he fight, tooth and nail, to head back to the dull life that’s never held any secrets?

“You’ll be hungry in a few hours when it wears off.” Kurt takes a loaf from the bread basket, breaking off a hunk and then setting it down by Blaine’s bowl. He stares at the offering but he isn’t thinking about his stomach; he’s thinking about his shock wearing off in a few hours and the reality settles around his shoulders. He’s growing up and life isn’t a storybook-riddles and secrets might intrigue him but they certainly aren’t going to save his life.

Because this isn’t a game and Blaine is very much being held against his will.

“My father will come looking for me,” he insists suddenly, and Kurt falters where he’s lifting a piece of bread to his mouth. The table falls silent and Blaine doesn’t need to look up to know that all of them are looking at him.

He feels like an animal in a cage.

“Cut down the entire forest to do it, too,” Burt agrees, reaching down the table for the bread. No one speaks. “Things are changing in Lima and your father’s a smart man, Mr. Anderson. He’s going to make himself very rich.”

“Burt,” Carole says, her voice disapproving. Blaine looks up then, turning to meet Burt’s stare.

“My father is a rich man,” he says evenly. “He can pay you. Anything you want. He’ll do it.” Blaine doesn’t know, not for sure, not after his display that afternoon, but his parents do love him, don’t they? Surely they’re looking for him and they would pay any ransom the Hummels might demand?

Burt goes from hard to soft in a matter of seconds, and he shakes his head, sighing as he looks away.

“We don’t want your father’s money, Mr. Anderson.”

“Then what do you want from me?” The question bursts out of him and maybe the shock has broken sooner than Kurt had predicted. Blaine suddenly feels hysterical, his breathing becoming erratic. “Please, just let me go home.” Andersons do not beg, but Blaine is.

“We will.” Carole reaches out to touch him again and he shakes her off, moving as far as he can in his chair without standing. “We’ll let you go home as soon as we can, just like I promised.”

“But I thought we couldn’t trust him?”

Blaine’s wide eyes turn to Finn, but he’s looking at Burt as if he’s confused.

“Trust me?” Blaine’s voice comes out strangled. Burt sighs heavily again.

“We need to be able to trust you before we can let you go, Mr. Anderson.”

He doesn’t give a reason as to why and no one else seems to be supplying him with one. He looks at each of their faces in turn, the why on the tip of his tongue when Finn says, “But he’s normal.”

Carole shushes him immediately and Blaine looks at Finn, who is staring at him as if normal somehow translates to dangerous.

“Ma, we can’t trust normal people, not ever. Not him, not no one, Burt always says-”

“Finn,” Carole shushes again and Blaine feels lost again. Normal people? What does that even mean? Aren’t they all normal? If anything, isn’t Blaine the strange one in this situation?

“No, Ma, you guys have always told us to keep quiet, protect the secret-”

“Maybe he’s different.”

Finn falls quiet and Blaine turns to stare at Kurt in surprise. Only Kurt seems just as surprised to have said it, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. Blaine doesn’t know what happens next, his eyes fixed on Kurt’s as they stare back at him, but for some reason Finn stands from the table and leaves without another word.

“You’re not normally one for dramatic exits.” Kurt walks out onto the porch, watching Finn saddle the horse in the glow of the cabin’s lamps. Finn doesn’t say anything, brushing his hand along Hutch’s neck and Kurt sighs, walking closer.

“Pa said we’re not supposed to go to town.”

“Burt also said we’re not supposed to trust people with the secret,” Finn mumbles resentfully. Kurt pinches the bridge of his nose. He understands why Finn is upset. They all remember what happened the last time they thought they could trust someone, and Kurt knows that Finn’s never recovered from it.

“Finn, you aren’t thinking. It’s dangerous and you know it.”

But Finn swings up into the saddle. Kurt takes a few brisk steps forward and closes his hands around the bridle, staring up at Finn.

“What does it matter anymore? We have a stranger in our house anyways. I just need some time to think.” He yanks on the reins but Kurt doesn’t release them. “This is your fault, you know.”

Kurt bristles, standing up straight and the knuckles of his clenched hand turning white.

“My fault?”

“You’re the reason he’s here, Kurt. He saw you in the woods and now he knows about us. What were you even doing at the spring?” Finn stares at him, his face a mix of confusion and accusation. Kurt fidgets under the gaze; he doesn’t have an answer, not really. He takes walks in the woods and sometimes he ends up there, fingers tracing the H that his pa carved all those years ago and remembering when his entire life changed.

“It’s not important-”

“The hell it’s not, Kurt. You can say what you want about that boy, say what you want about you, but he’s here because of you.”

The idea that all of this could be Kurt’s fault sits ill in his stomach. Is it his fault? Is he really responsible for how much danger his family is now possibly in? He swallows, his throat suddenly dry and his hand going lax enough for Finn to draw the horse away. But he doesn’t ride off, his face turned out towards the lake before he’s looking at Kurt again.

“He’s not like you, Kurt.”

Kurt draws in a sharp breath, looking at Finn in surprise.

“I see the way you look at him.”

Kurt looks away then, his blush hidden by the night’s darkness, but no less hot and shaming against the skin of his cheeks. He doesn’t mean to look, knows that he’s not supposed to, but he can’t help himself.

Blaine looks back.

Is it really so extreme to think that maybe Blaine is like him?

“You know what’ll happen. And you’re a fool if you think it’ll be any different.” Finn’s words are followed by the sudden sound of hooves galloping away. Kurt doesn’t turn to look and knows he wouldn’t be able to see very much if he did. The night is heavy out here in the woods and the darkness of the forest swallows up the world around them.

He stands there in the shadow of the treelooking up at the tiny Eiffel Tower Carole had hung not a week ago. Kurt pushes it with his finger and watches it twist on its piece of string and sighs. He knows he’s being wishful-Blaine is like every other boy in town and just because he has pretty eyes doesn’t mean he’s anything like Kurt.

And if he is-if Kurt dares let himself think that-what then? Finn is right. It won’t be any different and Kurt will live forever with a broken heart.

When he turns to go back inside, Blaine is there, standing in the doorway and watching the fireflies that flit around above the porch. He catches Kurt’s stare and shrinks back a bit, looking like a cornered forest animal.

We kidnapped him. What else do I expect?

“Is...” Blaine’s voice fails as Kurt pauses a few feet away from him. He runs his fingers through his hair, mussing it from whatever style it held at the beginning of the day. “I didn’t mean to upset your brother. I wanted to apologize.”

Kurt shakes his head, letting out a long, controlled breath.

“You don’t need to apologize, he just...” Kurt waves his hand, dismissing the thought, but Blaine doesn’t look appeased at all. “He’s fine. You didn’t do anything.”

Blaine nods, eyebrows drawn tight together, and Kurt feels like Blaine won’t lose that worried expression for a long time.

“Are you hungry now?” Kurt asks, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and Blaine blushes, looking away again. “Come on. There’s plenty of stew left and no more storming out to interrupt us.” He shoos Blaine back into the house and he looks back at Kurt and smiles. It’s still the smile of someone who’s scared and alone, and Kurt feels a pull of guilt inside of him.

He knows what those things feel like.

So he does what he can and smiles back, because that’s all he can do, and then Blaine’s smile grows just that much bigger. Kurt can’t stop the way his own smile grows as a result, and it should be disconcerting how quickly the guilt turns into a swoop.

It isn’t until Blaine has turned away completely and Kurt is left in the doorway, waiting for his heart to settle, that he realizes how much trouble he’s in.

i. ii. iii. iv.