Everlasting: v.
The first thing Blaine notices when he wakes up is how stiff his back is. It’s a sharp reminder of where he is-not in his bed, or his room, or his house, but curled up beneath old quilts in a stranger’s home. He feels sore and tired and cold, despite the two quilts piled on top of him. He wants nothing more than to let himself fall back asleep and out of this reality-Blaine is never allowed to sleep in and he might as well take advantage of the opportunity.
That’s when he realizes what woke him in the first place; someone is gently shaking his arm and whispering his name.
“Blaine.”
It’s Kurt. Blaine groans and pulls the quilts over his face. It’s hardly light out which means it can’t be much later than dawn and the house is silent except for Kurt’s whispers.
“Blaine Anderson, are you awake?”
The quilt is pulled down until the morning light is hitting Blaine’s eyelids, and he squints on instinct.
“No.” He tries to tug the fabric back over his face, but Kurt keeps his hold on it.
“Liar.”
Blaine reluctantly opens one of his eyes and does his best to glare at Kurt, but from the unimpressed and amused smile Kurt gives him in return, he’s pretty sure it fails.
“It’s not enough to kidnap me, you also have to wake me up with the dawn?” Blaine sighs in resignation, rubbing at his sleep-encrusted eyes when it’s clear that Kurt isn’t going to be leaving him alone. Kurt’s eyes dim slightly and he pulls away, arms crossing over his chest.
“I wanted to take you somewhere,” he admits quietly, and this catches Blaine’s attention. Take him somewhere? As in leave? He sits up, wincing at the way his back protests and moving to touch his hair. The style it had been worked into the previous morning (was it really only yesterday?) is gone completely, and Blaine tries not to grimace when he sees Kurt take notice of it. He’s sure he looks like some sort of bedraggled animal but, luckily, Kurt chooses not to comment.
Blaine means to ask, “That somewhere can’t wait until the afternoon?” but says, “You’re letting me leave?” instead.
Kurt’s eyes widen in surprise and then his entire expression softens. It occurs to Blaine then how Kurt is lower in his vision than he should be and is quick to realize it’s because Kurt is kneeling on the ground beside Blaine’s makeshift bed. Kurt is careful to meet his eyes and hold them.
“You’re not a prisoner, Blaine,” Kurt says, very evenly. Blaine’s eyebrows furrow instantly, and he opens his mouth to protest, but Kurt holds up a hand to stop him. “We have our reasons for not letting you go home, but that doesn’t mean we plan to chain you to the house.”
So, he has freedom? Just not enough freedom.
We need to be able to trust you before we can let you go.
Blaine just doesn’t understand why.
“Come on,” Kurt whispers, unfolding gracefully until he’s standing tall beside Blaine. “You should, um... Get dressed.” Kurt throws a look to where Blaine’s clothes are folded on the chair and Blaine instinctively clutches the quilts tighter around his body, his face heating with embarrassment. Kurt doesn’t say anything more; he dips his head and backs out of Blaine’s “room,” presumably waiting in the main room until Blaine is decent.
But Blaine sits there a moment longer, hand pressed to his chest, wondering why his heart is beating so fast all of a sudden.
Mr. Anderson closes Anderson & Son’s Building Co. down for the day, a part of him wondering whether or not one day will turn into many. He’s hopeful, for his wife and his son’s sake, that his doors will be closed and locked for just the single day.
Sheriff Pierce and Deputy Schuester, along with many of the local men and other law enforcement from several neighboring towns, are gathered on the Anderson’s pristine front lawn. Mrs. Anderson, face drawn and hair unstyled, watches from the porch as her husband sets a hat on his head and congregates with the men. Dogs bark and pull on leashes, filling the morning with a cacophony of sound.
“These woods go for miles,” Mr. Anderson informs them as he unfurls a map. “But we’re going to search every inch of them until my son is found. Do you understand me?” He looks sternly at the men and they nod.
“Good.” He pockets the map and adjusts his jacket before giving a nod to the Sheriff.
“All right, boys! Let’s go!” Sheriff Pierce hollers, and the search is on.
The woods are quiet this early in the morning. Dew clings to the grass and paints streaks against Blaine’s loafers (dress loafers, certainly not made for this sort of walking) as they walk, winding slowly through trees; the branches hang heavy above them, as if the forest itself is asleep. Every so often, Blaine hears the far off call of birdsong, but the noise is gone before he can think about it too much.
Wildflowers and mushrooms grow in colorful patches around the bases of trees, large roots winding across the forest floor in a jumbled mess that catches Blaine’s feet and makes him stumble more than once. Water droplets slip from the leaves in the canopy above them, sprinkling the ground, their hair, and on one occasion Blaine’s face, like rainfall. A breeze whistles through the treetops, creating a song all its own and waking up the world around them. The sun tries to break through the canopy, but instead its sunlight filters through the leaves, casting the woods in a faint green glow.
Blaine walks with his head twisting almost constantly, mouth parted in awe as if he’s seeing the forest for the first time. It had only been yesterday, but Blaine can’t remember it being quite like this. He doesn’t know if it’s how low the sun hangs in the sky, or the way his own skin looks faerie-like in the tinted light, or the way Kurt had reached back to take his hand when he tripped a few minutes ago, and hasn’t yet let go.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Blaine asks, voice hushed, as Kurt helps him over a large log half buried in the forest floor and thriving with moss; Blaine feels like he’s in a fairy tale.
“I didn’t say?”
Blaine shakes his head and they keep walking, beginning to climb up a small incline. It’s not exactly dangerous, yet Kurt still walks slowly, the ground sometimes sliding away from beneath his feet, so Blaine imitates him.
“Have you ever seen the Eiffel Tower?”
Blaine shakes his head again, eyebrows pinched together-he hardly knows how the Eiffel Tower has anything to do with a forest in the middle of Ohio, but he doesn’t mention it.
“No,” he says instead, following Kurt over an awkwardly situated boulder. “I’ve always wanted to, though.” Traveling is something that Blaine has always dreamed of, in the darkness of his bedroom at night, or in the shade of the trees he would lie under during his morning escapes. It had always been a whisper of a possibility, something that Blaine never thought he’d have. Not with the life his parents want for him.
“I have,” Kurt says, voice slightly wistful, like he misses it (and Blaine wonders why he would ever come back to Ohio if he’d been to someplace as wonderful and exciting as Paris). The inclines they’re encountering now are beginning to get steeper, littered with outcroppings of rock. Blaine’s breath starts to become labored as they climb and he stares in wonder at Kurt, who moves and climbs gracefully and without any sign of tiring.
“Wait.” Blaine stops to catch his breath and Kurt is pulled to a stop by their joined hands.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired already,” Kurt teases, although there’s nothing that indicates he’s actually surprised at Blaine’s exhaustion.
“Excuse me for not hiking through the woods on a daily basis,” Blaine mumbles to himself, glaring up at Kurt. “And you never answered my question.”
Kurt gives a tug on Blaine’s hand, insisting they go on, and then their hands slip apart as they both focus on keeping their balance. The incline only seems to become steeper, and Blaine wishes Kurt had thought to mention this from the get-go; he’d really much rather be sleeping.
“What question is that?”
Blaine saves his breath until he reaches the top and is surprised at the rock face he sees before him. There’s nothing but flat stone in front of them, and he takes a few steps forward, pressing the palm of his hand to its cool surface.
“Where we’re going.” Blaine looks back at Kurt over his shoulder and Kurt smiles minutely.
“The Eiffel Tower, of course.” He jerks his head to the side and continues walking. Blaine sighs in frustration at being kept in the dark.
“We’re in the middle of Ohio, in case you’ve forgotten.”
“I don’t think I ever forget that.”
They’ve stopped now. The rocks before them have turned from a smooth face to a jumble of stones and ledges. Blaine eyes it warily but then notices the way Kurt is shifting back and forth on his feet, as if he’s suddenly nervous.
“Please don’t tell me the Eiffel Tower is at the top.” Even looking up, Blaine can’t see where the rocks end. The top disappears into the treetops.
“No.” Kurt glances away and he seems almost shy, the way he won’t look Blaine in the eye. It’s mysteriously endearing and it makes Blaine smile. “This... Is my Eiffel Tower.”
It takes a moment for the words to sink in and, when they do, Blaine simply stares at Kurt and how red his face has turned.
“It’s your...?”
“I know it’s ridiculous,” Kurt says quickly, his voice affronted and defensive. “But when...” He stops and looks up to meet Blaine’s eyes. “When I feel trapped, I come here.”
Blaine blinks slowly at him, trying to understand, but then Kurt is turning around, moving towards the rocks and beginning to climb up them.
“You don’t honestly expect me to climb that!” Blaine cries, aghast. He could fall and break his neck! Kurt regards him, head cocked at an angle.
“Do you know how many stairs there are to the top of the Eiffel Tower?”
“No,” Blaine growls in annoyance. He’s never been to France and he hardly knows what that has to do with him risking his life.
“Sixteen hundred and fifty two,” Kurt answers. “I know, because I climbed all the way up and counted every one.”
Blaine can’t imagine that. He can hardly remember how many stairs lead to the second floor of his own house and tries to imagine himself climbing and counting anything like sixteen hundred and fifty two steps.
“That’s what elevators are for,” Blaine states, lifting his chin slightly, and Kurt smiles sadly at him.
“And what’s memorable about taking an elevator?”
Blaine pauses, mouth opening and closing without providing any sort of answer. It’s still Paris, it’s still the Eiffel Tower, of course it would be memorable. Before he can articulate his rebuttal, Kurt is holding out his hand again.
“Come on.”
Blaine isn’t sure what prompts him to take it, but he does.
The forest is loud with the sounds of the search.
They’re vast, and, even with a group as large as theirs, it takes hours to move through even a small part of it. They sweep around every tree, looking for something. But there are barely any deer tracks, much less signs of where Blaine might have gone.
Occasionally, the dogs will bark and the search party will all rush towards a sound, but whatever the dogs smell or see turns out to be nothing. It feels like a wild goose chase, and Mr. Anderson begins to feel like he’s turning in circles rather than making any real progress. The woods that fall on his property have always been daunting to him; each year, he pushes the treeline back with more houses and shops and roads, and yet he never seems to make a dent in their incredible mass.
Every tree looks the same, and the forest begins to feel like a maze as they walk and search and call for Blaine. They cover what feels like miles, get turned around frequently, and men slowly leave the party-men with businesses to run and families to support, and Mr. Anderson cannot pay them all a good day’s wages to search for him.
“Mr. Anderson! Boys! Over here!” Deputy Schuester calls and they hurry over. The dogs bark wildly and Mr. Anderson tries not to get his hopes up once again. He isn’t interested in finding another patch of mushrooms or a trail that appears to circle a copse of trees and then turn back on itself.
But when they all clamber to meet the Deputy over loose leaves and soft forest ground, he’s standing with his palm open and something glinting within it. Mr. Anderson approaches curiously, eyebrows furrowed as he inspects the tiny objects.
His breath catches as he recognizes them: cufflinks. Cufflinks that match a pair in one of his dresser drawers back at home. The cufflinks Blaine had been wearing the afternoon prior, when he’d fled the house. It’s not much, not even enough for the dogs to get a scent off of, but it’s something.
It’s something.
Blaine doesn’t fall to his death, but he might die from the sheer exertion of the climb. His feet ache and he’s sweating in the tight confines of his shirt and why did he think wearing his vest would be a good idea? Kurt is surprisingly patient with him and with every pause they take in the ascent, he tells Blaine a little about Paris. He talks about the people, the buildings, the smells, and the colors. He paints pictures of the city at night and in the early morning, and the way the street lamps shine in the Seine.
It must be afternoon by the time they reach the top, and only Blaine’s dignity keeps him from flopping onto his back and begging for death. Even Kurt seems tired, falling to the ground and stretching out his legs and arms. The breeze is cool and a relief to Blaine’s overheated skin, and he wishes Kurt had brought water, at least. He closes his eyes against the brightness of the sun overhead and tries not to think about climbing back down.
“I have to admit,” Kurt says, and Blaine wonders how he has breath left to waste on words. “Climbing the steps of the actual Eiffel Tower is much easier than that.”
Blaine scoffs a laugh and opens his eyes, looking over at Kurt.
“I would still take the elevator. I wish your Eiffel Tower had an elevator,” he groans, wishing he could take off his shoes and soothe the aches in his feet.
“I wouldn’t let you,” Kurt muses. “If we ever go to Paris together, I’ll make you climb all the way to the top. All sixteen hundred and fifty two steps.”
The scenario hangs heavy in the air and Blaine stares over at Kurt. He tries to imagine Paris from the descriptions Kurt had given him, but it’s like remembering a painting. It’s an image, and no matter how vivid, it is not the same as being there. He wonders if Paris with Kurt would be like living in the painting and seeing everything with the same passion Kurt had described it.
“I think after this, I could do anything,” Blaine retorts and Kurt flashes him a smile, bright and blinding, and Blaine’s chest twists again. The feeling is beginning to become familiar and he doesn’t know how he feels about it.
“Good.” Kurt bounds to his feet and Blaine looks at the way he’s outlined by the vibrant blue of the sky. “But we’re not done yet.”
Blaine groans.
“There are no more rocks to climb. We reached the top,” he whines tiredly.
“We did, but there’s something I want you to see.” Kurt holds out his hand and Blaine takes it. “Now close your eyes.”
Blaine looks at Kurt as if he’s crazy.
“Is this the part where you push me to my death?” He asks as Kurt hauls him to his feet, who looks at Blaine as if the suggestion horrifies him.
“Of course not.” Kurt sounds absolutely insulted by the idea. “Trust me.”
Unlikely. But Blaine sighs and closes his eyes. Kurt moves around him based on the sound of his boots against the rock. He settles his hands on Blaine’s shoulders and he’s standing so close that Blaine can feel Kurt’s body heat against his back. The proximity makes his heart speed up again and he swallows, cursing the climb for his suddenly dry mouth. Kurt turns him and then his voice is close, directing him to take five short steps forward. His hands tighten their grip on Blaine at four and Kurt says, “Stop. Those were not short steps.” And Blaine rolls his eyes behind his lids, mouth open to retort when Kurt instructs him to open them.
So, he does, and feels his mouth drop open.
Blaine has read about the ocean and seen pictures and, right in that moment, he’s sure this is the closest thing he’ll ever see to it. In every direction, he can see a sprawling endless expanse of green-treetops, vibrant in their summer hue, and rippling like waves as the wind blows. It’s the most beautiful thing Blaine has ever seen and he can’t look away from it.
“It’s no Paris,” Kurt whispers, trying not to disturb the beauty of the moment. “But sometimes I think that this is more beautiful than any view I could get there.”
Blaine can’t agree or disagree. He hasn’t seen Paris or anything outside of Lima, but he knows that, so far in his lifetime, he has never seen anything quite like this.
It takes effort to turn and look at Kurt, and when Blaine does it feels like the words he’d been planning to say die immediately on his tongue. He has the feeling that he’s looking at something he isn’t supposed to be seeing; the mask that Kurt has been wearing, even in their quiet moment together the night before, appears to be gone at last.
Where, moments before, Blaine had thought it impossible to look away from the beauty all around him, he now feels as if nothing in the world could make him look away from Kurt.
He’s laid open and raw and vulnerable. His eyes are distant, someplace far away from Blaine, and full of such a deep rooted sadness that it makes Blaine ache for him. He wants to reach out, to help somehow, perhaps to pull away all the layers still hiding Kurt away, to find out where a look like that comes from.
When I feel trapped, I come here.
Kurt’s eyes flick in his direction and the mask is instantly back in place, the sadness pulled back deep inside where Blaine can’t see it anymore. Blaine knows his mask is good, but he’s never seen one as thorough as the one Kurt appears to wear. He looks a little uncomfortable under Blaine’s gaze and looks away again. The green and blue of the forest seem to be reflected in Kurt’s pale eyes, but they stay calm and guarded now that Kurt’s aware that Blaine is watching him.
“Why did you come back?” Blaine asks. Kurt looks back, eyebrows raised. “If you had Paris... Why did you come back?”
He watches as Kurt chews his lip and then lets out a sigh.
“Let’s sit down.” Kurt lowers himself carefully to the ground, until his legs are hanging over the edge, dangling in the air high above the forest below. Blaine feels fear twist in his stomach and he doesn’t move. “Are you afraid of heights?” Kurt teases, looking up at him when he notices that Blaine has yet to sit down.
“No,” Blaine bristles and he moves slowly, taking large, labored breaths, even while Kurt stares at him critically. “It’s the incredibly real possibility of plunging to my death, actually.” Blaine’s pace is apparently too slow for Kurt, because he grabs hold of Blaine’s arm and drags him the rest of the way down. Blaine’s feet catch against loose pieces of the edge and he doesn’t look down to watch them fall, breathing heavily with his eyes closed.
“Was that necessary?” Blaine snaps his head to the side and glares at Kurt, who rolls his eyes.
“I won’t let you fall.” Kurt meets his eyes and Blaine feels like he’s going to throw up his stomach, or his heart, even. “I promise.”
Blaine can see the exact moment Kurt realizes what he said, as his eyes widen a few moments later and he turns away, staring out again over the trees, his cheeks stained with color. Blaine tilts his head, wanting to ask about it, but Kurt interrupts him before he can even begin to voice his question.
“I haven’t just been to Paris.”
Blaine straightens up as his attention is piqued, his eyes trained to Kurt’s face as he listens. He doesn’t trace the slopes of his profile or admire the way his eyelashes catch the sunlight or how his lips stick together slightly every time he opens his mouth to talk. Blaine listens and absolutely doesn’t think about why he’s noticing these things-doesn’t understand why he’s noticing these things.
“I’ve been to New York. San Francisco. London. Vienna. Venice. Rome.” Kurt smiles softly and Blaine can see the dip of his dimple in his cheek. Blaine can’t imagine having been to so many places when he can’t even say he’s been out of Ohio, much less very far outside of Lima. He feels so small suddenly, so insignificant. He looks at Kurt, at his simple clothes and his old eyes, and wonders how Blaine could have everything he has and not even come close to being what Kurt is. He’s worldly, and he can’t be much older than Blaine, it shouldn’t even be possible for him to have traveled the world and yet Blaine has no doubt that he could paint pictures of every city-the same way he’d done for Paris.
“Kurt...” Kurt turns his head slightly, just enough to comfortably have Blaine in his eyeline. “How old are you?”
If Blaine hadn’t been watching, he wouldn’t have seen the way something in Kurt’s eyes froze with fear for just the fraction of a moment. A silence passes that is too long and, once again, Blaine is left a loss, trying to understand the enigma that is Kurt Hummel.
Kurt turns away again, the tension in his shoulders relaxing the smallest amount.
“A hundred and four.”
Blaine immediately frowns, unamused, and when Kurt turns to look at him again, his eyes catch the sunlight in such a way that they seem to glitter.
“That isn’t funny.”
“Who said I was trying to be?” Kurt’s voice is quiet and serious and it makes a chill run up Blaine’s spine. Kurt looks back out over the forest again, smiles, and says, “Let’s just call it eighteen, shall we?”
So, not much older than Blaine at all.
“I’m seventeen,” he says, “but I’ll be eighteen soon.” Kurt hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t comment; maybe Blaine should have made a joke about being five hundred and twenty.
“Did you want me to answer your first question, like I was doing when you interrupted me with your second, or do you have other ones to ask?”
Blaine has many other ones. Blaine wants to ask Kurt everything. He wants to know what New York is like. He wants to know why he’s never seen Kurt or his family before. He wants to know why he needs to be trusted, why Kurt’s family is so different than anything Blaine’s ever encountered before, why Kurt is so different than anyone Blaine has ever known, and why Blaine can’t seem to look at Kurt without his stomach going to knots.
But the thought of Kurt feeling trapped when he has the ability to leave, to get out, stops Blaine from asking. He shakes his head and Kurt nods, his legs swinging back and forth and sending pieces of stone skittering down the rockface.
“The world is a very big place, Blaine.”
Something trills through him at the way Kurt says his name.
“I want to see all of it someday,” Kurt continues, voice wistful. “I’m looking for something and, in all the places I’ve looked... I’ve only ever found it here.” He looks at Blaine then and Blaine’s heart skips a beat.
“What?” Blaine asks quietly.
“Acceptance.”
The word hits Blaine in a strange way and his eyes widen.
“Someplace I can be myself and not have to pretend to be someone else just for the sake of others.”
Blaine’s breathing suddenly feels shallow.
“And in the whole world, the only place I feel that way is in the middle of the woods in Ohio.” He smiles ruefully. “So, I travel, I see the world, but... I always come back.” Kurt considers Blaine for a moment and Blaine feels as if Kurt’s eyes are looking straight through him.
“But you still feel trapped?” Blaine asks around the sudden block in his throat. Kurt’s face turns sad and he nods.
“Nowhere’s perfect, at least... Not that I’ve found yet.” Kurt begins to play with his fingers in his lap, staring at all the different ways he can twist them together. “I’m not like everyone else, Blaine.”
“No,” Blaine agrees on a breath and Kurt looks at him in surprise. “You’re... You’re different.”
Kurt laughs suddenly, surprised, and his nose scrunches as he shakes his head.
“More than you know,” he says, but his smile is still sad and Blaine can practically see the secrets behind it. “What about you, Blaine?” Blaine blinks in surprise. “What are you looking for?”
“Nothing,” he says, too quickly, and Kurt doesn’t just swallow the lie-people always take the lie, it’s the easiest thing to do, but Kurt is staring at Blaine intently.
“You don’t take walks in the woods, Blaine,” Kurt states, plainly, and Blaine’s mouth flounders in shock. “You were looking for something yesterday, weren’t you?”
It sounds like such a simple question, like Blaine had misplaced a hat or a childhood toy somewhere amongst the trees. But he knows it’s so much more than that. The word acceptance aches in his chest like a wish he doesn’t dare acknowledge with words.
“My parents were sending me away.” Blaine looks out over the trees, feeling like the world is spread out beneath them, even though it’s only one forest. “I’ve... Never felt like enough for them.” He can understand now why Kurt stared out at the trees and the sky instead of looking at Blaine while he spoke; speaking to everything rather than just Kurt makes Blaine feel safe in a way he’s unfamiliar with. “To have them tell me as such...” Blaine laughs bitterly, shaking his head. “They wanted me to go to Dalton, to become refined. To be buffed and polished until I’m just like my father.” His hands skim along the surface of the rock until his fingers touch on a smooth, round stone. He picks it up, holding it in his hand so tightly it hurts. “Until there isn’t any me left at all.”
He throws it and it feels like he’s done more than toss a single stone. It’s as if a boulder has been picked up off his chest, and he takes a big, grounding breath. He feels a touch to his hand and starts, head whipping to the side and vision filling with the blueness of Kurt’s eyes. It isn’t pity there, but empathy. And of course Kurt understands.
They’re both looking for the same thing. Blaine just hadn’t fully understood that it’s what he’d been looking for until that moment.
Kurt settles his hand over Blaine’s and keeps it there as they sit in silence.
“I’m sorry,” Kurt finally whispers and Blaine shrugs off the apology. “My family has always been the one place I’ve felt safe.” He doesn’t say that Blaine is lacking that, that Blaine has nowhere, but it doesn’t need to be said.
“They offered me another option.” Blaine snorts, completely undignified. “That I could marry. Become a husband. Apparently a wife would be just as good as boarding school at straightening me out.” Blaine shakes his head and sighs. “You can see why I chose the woods,” he smiles wryly and stares out at the forest again.
“Maybe I’ve read too many fairy tales, but I never saw marriage as something to be done to advance one’s place in society or as some sort of political tool.” His smile turns from sardonic to hopeful. “I always imagined marrying the person I fell in love with. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Shouldn’t I marry someone I love?” The yearning in Blaine’s own voice surprises him and he stops himself from saying any more and making a fool of himself.
“Sorry.” He shakes his head and smiles at Kurt in a self-deprecating fashion. “I guess I’m just a silly romantic.”
“It’s not silly.”
Kurt looks so earnest as he says it, his hand squeezing around Blaine’s, and Blaine feels it again-the tightness in his chest, the twisting in his stomach, the way his heart seems to beat inside his head.
“Why is it so easy to talk to you?” Blaine blurts, voice laced with surprise and utter confusion. It shouldn’t be easy to talk to Kurt, Blaine shouldn’t trust Kurt, or Kurt’s family. They kidnapped him, are keeping him here, and yet...
And yet, Blaine has never felt as free as he does right in that moment.
Kurt’s face softens and he smiles.
“The feeling’s mutual,” Kurt says, and there’s a wonder there that Blaine can relate to. “Maybe it’s because I’m different?” Kurt ventures, his voice hopeful, and Blaine cocks his head to the side.
“You are,” Blaine says for the second time and Kurt squeezes his hand again. There’s something new in Kurt’s eyes as he looks at Blaine this time and it makes Blaine feel like he’s lost his breath.
“Maybe...” Kurt pauses and glances away shyly. “Maybe you’re different, too.”
And Blaine smiles, feeling a joy course through him that makes him want to laugh. So he does. Kurt starts, frowning, but it must be apparent that Blaine isn’t mocking him with his laughter. It’s pure, untempered joy.
Different is the best thing Blaine has ever been called.
i. ii. iii. iv. v. vi.