It's Just a Matter of Time (1/1)
Title: It’s Just a Matter of Time
Fill request for: rainbowrites
Prompt: "Five Eras Where They Never Met (And One They Did)"
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Angst, Homophobic Language and Abuse, Violent Situations, Discrimination against ethnicities and sexual orientations, Nazi Policies, Adult language
Word Count: approx. 4900
Summary: Written for the Mini-Hiatus Exchange at beyond_dapper. There were so many different ways that Blaine could have met Kurt. But he didn’t. Until the one time that he did. It was only a matter of in what time.
1. The One with the Fair Knight
Sir Bertilak’s Castle, Wales (6th century)
Blaine wasn’t sure if God had a hand on Sir Gawain’s back or if he was just born a lucky shit.
Exactly one year ago, Blaine had stood behind his master’s chair at King Arthur’s feast, where all were merry celebrating the birth of Christ. Gawain was being raucous, all the other knights following his lead. Arthur looked on with a happy, slightly drunk smile and even the queen was glowing with jubilance.
It was a good night, but Blaine’s arm was getting tired. He had scarcely been able to put the wine jug down as Gawain continually shouted “Another Squire Blaine! Pour some for my brother Gareth. He’s my brother, Blaine, my brother!”
Blaine sighed and refilled the knights‘ glasses for maybe the thirteenth time. He tipped the jug over Sir Lancelot’s glass, the last few drops trickling out of the spot. He made his way over to his knight-master. “My Lord, there is no more wine.”
Gawain turned in his chair, gawking at Blaine with wide green eyes and he felt a tug in his belly, fluttering up to his throat. It was times like this where Blaine was eternally grateful for Gawain. All the court knew that Blaine was partial to boys where others wanted girls. Even through training, all the other boys claimed that they still thought of Blaine the same way as any other man. But when he turned sixteen, no knight would take him as their squire. He was just as capable as the others, a bit small for joust maybe, but certainly handy with the sword. Blaine knew it was his preferences that held him back. So when Gawain approached him just after his seventeenth birthday and offered him a position as his squire, Blaine immediately said yes and made a promise to himself to not let his feelings get in the way of his duties. Even if Gawain had very long eyelashes.
Gawain reached for the jug, and peered inside. “Blaine! There is no more wine.”
“Yes sir.”
“Fill it! Another round!” He yelled. The knights echoed his yell and Blaine sighed, tugging the jug from his knight-master’s hand. He bowed low, walking backwards away from Gawain’s dismissing hand and towards the kitchen.
“OY!”
Blaine dropped the jug at the loud yells coming from outside the hall doors. “Shit,” he muttered quietly, dropping to his knees and scrambling to pick up the little clay pieces.
The voice continued from outside. “You can’t go in there! Stay your horse!” The guards’ voices faltered as a knight burst through the door. Blaine, along with half the court, gasped at the sight. The knight, dressed in garments, was entirely green. From his tunic to his soft boots, even his hair and skin were green. He was giant, and menacing, carrying an axe which he swung about his head.
Arthur stood from his chair, extending his hands towards the stranger. The crowd quieted, and the king’s voice carried across the hall. “Hello, Sir Knight. What brings you to my court, bearing an axe but no armour?”
“I’ve come to issue a challenge to any member of your court,” the man replied, getting off his horse in a smooth way that Blaine envied.
Arthur remained calm. “What is the challenge?”
“It is simple. Here, today, one of you may land a blow on me with this axe. In exactly one year and one day, you will come to my castle and allow me to... return the favour.”
Preposterous, Blaine thought. Any knight here would simply cut off his head. This man will not leave here alive.
“Very well,” Arthur said, pushing his chair away from the table. “I will accept your challenge.”
Gawain, from Arthur’s side, reached out a hand to make him pause. “My King, please allow me to participate.” Arthur nodded, and after gripping Gawain’s forearm, returned to his seat. Guinevere tightly clasped his hand, grimacing.
Blaine returned to Gawain’s side and collected his dress cloak. He worried the fabric in his hands before looking into the eyes of his knight-master. Gawain’s eyes were clearer than they had been ten minutes ago, dark with confidence. Blaine felt calmness swirl inside of him and stepped out of the way.
Gawain made his way to the stranger as he fell to both knees and bowed his head. In one smooth and powerful movement, Gawain raised the axe and sliced it through the green neck. As the man’s head rolled, Gawain dropped the axe, turning to return to the table.
Blaine gasped as, from behind Gawain, the green man stood, headless, gathering his severed limb in his hands. From across the room, a lady screamed. Gawain spun. “My God!”
The head, held by the man’s hand, spoke. “I shall see you in one year, Sir Gawain.”
So it was that the next December, Blaine and Gawain quested to the Green Knight’s chapel.
The journey had proved to be arduous, and they had stopped at a castle. The lord of the castle, Bertilak, had graciously taken them into his home and shown then the way to the Green Knight’s chapel. He offered Gawain what he bagged as game in return for whatever Gawain managed to collect during his stay.
For the past week, Blaine has watched Gawain be visited by Bertilak’s wife, who has been trying to entice him into his bed. Gawain, a chivalrous knight, has refused the offers but accepted each kiss pressed upon him by the lady. As per his agreement, he has given them to Sir Bertilak in return for the rabbits and boar that he laid at the knight’s feet. Last night, more sombre than any other time, Lady Bertilak visited again, carrying some green fabric in her arms.Gawain had sent Blaine from the room.
The next afternoon, Blaine sat with the horses waiting for Gawain to return from the chapel. He hadn’t seen his knight-master since the night previous and was worrying his hands and lips, trying to see Gawain in the horizon.
After a few hours, haggard and limping, Gawain slumped over the hill that separated Bertilak's property from the rest of the countryside, head still attached. Blaine breathed a sigh of relief. He rose, pulling the horses along behind him as he walked to meet Gawain halfway.
As he drew near, he saw that Gawain while relatively unharmed physically, was faring much worse than Blaine could have ever predicted. Save for the small cut on the side of his neck, long since clotted, Gawain didn't seem to have any injuries. His face, however, was ashen and drawn with dried rivulets for tears staining it.
"My Lord, are you well?" Stupid question, Blaine, obviously not.
But Gawain seemed pensive. "In time, I think I will be."
“What happened? In the chapel?”
Gawain heaved a great sigh. “The Green Knight was Bertilak. He knew about the sash. I am lucky to escape with my life.”
Blaine gasped, eyes wide. “How do you mean, Sir?”
The other man was silent for a few minutes, and Blaine stood, patient, as Gawain stroke his horse’s nose. “Last night, when the Lady Bertilak came to my room, she gave me this sash.” He pulled up his chainmail to show a green band around his waist, beautifully embroidered.
Gawain continued to explain that, after he sent Blaine off, the lady had given him this enchanted sash so that no harm would befall him as well as three kisses. In fear of his task, he had given their host the three kisses he had collected but had foolishly kept the belt for himself.
When Gawain met the Green Knight and he had started to lower his axe, Gawain had flinched. "An act of cowardice," Gawain explained to his young squire, "and the knight ridiculed me for it. It seems I did not have faith in this sash after all.
"In the end, the blow he dealt left only the small cut. As I thanked him, he began to transform and instead of the giant Green Knight, Sir Bertilak stood in front of me!"
"Amazing! How is it possible?"
Gawain swung himself up on his horse and Blaine copied him, putting his feet in the custom height stirrups and shifting his sword into a more comfortable position.
"Bertilak told me it was because of an enchantment."
Blaine nodded sagely, "Morgana?"
"No, actually," Gawain replied with a tone of surprise, "It was a test for her apprentice: Kurt."
The rode on to Camelot for a few minutes in silence before Blaine spoke again. “I’m glad you kept your head, My Lord.”
“Me too, Blaine. Me too.”
2. The One with the Jazz
New Orleans, Louisiana (1923)
Blaine adjusted the rolled cuffs of his dress pants, making sure his ankles showed. He pivoted on his feet, checking his reflection in the mirror from all angles. His tan blazer was buttoned all the way, his waistcoat peeking out slightly over the top.
"Looking sharp, Anderson," he muttered to himself, pulling at his cuffs. Just as he was about to grab his keys and leave, his telephone rang. He reached for the receiver, holding the cone shape to his ear. “This is Blaine.”
“Anderson.” The voice on the other side was smooth, but his tone was cutting.
“Smythe.”
“Are you still coming?”
Blaine sighed. “I was just about to leave Sebastian. I am still coming.”
“Get in your breezer already, and drive it on down.”
“Well, Sebastian, it’s not like this phone is portable or anything.”
“I’m hanging up.”
“Sure thing, sailor.”
“War’s over, Blaine,” Sebastian snapped and the line went dead.
Blaine sighed, checked his hair in the mirror by door, and left his home.
**
Say what you want about Sebastian Smythe but he throws a damn good party. When Blaine arrived at the mansion, the butler took his jacket, giving him a soft smile. “Evening, Mr. Anderson.”
“Mike,” he nodded in response. “How are things?”
“Good, sir.”
“How’s the party?”
“Good, sir.”
“And Tina?” Blaine asked, and Mike grinned. “Great, sir.”
Blaine followed Mike into the hall, taking in the familiar paintings in the wall. “Who’s the entertainment tonight?”
“Mr. Smythe has hired Santana Lopez. She’s quite good.”
“Very exciting.”
Blaine looked towards the small stage that had been set up for the evening. A Latina girl was already crooning into the microphone, raspy and smooth. Blaine stopped in front of the stage, swaying to the tune she was spinning, soft bass and lulling melodies.
“Fantastic, isn’t she?”
Blaine turned, grinning at his good friend. “She really is, Sam. Where did Sebastian find her?”
“Officially? Talent agency. Unofficially?” Sam trailed off, giving Blaine a meaningful look.
“Got it,” Blaine said with a quick nod. “Same place he got the booze. Where is that guy anyway?”
Sam pointed across the room where Sebastian seemed to be holding court, surrounded by a few girls in flapper dresses, hats pulled low over their eyes. He spotted Blaine and Sam, raising a hand to call them over.
By the time they reached him, a few of the girls had floated away, and Sebastian’s smirk was set firmly in place. “What’s with the shellac, Anderson? Afraid of nesting birds finding a home in your natural state?”
Blaine bit back a response, insteading choosing to send Sebastian a glare.
“Hey now,” Sam chided, “I think Blaine looks real good like that. Like a gentleman.”
Sebastian snorted. “If Blaine really was a gentleman, he wouldn’t be at this party right now. And what’s up with your tie, Cowboy Evans?”
Sam rolled his eyes, turning away from Sebastian. Sometimes Blaine wondered why he and Sam were friends with him.
After a few minutes of chattering with the girls, Blaine complimented Sebastian on his entertainment find.
“Ah, thanks. I wouldn’t have hired her, but I very well can’t perform at my own party. We all know that I’d be much better than her.”
Blaine rolled his eyes, not believing anything of the sort. “Sure thing Sebastian.”
The party grew rowdier and louder as the night went on and Blaine lost himself in booze and music, not straying too far from Sam or Sebastian, but making sure to engage all the people around him. Miraculously, he remembered everyone’s name.
As Santana took her break, a hush fell over the crowd. Blaine could feel an electricity in the air that had nothing to do with the silent musician changeover. There was a ripple in the crowd as everyone turned their heads towards the entrance, watching the person who had just come in.
He was pale and tall, his suit much tighter than anyone else’s. It was white against his black shirt and skinny black tie. He wore no hat, but his hair was styled high above his head. The man’s head was tilted up, nose in the hair with a pronounced little smile on his face as if he realized that his entrance had just paused the party.
Slowly, the partygoers returned to their conversations and the man continued his walk into the room. Blaine followed him with his eyes, letting out a low whistle.
“Fashionably late, as always,” Sam said, gesturing to the man.
Blaine turned to his friend in shock. “You know him?”
“You don’t? That’s Kurt Hummel. He’s from New York.”
Blaine searched for Kurt in the crowd, finding him talking to Santana. Both were speaking very animatedly to each other, hands swinging and gesturing. Kurt’s face was alight, eyes sparkling as he reached out to poke Santana in the shoulder. She laughed and shoved at him, which he deftly avoided by prancing out of the way. “Damn. I’d love to get to know him better.”
“Sorry, Mac, bank’s closed,” Sebastian informed him as he came up behind him.
“What do you mean?” Blaine asked, turning his body towards Sebastian but keeping his eye on Kurt.
“Kurt doesn’t go for any guy. He’s single, by choice. Doesn’t even go with a guy for a night.”
Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And you’ve tried?”
Sebastian scoffed. “Of course, who do you think you’re talking to? Wouldn’t even give me one little smooch.”
“Well, maybe he hates smarmy bastards. Maybe he wants a man with charm.” Blaine tugged on his suit jacket before raising both hands to smooth over his hair.
“Oh please,” Sebastian said. “You think that’s you?”
Sam shrugged. “I think Blaine’s plenty charming.”
“Thanks man!”
“No,” Sebastian said, reaching out to put a staying hand on Blaine’s shoulder. “Don’t even try. Trust me, okay?” Blaine stared at Sebastian searching his face for any ill will. “Seriously, as your friend, it’s not worth it.”
Blaine looked down, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. “Okay, okay, fine. I won’t talk to him.”
He left the party soon after that. Two weeks later, at Sebastian’s next party, Sam informed him that Kurt had gone back to New York.
3. The One with the Camp
Berlin, Germany (1941)
Blaine stared down at his feet, trying to put one in front of the other without stepping on the person ahead of him. He kept his gaze low, afraid that if he looked up, he’d catch the eye of one of the guards.
In retrospect, Blaine probably shouldn’t have come Germany when he knew that there was a war brewing. By some twist of cruel fate, he had ended up on the East side and not the West. He’d only been in his hotel three hours before the Nazis had bust in.
The guard at the head of line yelled something, and he felt himself being prodded in the back with the barrel of a gun. A small whimper escaped his lips as he urged his feet to move faster. He didn’t know how long they walked before they reached the gate. One, maybe two hours. He looked up at the sign, saw the herds of people already inside the camp.
A German stopped him, hand wrapped securely around his gun, eyes levelled directly at Blaine’s. “Name?”
Blaine opened his mouth to speak, but only a croak came out. His eyes widened, his tongue darted out to wet his lips. His mind was blank what’smynamewhat’smyname?
Impatient, the guard grew angry. “Was ist Ihr Name?”
“Blaine!” he gasped out. “Blaine. Anderson. Blaine Anderson.”
He tilted his head, letting the gun lower a bit. “English?” he grunted, suspiciously.
Blaine nodded, keeping his gaze down.
“Go to side,” the guard ordered, pointing to where a few other people stood. He walked over there cautiously, hands still bound in front of him. He stood next to a few boys that looked his age.
“English?” he asked them.
One boy shook his head. “Deutsch. Aber meine Augen...” The boy gestured to his eyes, which Blaine could see were a clear shade of blue. This is the safe area. I’m safe, I’m safe!
He turned back to the line, not because he wanted to, but because he felt a sick sense of duty to watch them with respect. Even if he were safe, the other people may not be. The next boy was slight and almost sickly pale. He couldn’t be much younger than Blaine and was trembling in his too big coat.
The guard raised an eyebrow at the boy. “Name?”
“Kurt Hummel.”
“Deutsch?”
The boy nodded, looking steadily into the guard’s eyes.
“Jüdisch?”
“Nein. Katholisch.”
The guard motioned to one of his comrades, who reached forward and tugged the boy’s pants down. Blaine immediately looked away, trying to afford the decency that the boy deserved. He heard the guard repeat ‘katholisch’ in an approving manner, and Blaine realized that they were checking to see if the boy had lied about his religion. When he looked back, the boy was covered, but his lips were trembling, as if he were holding back tears.
“Ihre Augen sind blau...” the guard mused as Kurt stared determinedly at him.
Maybe the boy would be safe, Blaine thought. He was a German Catholic, his eyes were blue, maybe he’d be saved. Blaine held his breath as the guard gave him one last once over.
“Homosexuell,” the guard declared and pointed towards the entrance to the gate.
The boy’s eyes widened and Blaine’s jaw dropped. “Nein! Nein!” Kurt cried, tears bursting from his eyes. “Bitte, nein! Bitte!”
Blaine’s hands flew to his mouth as he watched the boy being pulled into the camp by his wrists. The boy was screaming, pleading, digging his heels into the dirt under him. “Nein!”
Blaine watched the boy until he couldn’t even hear him anymore. He turned away from the group he was standing with and heaved out the contents of his stomach.
4. The One with the Hips
Nashville, Tennessee (1964)
To say that Blaine was excited would probably be the grandest understatement of the year. He was positively buzzing with excited energy, bouncing on his toes and grinning hard as he waited in line outside the stadium doors.
Blaine had been waiting for this day for four months, three weeks, and two days. One hundred and forty-five days agos, Blaine had stood in another lane outside the stadium ticket booth for three hours before he was the proud ticket holder of seat 7 in section 109. It wasn’t even that close to the stage, but Blaine knew that this day, this very day, would be the single best day of his whole entire life.
He’d been in this line for an hour and a half now, waiting for the doors to open. It didn’t matter. Blaine would wait for days in a line for Kurt Hummel. God, even thinking his name made Blaine shiver.
Kurt. Kurt Hummel. Kurt Anderson. Blaine Hummel. Blaine Anderson-Hummel.
Blaine probably would have been in line earlier but he had left late because he was trying to pick the perfect outfit. He’d heard that at the other concerts, Kurt had picked one very lucky member of the audience and Blaine’d be damned if it wasn’t him tonight. Or he’d cry. Yeah, he’d probably just cry. But on the off-chance that he was picked, Blaine would be ready in his killer outfit.
Screams filled the air and Blaine hopped a little to see over the heads of the people in front of him. The doors were opening. He fished his ticket out of his pocket, gripping it tightly. There was no way he’d lose it after he’d come this far. He was jostled a little bit as he hurried through the entrance, pausing to have his ticket ripped. He held onto it while he climbed the stairs to his seat, waiting until he was securely sitting before putting it away. If he did win, they wouldn’t let him see Kurt without his ticket as proof.
Blaine sat, eyes focused on the stage, feet tapping and knees bouncing. He did not know how much time had passed, listening to the girls and boys around him chatter and cheer and giggle. Blaine waited for the lights to dim, still shaking.
As the lights went down, Blaine gasped, then stood and cheered like the other fans around him. He clapped his hands and jumped up and down, joining in on the chant of Kurt’s name as it rose up around the arena.
Soon the heartthrob himself, Kurt Hummel, dreamy singer and sexy dancer, came jogging out onto the stage, twirling a microphone in his hand. Blaine screamed and yelled himself half way to hoarse, reaching over the bannister towards Kurt even if he couldn’t reach him. “KURT!”
Kurt stopped in the middle of the stage, attached his microphone to its stand before stepping back and using both hands to wave at his fans. Blaine found himself screaming again.
“Hi guys!” Oh god, his voice was even prettier in person. “Thanks so much for coming tonight. I’m going to sing a few songs for you, hope you like them!”
Please. Kurt Hummel could sing the Declaration of Independence to him and Blaine would still find it beautiful.
“I’m going to start with one called ‘Devil Inside Me’, if y’all don’t mind.” The crowd cheered.
Oh my gosh, Blaine thought as Kurt’s band filtered onto the stage and they settled into a driving rhythm that had Kurt kicking across the stage, tossing his head. This was Blaine’s favourite song. He listened to it on repeat, moving the needle back on his record at least ten times before moving on to the next. It was his favourite song and Kurt played it first and this was a sign, they were going to get married.
Blaine threw himself into the song, into the sound of Kurt, singing along to the lyrics that spoke to him so deeply. In the instrumental break, Kurt swivelled his hips back and forth and Blaine had to grip the railing in front of him to keep from falling down.
When the song ended, he clapped hard and could feel his hands bruising. But he was sure that if he screamed loud enough and clapped hard enough, Kurt would be able to hear him. They launched into the next one, ‘Tell Me Everything You Thought I Was’, and Blaine pressed his hands to his face. God, this was so exciting!
Blaine had never been to a better concert in his life and he was sure he never would. This was an earth-moving, life-changing, eye-opening experience. It was the best night ever and he had to tell Kurt that. He had to. He had to tell Kurt how well he sings, and how much he loves him, and he has to propose to Kurt, and Kurt, who had fallen for Blaine’s charm and good looks from the second he walked through the door who say yes and they’d run away to Vegas together. In order for that to happen, Blaine had to be the lucky fan who got to meet Kurt back stage.
Kurt took a bow, waving to his fans and catching flowers that were being thrown at him. “Thank you very much!” he said into the mic, and his smile was so big and Blaine was so in love.
Kurt ran off the stage and Blaine immediately joined the chant, “one more song! one more song! one more song!” The lights still hadn’t gone up, so he knew there was a pretty good chance that Kurt would come back and sing another song. Besides, they hadn’t picked a winner yet.
Sure enough, a minute later, Kurt came back and the noise of the crowd exploded to an all-time high, and Blaine was probably responsible of at least half of it.
“I couldn’t just leave,” Kurt joked and Blaine had never laughed so hard in his life.
Kurt launched into an upbeat tune that had Blaine bopping in his seat but he was too anxious to really enjoy it. He only had two, maybe three, minutes to prepare himself to meet Kurt. As Kurt finished, he clapped double-speed and then fished out his ticket again.
Kurt thanked the crowd again. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but lately I’ve been choosing one person from the audience to come backstage after the show to come hang out with me and the band. I’d like to do that again if you’d let me.” Kurt pretended to stagger back from the wall of sound that pushed into him from his cheering fans. He was so funny. “Alright! Let’s do it! Drumroll please.”
As his drummer beat the snare, Blaine focussed all his thoughts on Kurt, willing him to pick Blaine.
“Section 109...”
Blaine screamed. That was his section. Oh my god, he was going to win! He was going to be picked! He was going to meet Kurt Hummel. Kurt Hummel!
“Seat number... thirty-four!”
His ticket fell from his hands as screams erupted from behind him. He turned to see a girl with long brown hair jumping up and down. Kurt’s going to hate her, he thought viciously, eyes stinging. She’s got a cat on her sweater.
He plopped down into his seat, passing his hands over his face as lights came up around him. How could he have not won? He swiped at his cheeks, scooping up any wetness there before getting up. He picked up his ticket, and after glancing forlornly at the stage one last time, tore it up. Head bowed, shoulders slumped, he followed the crowd out the door, dropping the two pieces into the nearest garbage can.
1. The One with the Rockstars
Westerville, Ohio (2009)
Blaine tapped his pencil against his textbook, watching the clock tick second by second for a minute until the bell rang.
He jumped up, pushing his books into his bag and grinned at Trent who was waiting for him at the door. Trent starting bopping and two-stepping in return and Blaine rolled his eyes.
"Blaine? Could you come here please?"
He turned towards the blackboard and saw his teacher waiting for him, eyebrows raised and what looked like his paper proposal in one hand.
"Of course, Mrs. Morrison."
He made a face at Trent and flicked his hand, motioning for him to go ahead. He nodded, and with a stern expression pointed to the watch on his wrist.
Blaine waved him off before smiling at Mrs. Morrison.
"Do you have a few minutes, Blaine?"
"Uh, no, not really, sorry."
She made a small noise of understanding. "Right, today's the Warbler concert, isn't it?" She chuckled at Blaine's shocked face. "Come now Blaine. It can't very well be completely secret if the teachers need to know about them for attendance purposes.”
“I suppose,” Blaine conceded with a grin. “What do you need me for?”
“Actually, Blaine, I wanted to talk to you about your proposal.”
Blaine squeezed the strap of his messenger bag, twisting it in his hands. “Is there something wrong with it?”
“On the contrary, Blaine, it’s really quite good. I’d like to make an appointment to discuss it with you further.”
Blaine loosed his grip as he nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course! I am free after school everyday except tomorrow.”
Mrs. Morrison smiled. “Wonderful! How about Thursday, then?”
“I can do that. I can totally do that.”
“Great. Come to my office after school, then. I’ll let you go now, you’re going to be late otherwise.”
“Thank you!” Blaine called over his shoulder, already rushing out the door. He was immediately caught in a swarm of students, all chattering excitedly about the upcoming performance. Blaine pushed his way through the crowd, feeling his pocket for his watch. If he didn’t get there fast, he’d be late. Wes would probably sentence him to gavel polishing or something equally as mundane and neurotic.
He reached the stairs, tripping lightly down them on his toes. No reason to injure himself.
“Excuse me?” Blaine looked up. “I’m new here. Can I ask you a question?”
Blaine turned, and blinked at the boy who had stopped him. He was obviously not a student, in his black jacket and knee shorts (adorable knee shorts), but he seemed very interested in the commotion around him.
Blaine reached out his hand to shake. “I’m Blaine.”
The boy seemed shocked at the proffered hand, but quickly clasped it in his own soft one. His voice rose above the cacophony, and Blaine seemed to hear, see, focus on nothing else but this boy in front of him. “Kurt.”