About Fate
Kurt likes to think he's a pretty good driver. He's been driving since he was old enough to reach the pedals, after all. With a mechanic for a father he'd learned all there was to know about road safety and treating your vehicle with care and respect. Only, when he moved to New York, it suddenly seemed to him that he'd been driving in empty, spacious roads with zero obstacles and no difficulty level. Either that, or the drivers in New York had learned something completely different from what he had.
It's been two months since he moved here and this is the third time he's forced himself to brave the steering wheel. He clutches it with the clear sensation that at anytime he's going to be rear-ended for stopping at a red light. And, oh god, the cabs. The cabs are the worst.
He's pretty sure he needs to turn left a few blocks ahead, so despite his complete fear of the left lane, he turns on his blinker and checks the rear view mirror before he starts tilting the wheel. It's at that exact moment that a cab zooms right past him, honk blaring, and Kurt doesn't even think. He just swerves right, and- well- and he hits something.
He slams the breaks, heart pounding.
Behind him there's already a symphony of car horns blasting, and he can barely think.
It had to be a mail box, or a lamp post, or, or… Once his brain reboots somewhat he clicks his seatbelt free, hands shaking as he struggles to slip it off, before he can finally scramble out of the car and walk around it to find – OH FUCK.
There's an unconscious boy sprawled between his car and the road, and a mangled bike right next to him, glass everywhere from the broken headlights.
The people around them have also gotten over the shock, realizing that the boy is not moving and most definitely not okay.
Someone yells out, "Call 911!"
Kurt yanks his phone of his pocket and drops it three times before he actually manages to unlock it and dial several attempts at 911 until one finally works.
"911, how may I help you?"
"Hi – I – I hit someone with my car. He's unconscious. I – I think he might've hit his head on the- oh my god, that's blood! Oh fuck! Oh fuck, tha-that's blood on the curb, oh fuck-"
"Sir, sir, calm down! Is there any profuse bleeding?"
"I don't – I don't know, I don't think so- there's just a little bit of blood, it's not-"
"Okay, sir, that's good that you called us. An ambulance will be with you shortly-"
Kurt's pretty sure he doesn't stop telling the operator to hurry for the rest of the call, miraculously managing to confirm his location, until she just kind of gives up on him and hangs up with the assurance the ambulance will be there any moment now.
Kurt can't stop running his hands through his hair, possibly trying to rip it out because that might make everything right with the world again, and make time turn back so he won't have possibly killed some kid. Some kid his age. Oh my god. He just destroyed someone's life and they weren't even old enough to have appreciated it fully. Surely it wouldn't have been as worse if he'd killed some 99 year old grandpa in a wheelchair – oh my god, Kurt, what are you thinking? Stop freaking out this is not helping!
He strains to hear the ambulance sirens, but still there's none, and he can't stop looking at the bloodstain on the curb – it's small, but it's fresh and bright red. He leans over trying to see of there's some kind of pool of blood coming out of the guy's head, but his hair is thick with dark curls and he just can't see a dam thing, and at the very least his brain's managed to retain the one crucial first aid idea – don't touch the person unless you're a paramedic.
Finally the blasting sirens yank him out of his staring. The group that's gathered around the scene scatters enough to let the ambulance through and it stops to a halt right in front of them. The paramedics hop out, just as a police car pulls over as well and god, what's gonna happen?!
The police officers start asking him question after question but he can barely do anything except watch the paramedics maneuver the boy carefully onto a gurney and then haul him up to the ambulance, already checking his vitals and hollering out numbers and information that could very well be Chinese for Kurt.
"Kid, hey kid!" one of the police officers snaps her fingers, calling his attention back.
"Can't I go with him?" he asks before he even thinks.
She gives him a considering look before she smiles sympathetically and puts a hand on her shoulder, "I'll tell you what hospital they took him to if you help us out with our job here, okay? Hell, we'll even drive you there."
"I- huh, okay. Yeah. I'm sorry, I'm just…"
"It's okay, kid. I hope he'll be alright." She tells him with a curt nod Kurt's always associated with law enforcement.
When his car has finally been towed (ain't no way he was gonna drive after that) and the police officers finally pulled over to let him out at the Hospital he sprints his way to the reception desk and pants out, "The guy that was hit by a car!"
The receptionist barely even registers his presence. Kurt can see the reflection of her facebook page on her glasses. She reads over a couple more words before she finally loos at him, "I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm looking for a guy that was hit by a car. About my age, dark curly hair, he had – huh – he had yellow pants! Yes! Yellow pants and, and, and, and a white jacket, I think he was wearing a white jacket. He came in like an hour ag-"
The woman interrupts, looking somewhat torn between boredom and disbelief. "Sir – are you a family member?"
"No." and then he realizes they'll never tell him anything if he's not, "I mean, yes…?"
She gives him a doubtful look, and pops her gum. "You are?"
"Yes." He nods as vigorously as he can, "I'm his… I'm.. I'm his fiancé. We're getting married in a month. So, technically I'm not family yet, but, surely… you'll understand-"
She interrupts again, having apparently decided on boredom, "I'll be sure to ask the doctor to come update you on…," she checks some files on the computer, "Mr. Anderson's status as soon as he can. You can wait over in the waiting room area for the ER. Second corridor on your left."
"Oh! Oh! Thank you! Thank you!"
She eyes him for a second, "Your name."
"Kurt. Kurt Hummel."
"Okay. The doctor will call you soon enough."
"Thank you!" he breathes and she doesn't bother saying anything else before turning back to her computer monitor. He stands there for another moment before he somehow reminds himself how to walk and makes his way to the waiting room she'd indicated.
As soon as the doctor can is, apparently, an hour later and that's not even counting the fact that Kurt had already taken forever to get here.
"Mr. Hummel?" A man calls out and Kurt shoots out of his seat, practically falling on his face in his haste get to him, "Here to see about Blaine Anderson?"
"That's me!"
"Well, Blaine's doing okay."
Relief pours over him like hot chocolate on the harshest winter day, "Oh, thank god!"
"Yes," the doctor agrees with a bright smile, "He suffered a mild concussion, and his right arm has a hairline fracture, as well as his right ankle, although that's much more severe and he may need some physical therapy. But, he'll make the fullest recovery in no time, I'm sure. We've cast him up real nice, and he'll spend tonight and tomorrow morning here for observation, if everything checks out tomorrow evening, he'll be good to go."
"Oh, good, oh… oh my god, thank you! You're an angel!"
The man laughs, "Marlene tells me you're getting married in a month!" he claps Kurt's shoulders, "Congratulations and good luck! So exciting! That'll be an interesting walk down the aisle he'll be doing!"
Kurt somehow manages a laugh at that (probably comes across as completely insane and maniac), "Right! Right!"
"Well, he should be waking up any minute, would you like to see him? Visiting hours are almost over, and I'm not sure he'll be awake yet, but…" he checks his watch, "I'm sure 30 minutes will leave you feeling much better."
"Yes! Yes, please! Thank you!"
The man grins, "Follow me!"
They go through a series of corridors before finally he's ushered into a room full of beds and curtains around those. The guy he hit is lying on the first one to the right and he's actually very much awake, looking around himself in a slight panic.
"Mr. Anderson!" the doctor says, his voice animated but not too loud, "So glad to see you up! And what a surprise! Look who's with me!" The guy just looks over the doctor's shoulder and frowns, "I'm telling you, you have a very devoted fiancé!"
"I- What?!" the guy gasps, his voice raspy and somewhat slurred, and Kurt's stomach plummets because now he's definitely going to jail.
The doctor turns back to Kurt with a sympathetic, easy smile, "It's completely normal for some patients to experience some confusion, especially in cases of concussion, and the pain medication doesn't really help. Try not to take it too personally. He'll be back as new tomorrow!" He squeezes Kurt shoulder, "I'll leave you two to… huh… catch up!" he winks and walks out of the room.
Kurt stands pretty much rooted to the spot, his face completely out of control on fire, as the guy he ran over just frowns at him.
"Who are you?" he finally asks.
"I'm… I'm. I'm the guy that ran you over…" Kurt winces, talking two tentative steps forward, "I told them I was your fiancé so they'd let me see you."
"Ohhhh!" he gasps and then grimaces and raises his hand to touch his head, only to knock himself in the chin with his cast, "Fuck!"
Kurt surges forward before he can think, "Are you okay?!" he asks, hands hovering despite the fact that there's really zilch he can do.
"My head's killing me right now, and I'm pretty sure I'm already super high on pain killers right now." The guy mumbles.
"Oh – you seem pretty sober to me."
"Dude – I have a fiancé I don't know anything about." He tells Kurt with a straight face, turning to look at him with wide, preoccupied eyes and, wow, those are some pretty expressive eyes he's got there.
"No – I – huh. That was – I lied. I lied to them. I'm not really your fiancé."
"Ohhhhhh!" He gasps again, only to grimace again, only to raise his hand to his head again, and Kurt barely manages to catch it in time before he hits himself again.
"I'm Kurt."
The guy looks at him for a full minute before he says, "Do you want to know my name?"
"Huh – I – yeah, sure."
"Blaine. I'm Blaine. Blaine Anderson. Blaine Devon Anderson."
"Yap," Kurt nods, "That's pretty much the name they kept using." He says for lack of anything else.
"So you're not really my fiancé?" Blaine squints his eyes at him. Kurt can't tell if he's trying to express something, or really just looking at him.
"No." Kurt shakes his head, "I'm the guy that ran you over, which caused you to fall off your bike and hit your head, and break you arm and your ankle."
"Ohhhh." Blaine says – but this time he says it barely above a whisper, and then he grins, "I'm getting better at that!"
Kurt can't help chuckling.
"So, like, you could've killed me?"
The chuckling stops. "I am so sorry. This cab came out of nowhere and I had to swerve, and I wasn't – I didn't see you."
"Don't sweat it!" He waves his hand dismissively, not calculating the weight of the cast and dropping it harsh on his chest with a breathless oomph, "Fuck! I keep forgetting that!"
"I'm so sorry."
Blaine doesn't say anything to that for a good while, he just sits there looking at his cast and frowning. Which is really bad for Kurt because he's got nothing to distract him from the fact that he's suddenly realizing that this guy is pretty cute. No one is this cute in the hospital. It's like a law of some kind. They're just not.
After what's possibly full five minutes Blaine looks up in a startle, "I had an audition. I was late for an audition. Kurt. I was late for an audition. Oh nooo. Oh fuck. Oh no. I'm gonna cry." He gasps, all wide eyes and desperate hands clutching at his hospital gown in fists, "I'm gonna have a heart attack and I'm just gonna die, I'm gonna die and I'm gonna be a starving singer for the rest of my life if I don't get this gig, just, fuck, just kill me right now, cuz shit, shit, shit."
"Oh my god, Bla-"
"No!" he gasps suddenly, stilling in his movements. "Wait." He breathes, his eyes a little lost in though, "That was last week." He says, and then he pauses. And then he beams, "I nailed it."
"Oh my god." Kurt gasps.
"Yeah I was just… I was going to the super market, Kurt. Yap. That was what I was doing. No biggie."
"Holy fuck…" Kurt pants, hand to his chest as it rises and falls with relief.
"But I totally need to buy oranges. I'm out of oranges. I eat one every day, cuz of the vitamin C. You know."
Kurt's torn between laughing and crying.
"Can't buy them with one hand though." Blaine tells him very seriously, as if he's a college professor lecturing about global warming, "You need two. One for the bag and one for the-Wait. What hand is this?" he asks, feebly raising his bad hand.
"It's your right hand."
"Oh no…." he mumbles, face screwing up as he suddenly starts full on crying, "Oh no! How am I gonna masturbate, Kurt? No!"
With the fire suddenly back to his cheeks Kurt can't do anything except stutter.
A nurse sticks her head inside, "Five minutes till visiting hours are over."
Kurt turns back to Blaine, who has suddenly stopped crying and is now looking intently at the empty bed opposite his.
"Hey, Blaine," he touches Blaine's shoulder gently, "I'm going to have to go, soon, but, huh… could you maybe promise me one thing?"
Blaine turns back to him. After another of his brilliantly long pauses he says, "Anything."
"Could you maybe not tell anyone I'm not actually your fiancé?" he asks, cringing slightly, "I could get in real trouble for this, if they found out I lied."
"Oh, okay." He shrugs.
"I'll be back tomorrow, okay."
"Cool." Blaine nods, "But, you know, I'm kinda high right now, so I'm probably not gonna remember this tomorrow. Like... at all."
"I…- huh, yeah. Let me just-" he reaches in his bag and pulls out a blank page from his notebook and a pen, and writes:
Blaine,
My name is Kurt Hummel. I visited you yesterday when you were a little bit high on meds, so you may not remember me. I'm the guy that put you in the hospital, and I'm very sorry for that. In my absolute need to make sure you were going to be okay I may have lied to the hospital staff and said I was your fiancé. If anyone mentions this to you, please do not correct or tell them otherwise. I'll be back tomorrow to visit you again.
Again – my sincerest apologies.
Kurt
He folds the note in half and then again, and write To my Blaine on the top-side before he lays it carefully on Blaine's bedside table.
"Don't lose that." He says and Blaine nods very seriously, "Okay. I'm gonna… I have to go now. I'll see you tomorrow."
"Okay." Blaine nods.
"Bye."
"Bye, fiancé." Blaine grins and then he rests his head on his pillow and, just like that, he's asleep and Kurt's frozen to the spot staring at him until the nurse comes back and he's miraculously yanked out of his stupid, silly, idiotic thoughts.
-x-
Blaine's head is still pretty much killing him, and he's also pretty sure the only reason no nurse will give him near a mirror is because he looks so ridiculous with the bandage on his head that he'd probably scream and scram and then fall on his ass and break something else.
But small mercies: the haze of painkillers is gone. He's all sobered up.
Not so much: he still can't make a stitch of sense out of the note on his bedside table.
Well, he can – the handwriting is pretty neat, and the syntax is perfect and he can get the… general idea. But. Like. What the fuck.
At first he just stared at it and screwed his eyes up trying and trying and trying to remember something. But nothing came.
Then he couldn't stop himself from laughing (which really hurt, by the way).
Then he had to interrupt the process for hours because his mother called and she absolutely would not hang up.
Then he just tried to think of ways to ask his doctor or nurses about the guy that wrote the note without giving anything away. He was unsuccessful at coming up with anything, so he asked nothing.
Then he spent a while trying to understand why he was even still trying to protect some idiot who ran him over.
Then Wes called, but thankfully he was sensible about it and didn't keep jabbering in his ear on and on, and ended his call after an appropriate fifteen minutes having made sure Blaine was okay, and promising to keep any further contact to texting. Blaine thanked him profusely.
Quite possibly, the only thing worse than the headache: the complete inactivity. And the knowledge than no one is coming to visit him.
That's what you get if you're hit by a car two weeks after moving to the big city. No parents, no friends to come rushing to your bedside. (Well, his mom sure wanted to try, but she seriously has a lot better things to use her money on – including the, no doubt, exorbitant medical bills this little stint is gonna bring home – than a last minute plane ticket) And no real friends here, yet. Not unless he wants to be pathetic and call one of his new coworkers at the spotlight diner to come… do something? (Oh my god, am I gonna get fired after one week of employment? Why have you not called them yet you idiot Blaine Devon Anderson?)
Yap. As visiting hours start and people start filing in to see everyone else but him, and the room fills up with balloons and flowers, and his bed and the space surrounding it remains just as starkly, drably white as before, it gets plain depressing.
Sure, the guy said in his note he'd be back to see him today, but… really? Not even Blaine is naïve enough to believe that.
A voice yanks him out of his reverie, as it approaches, speaking in an irritated tone, "No, Rachel, I'm not- Rach. I hit him. With my car. That's not cut- you're insane, and I have to go. Bye!" That's when a tall boy with perfect chestnut hair and rosy cheeks turns the corner, hastily pocketing his phone. His eyes land on Blaine immediately and the pink on his cheeks turns to bright red.
"Hi!" the boy breathes.
He's here to see Blaine. He's actually here. And this is the boy who ran him over. This is…
"You're Kurt…?" Blaine asks, through squinted eyes, "You're the…?"
"I'm the…" Kurt nods and winces slightly.
"You're the fiancé."
Kurt chuckles nervously and gives a tentative step forward, "Well…"
It could certainly be worse. Blaine thinks and then mentally high fives himself as he realizes he managed not to say that out loud, "Well, huh, have a seat..? I guess."
Kurt gives him a breathless, relieved little smile before he walks over to the chair next to Blaine's bed and plops down, "Phew. I was kind of preparing myself to face a multitude of people defending your honor or something. In my head, I was preparing a speech to apologize to all fifty members of your family or-" he cuts himself off abruptly, "I'm rambling."
Blaine barely keeps himself from laughing, "A bit," he concedes.
"I'm so nervous. God. This never happened to me."
"What part? Hitting someone with your car? Faking an engagement to visit a complete stranger in the Hospital? Leaving a note to said stranger warning him about said engagement?"
Kurt looks a little stunned for a moment before he says, "All of it."
Blaine chuckles, but doesn't know what else he could say.
"If-if you don't have insurance I'd… I'd be happy to pay for your hospital bills." Kurt says, a little suddenly, and Blaine can't keep the surprise off his face, "Although maybe we should – I- this- oh fuck. I really have no idea what's supposed to happen here, because this is just…" he raises his hands to his head and mimics an explosion.
"Yeah, how about we forget that for a while. My head's not doing so good, it doesn't really need much help in the pain department."
"I am so sorry!" Kurt gasps, "I am! I just-"
"Kurt!" Blaine winces, "Volume… please…?"
"Oh! Right." He blanches, and an awkward sort of silence settles over them.
With a sigh, Blaine rolls his eyes, "You can speak, though, just…"
"Right, right…" Kurt nods, cheeks flushing back to red, "I – huh, so…. Huh, no intimidating and protective future visitors I should be warned about. Is your father totally gonna beat me up?"
Blaine tries not to flinch too visibly at the mention of his father, and then he says, "Nop. No visitors at all."
"Wait. What? At all?!" Kurt balks.
Blaine shrugs, "Indeed. Pathetically alone, it seems."
"I…!" Kurt stutters for a long moment, "I didn't mean it like that – I…" his guilty expression totally sells him out, though.
"It's fine. I'm not actually alone in the world, Kurt. I just moved to the city two weeks ago, so I don't really know anybody well enough, and my mom and all my friends are back in Ohio, so…"
"Oh…!" Kurt gives him a feeble little smile, "I – will you excuse me for a minute?"
"Sure."
Kurt scrambles off the chair and turns the corner on the door to the ward already reaching into his pocket.
Blaine has to suppress a smile when he can still hear his voice.
"Rach, I'm gonna stay here the rest of the day." Pause, "No, he'll be discharged today, that's what the doctor said." Pause, "No, he's… he's alone, and, he has a broken ankle, and a broken arm, he's not gonna be able to get home alone. Probably." Pause, "No, she gave me the week-Oh my god that is a dead body! Oh! I'm gonna barf!" Pause, "I just told you I'm looking at a dead body and that's what you're asking me?!" Pause, "Stop it! sto- Oh god, I seriously need to turn away-Oh fuck…" Pause, "Rachel. Honestly. I already told you he was cute, why are you even aski-" Pause, "Oh... Well, yes he was adorable when he was high, but we haven't… I just got here, Rachel, I can't answer that." Pause, "Rachel, this is not a meet cute! I hit him with my car! He's in the hospital because of me and there's currently a dead body – oh, it just moved. Oh it's alive. Thank god. Ohmanohfuckthankgod. And he's probably not even gay, anyway." Pause, "I have to go, he's waiting for me. Bye, you psycho."
Blaine has the hardest time of his life keeping a straight face when Kurt comes back, shyly pocketing his phone and walking back to his chair.
Blaine lets the silence settle for a couple of minutes before he says, "You do know that I heard pretty much everything, right?"
Kurt cringes, "I was hoping for a miracle," he sighs.
"I understand. I wouldn't have gotten near a dead body either. Not even for the sake of privacy."
Kurt gives him a breathless little chuckle.
"Listen, Kurt, if you have things to do, or something, you should go. I don't need you babysitting me out of guilt or something."
"I – no – I… really, Blaine. I couldn't. I just…"
"Fine, you can stay!" Blaine chuckles, "I don't want to give you an anxiety attack or anything."
Kurt manages a somewhat sarcastic smile, "Thanks."
"I guess I can use the company. And who better to keep me entertained than my gorgeous fiancé, right?" This is good, Blaine. This is good. Keep it simple, keep it smooth. And forget the fact that you're in a hospital gown, probably looking terrible with a ridiculous bandage around your head and curls sprouting out of it like broccoli. He said you're cute, so maybe he's into that.
Kurt sputters and Blaine tries not to laugh too hard (it hurts his head).
"We should get our story straight, by the way," he muses, "In case they ask."
"Right…"
"So… how did we meet?"
"High school sweethearts?" Kurt offers, scrunching up his nose adorably, "I'm from Ohio, too, so it makes sense."
"Alright." Blaine concedes, "But you proposed!"
"Okay, alright. Oh, I know!" Kurt claps his hands excitedly, jumping so he's sitting at the very edge of his seat, "I proposed to you the day we got the New York! The moment we set foot in our hole-in-the-wall, crappy apartment. It was completely empty, except for the two of us, a bottle of champagne and the ring. And it was late afternoon, so the light was filtering golden and gorgeous through the window, so the flecks of dus- what?"
Oh. Apparently Blaine had been staring.
"That's… that's elaborate." Is all he can manage.
"Yes, well, go big or go home." Kurt shrugs and Blaine gives him a smile, "Also, I may have an overactive imagination when it comes to romance…" he mumbles not quite able to meet Blaine's eyes, "Which brings us to the next point. Wh-"
"Oh, look at that!" A cheerful voice pulls them out of their conversation, and they startle, looking to find Blaine's doctor, chart already in hand, "Decided on an alternative way to walk down the aisle, yet, Mr. Anderson? Might I suggest a water slide? Super duper fun. And original. I can honestly say I've never been to a wedding where the aisle was a water sled."
"I…" Blaine stutters, but the doctor is already pointing a flashlight at his eyes.
"So, how did you two meet?" The doctor asks.
"He hit me with his car," Blaine says, just as Kurt answers, "High school sweethearts."
"Oh?!"
Blaine tries not to react in any way, "Yeah, he, huh, he was taking his driver's exam, and it was my first day at that school, and he hit me with the car."
"Oh!" the doctor grins, "Aren't you a car magnet!"
Breathlessly, nerves clearly lacing his voice, Kurt says, "Yeah, I just told him, don't you dare leave me for this one, though."
The doctor bursts out laughing, "Follow my finger, Blaine." He moves his finger from side to side, up and down, far and closer, "Well, I don't want to jinx anything, Kurt, but you know what they say – third time's the charm."
Blaine frowns, "What's that supposed to mean? That I'm gonna find the love of my life on the third accident, or that I'm gonna finally die?"
"I was actually suggesting Kurt hit you with his car again, just to be sure you stick with him." he grins easily, "Well, Blaine, what day is it?"
"Tuesday, August fourth, 2015."
"Excellent! Where are you?"
"Hospital."
"Right you are – and on a scale of one to ten, one being the goblins on Harry Potter and ten being Legolas, how gorgeous is your fiancé?"
Blaine commands his cheeks to stay cool, "Eleven."
"Well, definitely no brain damage to this one!" he announces cheerfully, pats Blaine's good foot heartily, and then says, "Well, as far as I'm concerned, you're free to go. As long as you promise me to be a couch potato for the next week, and take your meds. The nurse will be over soon with the paperwork, and the prescription, and… that's it, from me for a while, buddy! You guys have an awesome life! Bye!" he flounces away, white coat trailing happily behind him.
"Fuck, that guy is a trip." Blaine breathes after a minute of just staring after him in stunned silence.
"Yap."
Blaine takes a deep breath and turns back to Kurt, "So, huh,…"
"Yeah… I was… I was thinking I'd at least help you home."
"That's really, that's… that's not necessary, but, huh, if you want I-"
"I want."
"Oh. Okay."
Kurt gives him a shy little smile, "I just… you have two broken limbs… I don't want you hurting yourself or…"
"Right." Blaine nods. He's not quite sure if they're supposed to be flirting or not.
"Plus… I'd be a really crappy fiancé if I let you alone when you're basically an invalid."
Torn between acting offended or laughing, Blaine does something ridiculously weird and in between and ends up with an overwhelming urge to hide his face forever. Instead he clears his throat, "Well, you did propose to me in our brand new apartment with beautiful lighting and poetic flecks of dust."
"Sub-textually showing you that I would never need anything other than our love to be happy." Kurt points out with a giggle.
"That's beautiful, Kurt." Blaine grins and coos, and the other boy ducks his head with another adorable of his blushes, and god Blaine was wrong. Kurt is a 12. "I gotta say – as far as being hit by a car goes, this could've turned out much worse."
Kurt immediately drops his face to his hands and groans, "I'm never driving in New York again, in my life!"
Blaine refrains from pointing out that he's kind of glad it happened, because it means he met a cute, adorable guy who's pretty funny and pretty great. But a week later he realizes Kurt's Rachel is also the Rachel from the Spotlight diner. And then he realizes that Sam Evans, who Blaine's sort of on friendly terms with from his weekend volunteering gig at the dog shelter, is one of Kurt's high school friends. And that they live two blocks away from each other and frequent the same coffee shop, the same grocery shop, the same laundry mat. And that Kurt's a NYADA student, which means that as soon as the school year starts they'll be classmates.
So basically… it didn't really matter if Kurt hadn't hit him with his car. They would've still met, because apparently fate wanted them to.
And two years later, when Blaine proposes in the golden light of a late afternoon, in an empty apartment with dust falling poetically around them and a champagne bottle glinting beautifully on the windowsill, he knows they were just meant to meet, to fall in love, to be. Mostly because Kurt answers his proposal by dropping to one knee and handing Blaine a small box with a ring. And then, they're just two happy idiots, kneeling in front of each other in an empty apartment, crying and laughing.