Why hello, hello, hello my lovely readers. Yes it has been far too long, but I've come bearing you gifts. First off, for those of you anxiously awaiting updates, "Kurt Does Kiwi" and "I Wanna Be Forever Young" will both be completed in the next two weeks. Yay for finishing what I started! :)

Secondly, I want to thank my new beta, cynicalwhimsy, over on LJ for being a brilliant sounding make quite the team and working with her has been just phenomenal.

Third...ly? Thirdly, I want to point out if you are looking for a happy, fluffy, smutty fic like you've grown accustomed to with me, this is not the story you're looking for. I have twelve other stories to satiate that need, but this one is a little different.

It all started with a poem, my irrefutable belief that Kurt and Blaine are indeed endgame and the urge to write something with more depth to it. I have to warn for character death because I don't want to trigger anyone and also because this thing is sad, guys. Really, really sad. But I hope that, despite this sad beginning, you'll be satisfied with what's to come. This story is a love story and a long one at that, so we will get to see the happy times, the intimate moments (because honestly guys, it's me. I can't not write smut) and, yes, even more sad times. But I promise you, it will be worth it. This has been the hardest but most rewarding story I've ever written and I'd really love to hear what you all think. And, if nothing else, you know that will my new beta I have to update regularly. So send me your reviews, pop me over a PM if you've got any questions, thoughts or (dare I say it) requests, and let me just say, it's wonderful to be back. 3-SDD

It all starts with a poem-

Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
all but our moving lips.

You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of slumber,
and how recent was the dawn!

-Kahlil Gibran, The Life of Love #4

Blaine has never been one for funerals despite the frequency they now seem to hold in his life. He supposes it has a lot to do with his optimistic personality or the fact that he hates to dwell on sad occasions. Either way, they always seem to leave him cold and in a bitter haze. Today's is not different. His suit feels scratchy against his skin despite Kurt's careful attention to detail in the area of laundering all their of formal attire and his throat is raw. He feels that his face is still damp with tears; it's been that way for the past couple of days and he can't help but feel they are going to become a permanent facet in his daily life.

The room is small and immaculately decorated. The dark hardwood floors are shining in a way that looks absolutely stunning against the deep red curtains hanging from the large bay windows. Despite the windows, there is no natural light in the room. The chairs are a dark mahogany and every seat in the chapel-esque room is filled. There are even fifty or so people standing in the back of the room. In front of him there is a pulpit for the speakers and a large wooden table laden with photographs, newspaper clippings, concert programs, awards and tickets-all memories of a bygone era the family decided to indulge in rather than the formality of an open casket.

Blaine realizes that this is less of a burial and more of a press release however, he understands. They had to do something to quell the media, who had been aching for the last three days for a big public memorial and a heart-felt statement from the family. Blaine had told them to go to hell and to stop calling.

The room is full of muted chatter despite the occasion as the preacher heads to the pulpit. Kurt settles into the seat next to Blaine's. The years have been very kind to Kurt, who has spent most of his life attempting to look fifteen years younger than he actually is. He's doing well, not looking a day over seventy-two despite his actual eighty-seven. He's dressed in an extremely well fitted suit, the material clinging to his still lithe frame. His tie is a velvety black and his hair lies perfectly on his head, the brilliant whiteness of it only adding to the radiance of his pale skin. Blaine smiles and settles his hand into Kurt's, twinning their fingers together with the practiced ease of a lifetime spent together.

"I was about to send out a search party." Blaine teased lightly. Kurt scoffed and turned up his nose.

"If I haven't run off by now, I don't think I ever will. You're kind of a hard habit to quit." He grins, the wrinkles on his face a testament to a long life of laughter and companionship. A sudden rush of affection overwhelms Blaine, as though he's truly seeing Kurt for the first time.

"You know, you're still as beautiful as the day I met you," he breathes as Kurt settles against his side.

"I know. You aren't too bad yourself, Mr. Anderson-Hummel." Despite the jocose tone, he shoots Blaine a look that conveys just how much he truly believes it. Blaine watches as the preacher organizes his notes and clears his throat, effectively silencing the room.

"We are here today not to say goodbye to a beloved friend and husband, but to celebrate a long, happy life," He begins, eyes shining as he addresses the room. The preacher starts to drone on and Blaine feels himself getting restless. Kurt is playing with Blaine's fingers, stroking each one softly, fiddling with his wedding band, tracing lines across his palm. Blaine looks down at their hands and then up at Kurt. His blue eyes are bright and focused on his silly task.

"What are you doing, love?" Blaine asks gently, stroking a thumb over his husband's palm. It's a wonder how Kurt still manages to keep his skin so smooth. Kurt smiles softly, cupping Blaine's hand in his own before gingerly setting it down on Blaine's lap. The warmth from Kurt's hand begins to fade.

"Nothing-just thinking," he says, a sad smile crossing his features. Blaine furrows his brow, the preacher completely tuned out this point. Some woman to his right is sobbing abjectly now and he can hear sniffing from the row behind him.

"What are you thinking about?" He asks, lightly pushing into Kurt's side. Kurt smiles, fingers skimming over Blaine's wedding band. Blaine's eyes dart instinctively to the matching one on Kurt's left hand. Even after sixty years of marriage, Blaine can't help but grow giddy at the thought that this beautiful man-his incredible soul mate, his wonderful Kurt-is truly his.

"I was thinking about our wedding." Kurt says quietly. Blaine smiles and rejoins his hand with Kurt's. He wants to kiss Kurt so badly, but the preacher is still talking and the people are still crying all around him and it just wouldn't be appropriate. Kurt can sense how badly he wants to though, and squeezes his hand in condolence.

"Later, dearest," he says throwing him a wink that draws a small chuckle out of Blaine. Blaine suddenly remembers where they are and hurriedly shushes Kurt. Seated next to Blaine is their daughter, Eliza. She hears Blaine quiet Kurt and a look of concern steals over her features. Blaine frowns. He really hadn't meant to be rude and he shrugs at her in apology. She stares for a moment before reaching for another tissue.

"Here you go, Dad." Eliza says as she quietly dabs at the tears on his face. Her eyes are a splotchy red and her make up is slightly smeared but Eliza Anderson-Hummel is still a remarkably beautiful woman. Her dark black hair is pulled up into a shiny bun on the top of her head and her dress is simple but elegant. Eliza always took after her Papa Kurt when it came to fashion and looks and Blaine couldn't be more relieved for that. She pats his arm briefly before leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"You don't have to stay if you want, Dad. I can have Hayden go get the car and he can take you back home or back to his and Emily's place if you want." Blaine smiles at her, reaching out with his right hand to squeeze the hand on his shoulder.

"I'm perfectly fine, dear. No sense worrying your brother over me." Eliza purses her lips and nods slightly, releasing his shoulder and turning back towards the front of the room.

Blaine smiles at her for a moment before turning back to Kurt.

"Stop getting me in trouble." Kurt places a hand over his heart, his face the picture of doe-eyed innocence.

"The accusations. Ah! I am appalled." He gasps dramatically. Blaine shakes his head and then remembers their conversation.

"Of course you're appalled-you're always so dramatic. You've been that way since the day I met you, my darling little spy. Now I am intrigued, though. What made you think of our wedding?" Kurt pokes his tongue out but looks thoughtful for a moment before answering.

"Just thinking about our vows. I do from time to time." Blaine nods in understanding. They'd opted for their own vows but had included some traditional elements so as to not be pegged as having one of the stereotypical gay stomp-all-over-traditional-marrige ceremonies that were popular at the time.

"Anything specific on your mind?" He asks helpfully, when he notices Kurt seems lost in his thoughts, a frown of confusion plaguing his well-worn face. Kurt nods slowly. Suddenly the room feels colder and Blaine can't feel the familiar pressure of Kurt's hand in his. He glances down again to see that their hands are still firmly clasped.

"I've been thinking about the whole 'in sickness and in health, until death do we part' thing. It makes me wonder if this is it, you know? If this is all we're going to get. It's the first question I'm asking up there. Well assuming there's an 'up' there and there's a someone to ask." Kurt grins at him and Blaine nods faintly, a deep feeling of dread washing over him as he stares into Kurt's eyes. The light and shimmer in them is gone, replaced with a blurry faded blue.

"Kurt...Kurt, who's funeral is this?" His throat closes on the word funeral. Kurt smiles a soft, sad smile. He cups Blaine's face with a cold, pale hand and presses a lingering kiss to his lips. Blaine sees it happen but he simply can't feel it.

"It's mine, Blaine."

Blaine can hear himself cry out as Kurt vanishes before his eyes, fear taking over his mind. He yells, cursing and hollering with all of his might, kicking and flailing as though a demon is trapped within his own body. It doesn't even feel like his body anymore. He can feel the movements but he feels detached, a secondary source witnessing his own destruction. The darkness envelops him and he's falling.

But then, suddenly, he's not. He gasps for breath as strong arms steady him and lift him back on the bed.

"Easy there, Dad. You're okay. You're just having a nightmare. You're at home in your bed," a soothing and familiar voice states. Blaine blinks his eyes open and stares up into the familiar face of his oldest son, Hayden. He is in the guest room of Hayden and Emily's house. In fact, he's become a permanent presence in the house ever since Kurt's death more than two months ago. Blaine swipes a hand down his face, attempting to sit up as Hayden sinks down into the bed with him.

Blaine lets his eyes adjust to the soft glow of the lap that lights the room. Hayden is a handsome man in his middle age, his dark brown hair wispy and bed-mussed. His green eyes are full of compassion and his plaid pajama bottoms and hastily thrown on t-shirt are rumpled with the remnants of a deep, fitful sleep. Blaine feels a sudden surge of jealously. He hasn't been able to make it through the night since Kurt...well he just hasn't. It's too painful to drift into sleep without the feel of his husband wrapped in his arms. Sleep makes him forget but he always wakes in a panic when the memories come flooding back. The funeral, the phone calls, the white headstone. They blur together in his mind as though even his subconscious is trying to erase the memory. Every fiber of his being wants to fight the notion that Kurt won't just walk through the door with a smile on his face and a bag of groceries balanced on his hip or their great-granddaughter Ashyton bundled up in his arms from a walk in the park...

"Dad, I know these past few weeks have been hard for you..." Hayden begins, ready as ever to start into a speech about how much his family needs their patriarch back and how Kurt would have wanted him to continue on after he left. Blaine scoffs at that. He knows that there's more than one reason he's rarely left on his own now a days. His family cannot afford to loose both Kurt and himself in such a short period of time. And besides, he's never exactly considered suicide a valid option nor did he believe he'd have the will-power to follow through with it.

Hayden stops and looks at him carefully, as though he's looking for external injuries that he might be able to mend. Hayden is a talented surgeon, one of the most sought after cardiologists in the northeast. Blaine still remembers the day they brought home that toy medical kit for Hayden's fifth birthday and how he wouldn't take off the lab coat and stethoscope for three weeks after he got it.

"But I do have something that might make you feel better." Blaine stares at him in disbelief, as he's grown quite accustomed to every time someone has told him that in the past two horrible months, and it would probably almost be comical if Hayden wasn't looking like he was about to throw up for fear of upsetting him in anyway. He clears his throat.

"Elijah just got in a few hours ago from Iowa. He's home for summer break." Blaine stiffens slightly, the makings of a true smile beginning to form on his face before he can remember he isn't supposed to do that anymore. Blaine steadies himself against Hayden's leg and pushes himself off the bed, slipping into his slippers and rearranging his night shirt.

"Well where is he? I want to see him." Blaine heads for the door. Hayden laughs slightly and grabs his wrist before he can reach it holding him back from waking his sleeping son.

"Dad, it's two o'clock in the morning, let him sleep. He caught a plane literally right after his last exam when he heard that you were staying with us. We're having the rest of his things shipped." Hayden scowls a bit at this and it makes Blaine's heart soar. Elijah was always his boy through and through. Blaine shakes out of his grip and heads down the hallway.

"He's young, Hayden. He'll bounce back. I just want to see him. I haven't since..." Blaine frowns and halts as he remembers the last time he saw his favorite grandson. It's been over four months since Eli has been to see them. He's in graduate writing workshop at the University of Iowa despite his junior status and hasn't found a weekend to fly home since January. The last time he'd visited, Kurt had made his favorite meal, Italian wedding soup and homemade rosemary-garlic bread, and they had talked for hours about his post-graduation plans.

Eli was going to be a writer and a very good one at that. He and Kurt had bantered back and forth about where he would intern with Kurt playfully threatening to disinherit him if he didn't take at least a year's internship at the magazine. Eli shot right back with a similar threat for Kurt if he and Blaine didn't attend his next symphony concert. Blaine frowns. Eli's concert had been weeks ago. Shaking away the fond but painful memory, Blaine continues down the length of the hallway until he arrives at Eli's door, quietly turning the nob and allowing himself in.

The room's sudden inhabitance is obvious . A small blue duffel bag has been hastily thrown at the foot of the beautifully crafted mahogany bed. Next to the bed, the matching bureau is covered in the remnants of a nightly skin-care regimen that would even challenge teenaged Kurt's routine. The bureau is covered in pictures from the past ten years of Eli's life. A picture of a trip to Italy from his senior year of high school, one of Eli and his girlfriend Rebecca at an orchestral concert in New York City when he'd come home for Christmas break, one at attention in his marching band uniform with his saxophone pressed firmly in his mouth, a shot of Eli, Kurt and Blaine in England from when Eli was in the eighth grade and they had visited Shakespeare's home, a picture of Eli and his older sister Stephanie at his high school graduation.

The walls of the room are painted a deep maroon and covered with gold-framed prints of major novels from the last two centuries. Eli and Kurt had put them together two summers ago when they got bored and felt the spontaneous urge to redesign a room. The bed spread, being the original inspiration for the room, is a similar maroon with alternating small and large bands of gold streaking across it in every direction. It was a pricey find that he and Kurt had picked up on their trip to India a few years back but it was worth it for the grin and tight hugs they'd received in return. Sheet music, pens and leather bound writing journals cluttered the desk that was built into the wall in the corner, a testament to his father's design of the house. A guitar sits propped up against a saxophone case in the corner. Eli's prized possession, his violin, must still be in Iowa, he thought suddenly.

Blaine's eyes finally fall on the sleeping figure in the bed. His breath catches for a second. Eli Anderson-Hummel is the living, breathing vision of a young Kurt-with only a few minor differences. Eli's eyes are a striking green, like his father's; his frame is slightly larger than Kurt's had been; and his hair is never styled the way Kurt had liked to style his own. Eli prefers to wear his hair messily with short brown tufts falling this way and that. He had once told Blaine it's only to embarrass his father at formal functions, but Blaine has decided it's less of that and more to differentiate himself from his Granddad.

With a contented groan, Eli turns onto his back and blinks a few times. The light of the hallway floods the room and causes Blaine's shadow to fall across his form.

"Grandpa?" he questions a sleepy smile lighting up the room more than the lights from the hall ever could. Blaine lets himself smile back, a genuine smile, something that he hasn't done in months. For the first time, looking down at this boy, this testament to the growth of the family that he and Kurt created together, Blaine has as sense of...purpose. The idea that he had a hand in raising this extraordinary boy-who is currently raising an eyebrow and smirking at him in the same playful way Kurt always did- is grounding. Eli scrambles out of bed, not even bothering to be embarrassed by the fact that he's wearing nothing but a pair of blue and white striped boxers, and hugs Blaine like a long lost friend. And Blaine hugs him back, close to tears, as his grandson latches onto him even more tightly.

After an eternity, they pull away. Blaine can feel his smile has widened and by now he's grinning from ear to ear

"I know it's late...or rather early, come to think of it..." Eli says in a low, gravely voice that Blaine attributes to a full day of traveling. "but do you wanna go grab a burger at that diner on Sixth Avenue? I haven't eaten anything since the highly questionable tofu and broccoli stir fry the quad was serving at lunch yesterday." Blaine laughs, clapping a hand down on the smaller boy's shoulder.

"Anything for you, Eli. Let me grab my jacket." Eli flashes him another grin and looks down at his current attire, blushing slightly.

"Yeah I better...I better put on some pants..." he mumbles, reaching for his duffel bag as Blaine leaves the room to collect his jacket, the grin never faltering on his face.

Three weeks pass before Eli mentions anything about Kurt's passing. Of course they've talked about him, reminiscing about days passed over coffee, television and walks through a city that still hasn't lost it's charm in Blaine's eyes.

The days flow easily enough and Blaine begins to finally feel alive again in the time he spends with Eli. They talk about everything together, from Eli's school work to how he's almost finished up his English degree despite the semester he took off following his sophomore year to participate in Drum Corp as a drum major for the Phantom Regiment Drum and Bugle Corp. Blaine still remembers the brilliant high brassy sound and the pounding of the drums as they shook the stadium. The whole Anderson-Hummel clan had flown out to see his Corp perform at the international championships. They had come in forth, but the look on Eli's face as he greeted his band with the trophy showed how truly worth it the experience had been.

They also discuss Rebecca and how she will be flying out of Chicago to spend the last few weeks of the summer in New York City with Eli. Eli's eyes sparkle when he talked of his girlfriend of over two years in a way that makes it obvious that he's going to ask her to marry him soon. Eli doesn't even know it yet, but Blaine can see it in the way he carries himself when he says her name. He relaxes into the chatter, going on and on about her music education degree, her senior voice recital and the tiny school she student teaches at in Chicago. It warms Blaine's heart to know that even after he's gone there will be someone around to take care of Eli.

It's a lazy hot day in June when Eli first approaches him with his brilliant idea. Eli must complete a non-fictional paper of at least forty thousand words for his graduate school over the summer. As a tribute to his Granddad, Eli decided he wants to write the story of how his grandparent's met, fell in love and created a life together at a time before the acceptance of his own generation had come about. Blaine immediately shoots him down when he draws out his plan that afternoon.

"But Grandpa, it would be good for you!" Eli protests, his hands flying up to aid him in his argument. They are sitting out on the terrace of the family's apartment in upper Manhattan lounging in deck chairs with two tall glasses of ice tea resting on the small wicker coffee table between them. Blaine shakes his head offering Eli a sad smile in return for his exasperation.

"Eli I've lived a bit longer than you. I think I can decide what's good for me," he says gently, sipping his tea.

"Well you can't always be right, Grandpa. Remember the shrimp incident?" Blaine pales.

"I ordered it without shrimp and specifically told them your mother was allergic! Your Granddad was lying if he told you otherwise," he huffs. "besides, we got her the epi-pen in time and we got free entrees for our next three visits so I consider that a win."

Eli rolls his eyes at him and Blaine reaches over to lightly smack him in the back of the head. He'd be more annoyed if it isn't so eerily reminiscent of his husband's own sarcastic looks; the smack comes off as more of a gentle tap than anything. Eli still jerks away from the contact, his hands petting at his hair to repair the damage.

"Grandpa, don't mess up my 'do. The 'do is sacred." Blaine crosses his arms without responding, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair, allowing the bright summer sun to warm his face. Eli is quiet for a few minutes before trying another tactic.

"It might make things easier for you." Blaine scowls.

"Eli. I'm not doing this. End of discussion. Why don't you go grab your guitar and play me some of that Indian meditation music you're in to?" Eli sighs heavily but he slips out of his chair and heads inside to fetch the guitar in question.

Eli waits a few more days to bring up the subject again. This time they are out and about on their way to lunch at a favorite English pub of theirs for the fish and chips special. Eli and Blaine walk side by side discussing their plans to see a show later that evening when Eli stops and points to a magazine at a newsstand they pass.

"Who's running it now?" He asks quietly. Blaine frowns. He still hasn't called back Kurt's office and has no intention to. He shrugs.

"Hell if I know. Probably one of those sniveling interns your Grandad couldn't stand." He laughs, the jab a long standing family joke. Kurt hated the young interns at the magazine who walked around like they owned the place. One of his greatest satisfactions towards the end of his life was watching them like a hawk for a good excuse to throw them out on their fashionable, tightly-clad rear-ends.

Eli rolls his eyes but presses the conversation onward.

"You know, I bet the magazine would love to read a piece about you and Gran-" And just like that Blaine closes himself off again.

"Absolutely not. I don't care how many years Kurt spent at that magazine, they aren't getting a word from me." He growls out. Eli looks as though the words are a physical blow and Blaine immediately regrets the harsh tonality of them. He pats Eli on the shoulder slightly as they continue on down the street. He quietly ushers him into the restaurant a few minutes of tense silence later and soon they both forget the incident.

Not even two days later they are at it again. But this time, it's a full fledged argument. The rest of the family is out at one of the quarterly board of trustee's formal dinners but Eli and Blaine opted to stay home and watch old movies and order in. The boxes of Morocco beef and rice lay empty on the kitchen table and they are thoroughly engrossed in Eli's favorite movie, regardless of season, It's A Wonderful Life.

They've just gotten to the part where George offers to lasso the moon for Mary when Eli sighs contentedly against his shoulder.

"Would you have lassoed the moon for Grandpa?" Blaine smiles fondly down at Eli. The question is so childish, so immature that he knows Eli is patronizing him but the gesture is heart-warming.

"Kiddo, I would've lassoed the moon, Mars, all the stars and Jupiter for your Grandpa if he'd wanted them." He chuckles at the idea and Eli nods in understanding against his shoulder.

"Wow...I bet your relationship was quite the story." He comments innocently. Blaine sighs but agrees with him.

"It really is, kid." And with that Eli pops up to sit back on his heels, the look on his face the picture of a kid on Christmas morning.

"So that means you'll do it?" He asks excitedly. Blaine glares at him for a moment, the anger at his Grandson's foolish insistence on a project he wants nothing to do with finally coming to a head. Not wanting to fight with Eli, Blaine huffs angrily and leaves the room, headed back to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Eli follows him. Damn you, Kurt. Blaine suddenly thinks. Damn you for giving him your stubbornness.

"I just don't get why you're acting like this. All I'm asking you to do is tell me about your life with the man you loved. You never stop talking about him anyway." Eli snaps, rushing in front of Blaine to face him with a hurt look on his face. Blaine scowl at him and crosses his arms. Sometimes the best thing to do with Kurt (and in later years, Eli as well) was to let them have their fit and then diffuse it once the rage worked its way out. Eli glares at him and presses on, impassioned by the lack of response he's getting from Blaine.

"All you do is talk about how great things used to be. It's the only time you're really happy is when you're talking about Granda-Kurt." Blaine frowns at the use of his husband's first name, a familiar sense of affection latching on to the word like it's a lifesaver to get him through yet another trial of someone trying to help him through a pain they will never fathom. Eli can see the way Blaine's body tenses and it drives him forward again.

"You are never going to get better unless you get it out, Grandpa. It's going to stay stuck inside you, it's going to follow you to your grave unless you get it out. And part of dealing with that pain can be looking back on what you had. It would do therapeutic wonders for you!" Eli takes a step back and crosses his arms as though bracing himself for the verbal onslaught he knows is coming. And Blaine is ready to dish it out.

"Elijah. You are twenty-one. You can barely drink let alone even come close to imagining what I'm feeling right now. When you give yourself to someone like your Granda-like Kurt and I did, you don't just do it once, in a silly little ceremony with rings and vows. You do it every single day for the rest of your life. And now I've got all this-this life, all that's left of who I am, to pour into somebody, all this commitment that I can't give up anymore. When I lost...when I lost Kurt, he took most of me with him. Or at least everything that made me decent human being. I'm never getting that back, Elijah, and it makes me want to die. You don't know...you don't know how many times I wake up furious that I didn't die in my sleep and that I have to go another whole day without the love of my life by my side. Don't you dare..." Blaine in shaking at this point, the tears wracking his frame and for the first time he can truly see how young Eli is, staring back at him with a mix of unconcealed horror and sorrow. "Don't you dare talk to me about therapy. There is no getting over this. This is all that's left of me so you damn well better get used to it or leave me alone."

Blaine collapses against the counter, his hand gripping onto the surface so tightly his knuckles are completely white. The tears are flowing freely now and he wonders vaguely if this is what heart attack feels like. Suddenly Eli is there, strong and young and looking so much like the man he lost that Blaine can't even bear to look at him as he hugs him around the waist. Blaine just sobs pitifully into his shoulder as Eli rubs circles into his back and squeaks out little noises of comfort. Blaine wonders how this must look, a broken old man weeping like a child into the shoulder of his barely-an-adult grandson. He tries not to dwell on it as he begins to compose himself.

"Grandpa...you know...you know you need to do this. If not for yourself, you need to do this for Kurt." Eli whispers into his ear. Blaine nods, feeling detached again and he wonders if he's going to wake up again only this time back in bed with Kurt's nose pressed into his neck and his hands curled around his waist. He waits a moment...but he doesn't wake up.

Eli leads him over to the couch and helps him sit down before darting back to his room. He comes back with a large leather bound book and an ink pen. Blaine looks from him to the practically archaic writing materials in mild confusion as Eli settles down next to him.

"I thought you'd want to use something a little more...high tech, Eli." He grumbles, crossing his arm as he sinks back into the plush leather. Eli shrugs noncommittally, a lopsided smile stealing across his face.

"I felt like your story deserved something a little more poetic. This way you don't have to feel pressured to get the story out there. We can just keep it in the family, if you really want. But we need this, Grandpa. We need to know the full story." He concludes seriously, taking a hold of Blaine's hand for a moment. Blaine nods again, relishing the momentary contact. Eli feel's nothing like Kurt, but the gesture takes him back.

"Where do we start?" He croaks feebly as Eli opens the notebook and writes out a working title. The pen finds his way to his mouth and Blaine almost laughs. Eli always does that when he's writing.

"Hmm." He says after a long while.

"Let's start all the way back to when you first met. Do you remember that, Grandpa?" Blaine smiles softly and nods.

"How could I ever forget? I met your Granddad...I met Kurt Hummel on the grand staircase of Dalton Academy back in November 2010..."