Kurt

Being an actor has often come in useful throughout my life; from pretending that the school bullies didn't bother me, to suffering through excruciating family dinners with my drunken great aunt. I've always been able to put a mask in place be a different person.

I'm aware that this is what I'm doing right now, with Blaine, and I'm aware that I'm also acting for my own benefit, too. Pretending everything is fine, and that I don't feel some weird pull towards him; that he's not constantly on my mind.

I am cheerful and upbeat about our evening out, because he is too, and it's clear that whatever internal crisis I'm suffering through right now, Blaine is not feeling the same. He brings Sam to set, on my invitation, and when we're all sharing lunch in my trailer, he starts talking about another new girlfriend and her cousin, whom Blaine is, apparently, perfect for.

Blaine shrugs it all off, but he also takes the girl's number and admires a photo that Sam shows him. I walk away, telling them I'm needed back on set. That night, when Blaine comes over for dinner, as he now does most days, I don't say a word about it, and we carry on with our usual routine. Later that evening, when the kids are asleep, Blaine plays me snippets of new songs he is working on; all of them beautiful, all of them showcasing his talent, and all of them most definitely not about me.

"There's one more," he says when I yawn. "But we can do it some other time."

"No, go on. Sorry, it's been a long day."

"Tomorrow will be even longer."

"True, but at least the awards will be fun. Next week I have night shoots. Oh, and hey, the week after that, I have to go to Vancouver."

"Vancouver? Why?"

"Because it's cheaper to shoot there."

"What about the kids?"

"Polly will cover extra, and I'll use the agency. Quinn's going to fly them up on the weekend."

"Wow. You'll miss them."

"A lot." I stop, but my face breaks into a smile. "I do get my suit, though."

Blaine laughs. "Aw, look at you, fanboying over wearing a superhero suit."

"I can't help it!"

"I don't blame you! I'd be beside myself. Anyway, you wanna hear this song before I go home?"

"Yes."

"C'mere then."

I sit next to him on the piano bench, and he begins. This number is slower than the rest; more haunting and painful; almost raw. I listen carefully to the lyrics. Blaine is a master at telling a story through song, and I hear him sing about someone with blue eyes who is always in his heart. He sings of a man wanting to confess his love, of needing to say the words that scare him so much, and each time he tries to walk away, those blue eyes stay in his heart. The performance is so real, I begin to think Blaine is a better actor than I am.

"That's like... really beautiful," I say when Blaine brings the song to a close. "Wow, Blaine. You need to shop that around a bit, make people listen. I really think that's your best song yet."

"Yeah?" He smiles, but there's a sadness there, too, and I can't work out why. "What did you think of the lyrics?"

"They're so... painful to listen to, but in a really good way, you know? Like this could be the perfect song for so many people in so many situations. The guy who you sing of? He needs to find some courage from somewhere, and say those words."

"What if he can't? What if there's so much to lose, if it all goes wrong?"

Blaine's comment makes me stop, and review my own situation. There's too much to lose; too much that could, and probably would, go wrong.

"Then he should shut the hell up and appreciate all that he does have, instead," I declare, and Blaine laughs.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." Leaning over, he quickly kisses my cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'll arrive at six?"

"Uh-uh. It's my date, this time. I'll pick you up."

Blaine stands outside of his apartment, dressed in a classic black tux with a white scarf. He looks elegant, refined, and exactly the kind of guy I'd like to have on my arm. It's hard to ignore the shiver of want that runs through me, but I shut it down immediately and slide to one side for Blaine to get in the car.

"We get a driver?" he asks excitedly. "Cool!"

Then he stops.

"Oh wow."

"What?"

"Oh nothing." He blushes, gives a shy smile, then kisses my cheek. "I'm totally gonna have the hottest date there. You look divine."

"Thank you. As do you, and actually, I think I'm gonna have the hottest date. I wonder how many people will ask me who you are?"

"Hmm, well, if anyone does, kindly say I'm with you, okay?"

"As in, not available?"

"Exactly."

"You could easily meet someone at something like this."

"Kindly say I'm with you, okay, Kurt? I have no interest in anyone else. I mean..." He stops and frowns. "Oh crap. I don't know what I mean. Are things gonna get weird? I don't want them to be weird."

"No," I decide, firmly taking his hand in mine. "Things are not going to get weird. We're weird, I know, but let's just have a fun night, okay? I don't want to be worrying about stupid things we say."

"Good."

And so that's what we do.

Blaine is charming company, and my colleagues and co-stars love him. What I love about him, is that he has no clue who anyone is; all these big names walking around and Blaine talks to them as if he were chatting to Sam or Cooper. He is an attentive date, too, always checking on my welfare and staying close at hand. The awards ceremony is tiresome, I know, but he stays happy and upbeat, and even goes outside to call and check on the children twice so that I don't have to leave my seat. It's the most relaxed I've ever felt in a formal setting, and I even feel comfortable enough to put my arm around the back of Blaine's chair to draw him closer.

The aftershow party is held at a venue nearby, and it's easier to let my hair down a little more knowing that there aren't any cameras in there. We drink more, laugh louder, and hit the dance floor.

"What's the deal with you and that guy?" I am asked, more than once, and each time I simply reply: "He's Blaine," and move on. I know, as soon as the slow songs start, that we should leave, but Blaine is fuzzy from the effects of the champagne, and he pulls me back to the dancefloor and into his arms.

"Been waiting for this all evening," he admits, his lips just grazing above my collar. "Holding you."

My heart was already racing but hearing those words makes it pound harder. "Yeah?"

"I think about it a lot, Kurt, when you're not with me. How it feels to have you in my arms."

I pull back, slightly, to see his face, but he hooks his chin over my shoulder again; clearly it's hard for him to say all of this.

"I think about it too," I admit quietly. "All the time."

"I don't know if it'll ever feel so right with anyone else."

"That's... I mean, um..." I pause a moment to catch my breath. "How does that make you feel?"

"Scared."

"Me too."

We dance on, but head home at the end of the song. Unable to be parted, we walk to the car hand in hand, and stay fused together for the ride home, too. We barely speak; I think both of us are scared to make all of this real.

Arriving home, it's all back to normal. Blaine helps me from the car, we step inside the door, and there is Alice at the top of the stairs. "I peed," she says sadly, and Blaine rushes to console her while Polly and I change the sheets.

I'm relieved the atmosphere is broken; I don't think I'd have had the courage to act on my feelings anyway, and Blaine is up and out to work before I surface the next day. I put the end of the evening down to drunkenness, even though we were hardly more than a little merry.

Quinn rouses me; calling my phone repeatedly and pressing on the doorbell until I'm forced to race down the stairs lest she wake the kids. "What the hell?"

"No, I need to be asking you that! Here!" she thrusts a magazine into my hands and storms down to the kitchen. I follow, laying the magazine on the table, and then my hand flies up to my mouth.

"Oh holy fucking shit."

"Exactly, Kurt. Please tell me how you're going to spin this because honestly? I'm all out of answers."

I've made the front cover... only, so has Blaine. It's a shot of us leaving the party only eight hours prior, hand in hand, looking at each other as if we were deeply in love. I turn to page six, as instructed and there, laid out across eight glossy pages, is mine and Blaine's life for the last three months. Thankfully, the children's faces are blurred, but there's photos of us in the park, of Blaine carrying Alice on his shoulders, of both of us smiling as Maggie pushes Joshua in a swing. There's pictures of us strolling around the neighborhood, of us arriving at my trailer; there's even a picture of Blaine collecting Maggie from ballet, kissing her cheek as he holds her in his arms. The photos go way back; the time we went to the restaurant near Blaine's apartment and he held my hand; the time we walked to get pastries and Alice threw a tantrum; the morning Blaine left the house and I had to dash outside in my pyjamas to stop Maggie from following him... Everything. Every single moment of our life.

The photos are incriminating; painting a picture that was never meant to be told, and that could never be true. Worst of all though, is the speculative text of the article. "Who is the mystery man?" "No prizes for guessing who's daddy to this cutie pie!" plastered over a picture of Blaine and Joshua, and "Come on then, Kurt, spill the beans? Who is the mystery baby daddy? Are you two married already? We demand to know!"

I cry.

I'm still crying when my dad calls, and then I cry harder when he reassures me that it'll all be okay. "Blaine's gonna kill me!"

"No he's not. He'll be fine, I know he will."

But Blaine is not fine. Blaine leaves work early after his boss calls him into the office and asks him if he knows he's all over every entertainment news website. He didn't, but by the time he arrives at my house, he's pale, holding a copy of the magazine in one hand and his phone in the other.

"I think I'll leave you two alone," Quinn says softly. Blaine sinks onto the couch and still says nothing. "Polly's just arrived, so we'll take the kids to jungle gym for a while. Just call, Kurt, when you want us back."

Her words barely register; all of my focus is on Blaine and I'm thankful that the kids aren't brought in to say goodbye because this time, I don't think I could pretend.

"I'm so sorry," I say as soon as the door closes. It feels wrong to sit next to him, so I sit on the coffee table instead, so that our knees are almost touching.

Blaine looks up, his dark eyes swimming with tears. All I want to do is hold him, but it doesn't feel right now. Not anymore. There was a line that was always there, and secretly we both knew we'd crossed it.

"Why would anyone do this, Kurt? Why would anyone want to...to... to violate your privacy like that? To put the kids out there?"

"I think we both know who's done it, and he won't be coming back."

"Marc?"

"Yeah. He didn't admit to it, but didn't object when Quinn told him he wouldn't be needed anymore."

"So what? He's been stalking us? Following us whenever we leave the house?"

"Hmm, no. Most likely he's been in touch with fans. Some of them will do anything to feel close to me, to feel like they're doing something of some importance. Remember that blog post, the first time we went out? It disappeared, right? Most likely Marc contacted them, and a few others, probably paid them off with juicy and totally made up gossip about me in exchange for photos."

"That's horrible."

"Perils of the job, I guess, but this isn't about me. You..."

He drops his head. "Don't worry about me. The kids..."

"Well, Quinn and I have talked about that. I'm um.. I'm shamelessly going to offer Polly a substantial amount of money to be their permanent nanny. I can trust her, the kids love her. We'll try and give them as normal an existence as possible. What do you think?"

"I think..." Blaine pauses, lets a breath out, and presses his fingers into his eyes. "I think they're not my kids, so whatever decision you make about them, is fine by me."

"Blaine, I'd like your input."

"I can't, Kurt." Opening his eyes, he looks so completely lost and sad that it tears me apart. "You and I, we've been living in this bubble, haven't we? Laughing about it, saying we know we're weird... but we both know how it's looked all along."

"I'm sorry, Blaine, I never meant..."

"I know. I know you didn't Kurt, really, I know. And I don't want you to feel guilty or like you've done anything wrong because really, you haven't. I just..." He blinks, and two tears roll down his cheeks. "My parents, you know? They're going to have people asking them, wondering, speculating, and I've got to try and explain to them that none of those pictures are what they seem. Cooper, Sam, Santana... They're all wondering, I know, and this paints a pretty damning picture for someone who repeatedly swears nothing is going on."

I look down at the magazine spread next to him. We look like the most intimate of lovers, the happiest of couples, the most doting of parents.

"I had a call from the Janae Parker show. They want me to go on, Monday."

"You're not going to do it, are you?"

"Quinn thinks it'd be a good idea. I think... I think I should."

"Kurt, no."

"Hear me out. It'd give me a chance to say there and then that there's nothing but friendship between you and I. I could say that yes, I'm gay, and yes, I'm fostering these kids long term, but that I'm single, and you're straight. That way, attention deflects to my sexuality."

"So, like, you use your coming out as a bargaining chip?"

"Kinda, yeah. I could talk about it in interviews and stuff, in exchange for the media silence over you and the kids."

"I can't ask you to do that."

"You didn't, Blaine, but I can't stand by and watch the people I love the most destroyed by the media, just because of the career I chose."

"But won't this impact on that?"

"Well... The studio are already going kinda nuts, to be honest, but they can't stop me from confirming or denying anything. Quinn's dealing with them. At least I landed the role first, eh?" I try to joke, but we both know there's no humor to be had. Unless Firestone does exceptionally well, it won't be picked up for a second season with a gay man in the main role. Despite society's steps toward inclusivity and acceptance, Hollywood is still a very different story. "I could always try to go back to musical theater?"

Blaine leans back on the couch, covers his face with his hands, and cries.

I have to go to him; to do anything less would be shameful. He belongs there, in my arms, and I know he's grateful because he clutches me and lets it all out. I know how much better life can seem after a good cry, and certainly it seems to work for Blaine because although he seems embarrassed when he's done, he does manage a smile.

"This won't end our friendship, will it?"

"Not unless you want it to."

He pulls a face. "No! That would be hell."

"I kinda really need you, Blaine. Now, more than ever, I think."

"And I'll be here, I promise you. We can get past this. It'll all die down."

"I'm going to do that show on Monday."

He nods, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "I can't say I approve, but I think it might be the only way to get the heat off your private life. I feel bad for you, though."

"Please don't."

"What now, though? What happens today, and tomorrow, with an army of press camped outside?"

"We shut down, I guess, stay inside."

"It's the most beautiful weather we've had all year."

"Oh then by all means, go sit on the front steps and bask in the sunlight."

Blaine laughs. "I didn't mean that. I just...the kids, you know?"

"I know."

He looks out of the window at the line of press lurking across the street. "We could take them to my parents?"

"What?"

"You heard."

"Yes, but you've just said you need to do some damage control there, so now you're going to parade me and the kids about as if we're really the couple that the press are making out?"

"No, I'm going to keep you safe, because you're the ones I love the most. I'm going to give those kids a chance to run and play outside and just be normal kids for a couple of days. They have no idea, Kurt, what you do, or why those men are waiting. Just let them enjoy themselves."

"But your parents?"

"Eh, I wanted them to meet you anyway. Might as well get everything out of the way in one go."

Filled with a relief that I very much needed, I nod. "Yes please, then," I say. "Take us away, keep us safe."