Part Ten – 18 – Kurt

Fall, Senior Year

Kurt's life was a mess. And what was worse, he had only himself to blame for it.

The summer had passed miserably, with next to no interaction with Blaine. After Rachel's party, Kurt had been certain that he'd made the right decision in putting some distance between them and discouraging Blaine's affections—no matter that they were, in fact, returned. It was the rational thing to do, putting safety first, and if their happiness had to be sacrificed to keep Blaine safe… well, it was an unjust world in which they lived.

But so much had happened over the summer to rip Kurt's carefully constructed philosophy apart. He'd been so tied up in his troubles with Blaine that he'd missed all the signs that something was amiss with Finn, that he'd allowed Rachel to manipulate him and hang him out to dry. The fallout had been… humiliating. Completely, utterly, gut-wrenchingly humiliating.

And now he was alone, with only Mercedes and perhaps Finn to count as true friends. No Blaine to brighten his days, no Rachel and her vapid, egotistical chatter to fill them.

Senior year lay before him like an endless, barren desert, and on the first day of school even his practiced routine of tailoring his appearance to fashionable perfection couldn't ease the burden of the journey ahead.

Kurt sighed as he touched off his look with one final gust of hairspray, staring vacantly into his own eyes in the mirror. Finn would be waiting.

AP English Lit was his second-to-last class of the day. Kurt could feel his spirits begin to lift with the promise that his torment was nearly over… until he walked into the classroom and realized there were only two seats remaining—one next to Dave Karofsky, his most invested bully, and one between Blaine and Rachel. Quinn, seated on Blaine's other side, shot Kurt a sympathetic look, and he managed a small smile for her as he sank into the empty desk, ignoring Rachel's cheerful greeting and avoiding Blaine's eyes.

Fortunately, arriving at the last minute also left little time for chit-chat; Kurt had barely gotten his book out and artfully arranged on his desk before the teacher, Ms. Bowers, was demanding attention, taking the roll. He allowed his shoulders to slump the barest amount, relieved.

She spent the entire class going over the syllabus. Normally Kurt would resent the tedium, but today her droning was a godsend.

Until she got to their biggest assignment.

"Last year, several of my students complained in their review that we covered only classic literature. Unfortunately, much of the material is a state requirement and therefore out of my control." She peered at the class over the top of her bifocals, as if mentally assessing them to determine if they were up to par. "You'll find on the last page of your syllabus a list of fifty classic novels as well as a list of fifty modern works of literature. Your task will be to select one book from each list that have something in common. You will read them—not the Cliff Notes, Mr. Peterson; you can put your hand down—and write a 20-page book review and comparative essay."

The class groaned in unison, and Kurt could have sworn he saw Ms. Bowers' eyes glint in satisfaction.

"It's a semester-long assignment, so I don't encourage procrastination. And you'll be working in pairs."

Kurt's heart seized up—no no no no, anything but group work—reading the words almost simultaneously as they left her mouth. He crossed his fingers, not sure whether to hope he'd be paired up, avoiding the dread of having to find his own partner, or left with at least some say as to who to trust for a passing grade. At least with the latter, there was some chance he'd be the odd one out, and perhaps left to work alone. Frantically, he began counting heads.

Ms. Bowers looked at the clock. "You have five minutes. Please choose your partners. You may stop by my desk on your way out to inform me of your choice."

Pandemonium broke out, but Kurt hardly noticed. There were painted-pink fingernails gripping his arm, Rachel's face far too close to his, and Kurt tried desperately to back away, could barely focus on her words.

"… know you don't think we're really friends, Kurt, but I want to be—really, every leading lady needs a best gay!—and my drive to succeed would practically guarantee you an A! Plus it would give me more excuses to be over at your house, which would be advantageous because I'm beginning to fear that Jesse's getting suspicious, and—"

Suddenly a hand closed around Rachel's wrist, yanking her off of him and away, and Kurt sucked in the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Gosh, Rachel, give the boy some room to breathe! Can't you see his face? He looks nearly panicked!"

Blaine, Kurt's mind supplied, just before instinct made him look up to find Blaine's handsome face peering down at him, his brow furrowed with worry.

"Kurt," he said after giving Kurt a few moments of space. Kurt hated how his heart skipped a beat at the sound of his name on Blaine's lips. It had been so long… "Kurt, would you like to be my partner?"

Kurt continued to stare at him, dumbfounded, then shook his head to clear the stupor. "I… what about Quinn?"

"Nat/Fab pairs can't be partners," Quinn supplied, appearing next to Blaine. "It says in the syllabus. I'm working with Maria."

He looked down at his paper. She was right.

"So?" Blaine said, the nervous twitch of a smile on his face. "How about it?"

Kurt's mind was spinning with too much indecision; he couldn't slow it down enough to make heads or tails of what he should do. But Blaine's eyes were kind and warm and hopeful, watching Kurt with a familiar affection that made him ache with nostalgia. Without really planning to, he found himself saying, "Yes."

Friday evening found them sprawled out side-by-side on Kurt's bed with their booklists in front of them, Blaine looking carefree and happy and Kurt's stomach churning with nervous energy. This was so familiar to him, so simple and casual in appearance when beneath the surface it was anything but.

He wished he knew what Blaine was thinking.

"So," Blaine said, looking up at Kurt was an easy smile, "I was thinking two things: we could go the romance route, which would be easy, or we could go Dystopian, which would be interesting."

"Or we could go political," Kurt said, both of Blaine's ideas making him somewhat queasy.

"Dystopia is political, Kurt."

"But I think it hits a little too close to home," Kurt blurted out, then immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, shaking his head. "I didn't say that."

Blaine's smile was sadder now, his eyes full of empathy. He quietly said, "But you did."

Kurt sighed and looked away. "Let's just forget it, then, please."

Blaine shifted on the bed, causing the mattress to bounce, and when Kurt turned back to him he was beaming again. "Romance it is, then!" He glanced down at his list and wrinkled his nose. "Just, not Romeo and Juliet…"

"Tristen and Isolde?" Kurt suggested hopefully. Equally clichéd, he thought, but their story had more intrigue, greater depth.

"Or Jonathan and David," Blaine said, his eyes—for a brief and unending moment—locking with Kurt's.

Kurt forgot to breathe. He looked down at his own list. "They're not on here," he said, a little lost.

"Right. Tristen and Isolde it is, then." Blaine was blushing now, pulling a notebook and pencil from his bag beside the bed. Kurt tried not to stare at the way he stretched, shirt riding up, to retrieve them.

He popped back up, tearing the cap off of his pen with his teeth. "I'm vetoing Twilight for our modern pick, though. The only thing redeemable about that was—"

"—was Taylor Lautner's abs," Kurt finished for him. Then he remembered that Blaine wasn't actually supposed to be gay and felt his own face flush.

Blaine chucked nervously. "And they weren't even in the book," he added.

This was awkward. This was going to be a long stretch of awkward if Kurt didn't find the guts to do something about it.

And what, now, did he really have to lose?

Kurt gathered his courage, forced himself to really look at the boy beside him and said, "I've missed you, Blaine."

He heard Blaine's sharp inhale, watched the smile fade from his face. Kurt thought he might die on the spot, felt his heart begin to race as his mind kept pace—you did it you broke it you... What if he asks you? What if he wants to know why?

Kurt didn't know how he'd answer that. He was keeping Blaine safe. He was keeping them all safe. But safe from what? Did anyone really know?

Then Blaine's hand shot out, his fingers curving around Kurt's palm and his thumb brushing Kurt's wrist, eyes wide and earnest and… and relieved, maybe, as he said, "I missed you too."

It was like spring: a smile blooming on Kurt's face, the moment dragging on, and when Blaine finally took his hand back Kurt felt it still, lingering against his skin, imprinted on his heart.

As the weeks passed their relationship slowly resumed the patterns it had once followed. In addition to their twice weekly study dates, there were double dates on the weekends and after Glee club, frequent texts and the occasional phone call, shoulders brushing in the hallways and as they lunched together in the cafeteria. Quinn watched them with a knowing sparkle in her eyes. If she felt any lingering loss from what was happening, she hid it well.

Impercipient as he often was, even Finn was beginning to take note of the affection between them—not more, but somehow amplified from what it had been before. They hadn't spoken about it, but there was support and acceptance, genuine happiness in the way Finn smiled at them, the way he made an extra effort to bond with Blaine, would clap them both too-firmly on the shoulder.

Finn and Quinn were actively shielding them, too. Kurt wasn't sure if Blaine was aware of it, the way that Finn would reach for his hand and Quinn would twine her arm through Blaine's whenever their affinity drew the attention of others. People watched them now, some with open curiosity, some with suspicion. But he and Blaine both had Fabs, so unless they did something truly stupid, they were safe.

Not that there was anything going on between them. It's just that Kurt almost forgot that sometimes; he had to remind himself that they were only friends.

They never talked about the party. They never talked about The Kiss.

For once his life was peaceful, almost perfect, Kurt thought.

Except for Rachel.

It shouldn't surprise him that the girl was persistent, popping up at the most unexpected moments to try to talk to him, catch him off his guard. Kurt didn't understand why it was so important to her to patch things up between them. Maybe she didn't trust his silence the same way that Finn did.

On several occasions, he nearly went to Finn to ask him to call her off. But Kurt didn't want to do that; Finn had been so great about everything, was so great to him, and he didn't need to be a part of this. He deserved to have love without it threatening his loyalty to his Nat, especially now that Kurt knew love, too.

Or he almost did. Some days he tiptoed so close. Some days they danced on the edge, the space between their hearts so narrow that Kurt could hear it, smell it, taste what it might be if there were none.

Today they were in Blaine's room, sprawled on Blaine's bed on their stomachs with their laptops open, Kurt's socked feet in the air occasionally brushing against Blaine's bare ones.

"What's the deal with Rachel?"

"I'm sorry?" Kurt said, startled.

"She seems oddly fixated with you. It's strange—you used to hate each other, but now she pursues you and you pretty much just ignore her."

Kurt sighed. He wanted to tell Blaine, really he did, but… given where they stood now, it didn't seem the right secret to share.

"We were kind of friends, this summer," he offered instead, eyes fixed on his keyboard.

"It doesn't seem like you're friends now."

"That would be accurate," Kurt said with a huff. "We, umm… I found out she was just using me, and we had a falling out. She's been trying to patch things up, but I'm not interested."

He expected Blaine to agree with him, maybe even to sympathize, but instead he looked thoughtful. "I don't know," he said eventually. "She seems pretty invested to me. Sometimes I think people underestimate Rachel. I think maybe she's just lonely."

Not anymore, Kurt thought to himself. "Maybe. But… just leave it for now? Please?"

Blaine's face broke into a warm smile, his fingers curling around Kurt's bare forearm and squeezing, little pressure points of pleasure that made Kurt shudder. "Of course," he said. "It's none of my business anyway. I'm sorry I asked."

Something about Blaine in that moment caused Kurt to look up into his eyes, as if he were drawn there. "Don't be," he whispered.

I want to tell you so much. I want to tell you everything.

Kurt had no intention of taking Blaine's words to heart, but they stuck with him anyway, making him feel almost guilty each time he gave Rachel the cold shoulder.

It was Finn who finally pushed him to reconsider.

"Dude," he said, barging into their room one afternoon after the brunette had left. "We need to talk."

Kurt winced, not bothering to look up from his magazine. "You know I told you not to call me that."

"Sorry," Finn said absentmindedly. "It's just that Rachel—could you put that thing away and look at me, please?"

Kurt huffed, carefully tucking a spare piece of paper between the pages to mark his spot. He looked up at Finn, belligerent. "Yes? What complaint has our diva issued today?"

"She hasn't said anything! Not one word against you, Kurt." He took a seat on the edge of Kurt's bed, and Kurt sat up, folding his legs beneath him. "But she was crying today."

"Of course," Kurt said, rolling his eyes.

"Don't… don't be like that, Kurt," Finn pleaded, visibly deflating. "This is the first afternoon we've seen each other in two weeks, since you and—since Blaine."

Kurt was silent for a time, pondering this. It was one of those moments when it was so tempting, would be so easy to abuse his role as Finn's Nat, and no one—least of all Finn—would dare fault him for it.

He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders, and met Finn's eyes. "No, you're right. I'm sorry."

"She's really trying, Kurt. She thinks you've changed your mind, that you're trying to keep me away from her."

"What! That's ridiculous!"

"Think about it from her eyes. You haven't spoken to her for weeks outside of Glee practice or when Burt and Carole are home. I'm suddenly unavailable all the time, and I can't exactly tell her why…"

"No. No, Finn, I get it. It looks bad."

"She misses you."

"I…" Kurt hesitated, Blaine's words playing in his head, and swallowed hard. "I don't think I can forgive her."

"You forgave me," Finn said quietly.

Kurt stared down at his hands, picking at his thumbnail, bitten to the quick. "It's not the same."

Finn's hand slid between his, prying them apart and taking one in his own. A rare gesture for him, and it only made Kurt feel more guilty, and where was that coming from? He didn't want it, not that feeling. Not about Rachel.

Kurt took his time, spinning the excuses around in his head, discarding them reluctantly, one by one. "I'll do better," he finally said. "I'll make sure you have at least one afternoon a week. Tell… tell Rachel that I'm sorry; I've been busy and time's gotten away from me."

"And you'll talk to her?" Finn prodded hopefully, "or at least listen?"

"Maybe," he said.

Maybe. Eventually.

There were moments, so many moments, when Kurt almost made a move. He wanted Blaine to move first, but he wasn't sure he had any right to expect that. Blaine had moved, over six months ago now, and as soon as the headiness of shared want and love had passed, as soon as reality had settled, Kurt had thrown it back in his face.

He collected courage, gathering slowly as grains of sand, with every look shared between them, every loaded touch.

Then one day they were lounging in Kurt's room, quiet until Kurt made one of his trademark sarcastic quips about the book they were working on, and he hadn't even planned it, hadn't thought about it, really, because Blaine was a safe place to just open his mouth and let Kurt pour out, but Blaine…

Blaine laughed, his head falling back and his mouth falling open and his sparkling topaz eyes crinkling at the corners, and Kurt's breath caught in his throat, his chest seizing up. He was frozen, and he couldn't not move anymore.

"I'm asking," he said, breathless, no intent and all the desire in the world.

Blaine nearly choked as he tried to stop laughing, attempted to speak. "Asking… asking what?" he finally managed.

"You told me, before," Kurt said, scooting across the bed on his knees until he was right in front of Blaine; they were face to face, Blaine's warm breath ghosting across Kurt's nose and his cheeks. "If I ever wanted you to kiss me again, that all I had to do was ask."

Blaine's expression froze, his fuzzy eyebrows shooting up as his eyes went soft and heavy at the same time, perfect pink lips just-parted, and Kurt tried not to stare at them. "Kurt…"

"I'm asking, Blaine," Kurt said, surprised when he didn't stutter on the words. "Please… please kiss me."

And Blaine did.

It was everything the first time was and more—fierce and determined, intense and passionate and yet soft, considerate. Kurt thought he was drowning, Blaine's arms sure and steadfast when they closed around him, pulling him close, dragging him under, and he could do nothing but submit, give himself over to the experience.

They parted with a lingering breath between them, eyes locked, lips brushing, and Kurt thought of Finn.

He thought he'd known what want was. He remembered back when he first got Finn, spending hours pondering what it might be like to kiss him, if he should kiss him, trying to muster up the courage. When he finally had, it had been… nice. Gentle, and easy, and comforting. He hadn't really wanted more, had been scared to want more until that one night…

And after that night, the guilt. The guilt that wasn't worth the orgasm. After that night he had known, really known, that whatever was between him and Finn wasn't quite what it was supposed to be. That it never would be.

When Blaine had come along, what he'd wanted most of all was a friend. Someone to like him, to put effort into being around him. The more Blaine gave the more addicted Kurt became, and he'd slid into daydreams of Blaine's lips and his arms and, eventually, sheepishly, his body, without really realizing what had happened. He'd spun the desire in his mind, the feeling, touching himself in the shower, mouth open and falling brokenly and unashamed in the privacy of his own head…

Blaine's kiss—the first one—had been a sharp, drunken thrill, a pleasure he seemed only to truly recall in fits of dreams.

This one was surrender.

He surged forward, rolling Blaine onto his back, dipping down again and again and again, lingering and taking and still so, so hungry. When Blaine's lips couldn't sate him he moved on to skin; rough with stubble at Blaine's jaw, smooth and tender and sweet at the dip of his neck. Blaine writhed and moaned and his hips bucked up, and suddenly there was something new, better, even more—Blaine's body pressed fully into his, hard and giving and throbbing just where Kurt's was.

Kurt groaned, tried to gather himself enough to open his eyes, and when he managed it Blaine was staring up at him, his gaze a reflection of every emotion pouring over from Kurt's heart. Blaine reared up and kissed him again, the messy hot wet swipe of his tongue on Kurt's lips, then his cheek, then just below his ear, embodying the passion Kurt had once been afraid to own.

He lost himself for seconds or minutes or hours in the movement of their bodies, in Blaine's chest heaving in sync with his, clothing askew and hands on warm skin and it was the best thing ever. In the long, heady moment when everything seemed to spin completely out of control, Blaine took Kurt's hand, swallowed the cry he couldn't stop, threw his head back and bared his throat and allowed them to fall together.

Afterwards there was no guilt. There was peace, and soft kisses, and when Kurt's logical mind returned and cautioned way too fast, he was able to curl around Blaine's body and push those thoughts aside, so content that he couldn't bring himself to care.

Eventually and reluctantly they parted, slipping in turns into the bathroom, Blaine clutching borrowed underwear and blushing in a way that Kurt had never seen another boy blush. And they came back together, and they talked about everything and nothing of any great importance, and they fell back into kissing again, both refusing to look at the clock.

"Wait," Blaine said, pulling away. "We've… we know with Quinn, but what about Finn?"

Kurt reached for his hand, wanting to stay connected. "There's a difference," he said, "between loving someone and being in love."

Blaine took a deep breath. "So you…"

"Finn's in love with Rachel," Kurt blurted out.

"Oh," Blaine said, sitting back against the headboard. "That… wow, I…"

"You can't tell anyone!"

"Of course not," Blaine said immediately, squeezing Kurt's hand. "Of course I would never. But, so wait…"

"Yeah, umm. That's what Rachel was using me for."

"Oh," Blaine's face fell as he absorbed the information. "Oh, Kurt. I'm so sorry."

Kurt shook his head. "It hardly matters now. We're… working things out. Or I plan to. Soon."

"You shouldn't have to, not if you don't want to. I didn't know when I said that."

"I do have to, though. Or I want to. For Finn."

Blaine nodded, accepting this. "That isn't what I meant though. I meant… how in the world did that happen? I mean, with you and Finn…"

Kurt looked down at their hands. "They told me they could program him to be… you know. But I guess something must have gone wrong. He's totally straight."

Blaine licked his lips, still lost in thought. "So how did that—how did that work? Did you…"

Kurt laughed, leaning forward until his forehead fell against Blaine's. "Not nearly as well as it's been working with you."

Kurt knew he'd tell Finn, and then probably Rachel would know, and eventually his parents. But there was one person he had to tell first. It gnawed at him, wanting to get out, and he wasn't sure it was a smart decision, but something within him made it impossible not to tell her.

On Sunday afternoon Mercedes came over with a tray of her trademark brownies, kissed his cheek and asked her customary "how's the love life, Boo?" once they were settled. (You have to promise to keep me in the know, she'd told him all those years ago, after their falling out. I've no choice but to live vicariously through you.)

Usually there was nothing to tell.

Mercedes came over every Sunday and they did the same things they'd always done, all the things they both loved. But it was only Sundays. In Glee club, Mercedes had drifted into a bond with Unique and Marley as Kurt had drifted closer to Blaine.

They didn't talk about it, pretended it wasn't there, but surely Mercedes, too, could feel the gulf widening between them. They still loved each other, but every Sunday felt rather like a college student dropping in to see their family, a half-way point that would inevitably fade into increasingly greater distance.

But they would always be family. They would always be connected.

They didn't talk about it.

Today Kurt talked about Blaine, lying on his bed with his head in Mercedes' lap, letting her fingers comb through his hair. She smiled and cooed and said all the right things, swore her secrecy even though Kurt didn't really need to hear it.

When she was gone, Kurt allowed himself to ponder, for the first time, what it might be like to miss her.

Not quite two weeks had passed when Rachel found out, and Finn found out, because Kurt hadn't managed to bring himself to tell him yet.

They hadn't needed to tell Quinn. She had taken one look at them the day after, and she knew. And maybe Blaine talked with her about it; maybe she was the one who knew all of Blaine's (their) secrets, as Mercedes knew all of Kurt's. Kurt knew they were close, but he'd never bothered to ask Blaine what that meant.

Kurt had kept his promise. He'd given Rachel and Finn their one day a week, but he chickened out on the rest of it, making himself scarce, barely acknowledging Rachel past a nod when he answered the door and ushering her out before Burt and Carole were due home. He didn't want them to ask her to stay for dinner. He wasn't scared of Rachel; he simply hadn't been in the mood to deal with her.

On this particular day, the plan had been for Kurt to go to Blaine's house for their study date, but Quinn told Blaine at lunch that she was having Maria over, so they decided to meet at Kurt's house instead. Finn had an emergency football practice, so they would be alone.

But when they arrived at the house after lingering for a time at The Lima Bean, both with a second cup of coffee in hand, they were greeted with the nasty and shocking sight of Finn and Rachel, legs entangled and lips attached on the couch.

Kurt's mouth fell open, rage bubbling up in his chest, but in spite of the energy the emotion gifted him, he couldn't come up with a thing to say.

Nor could Finn, it seemed. Nor, for once, could Rachel.

This was not their "day". He wondered how many "days" they'd actually been having.

In the heat of the moment, he forgot that Blaine's fingers had slid into his the moment the door had closed behind them, didn't realize he was now gripping too tight to his hand.

"Before you guys freak out," Blaine said, the calm amid the storm. "You should know that I already knew, and I haven't said anything, and I swear that I won't."

Rachel looked like she was about to cry, but Finn only looked surprised, and maybe a little bit hurt. "Kurt," he finally said, gesturing between where Blaine and Kurt were standing.

Kurt looked down. "Oh. Oh… Finn, I swear I was going to tell you…"

He tried to let go, but Blaine held fast.

"You won't tell, Rachel, will you?" Blaine asked, eyes sincere and brave, fixed on hers.

"Well," Rachel said, finally appearing to get her bearings. "Well, I…"

Kurt's jaw felt rigid, and it was all he could do to pry it apart to speak. "What is it you want? What will keep you quiet?"

"Kurt…" Finn said again.

"Well?"

She moved her eyes from Blaine to Kurt, Blaine to Kurt, eventually settling on Kurt.

"I'm not a monster!" She declared, quietly and passionately. "Kurt, why would you think…?"

Blaine's hand abandoned his to trail up his arm, squeezing reassuringly. "I can leave you three to talk," he said softly. "I can…"

"No," Kurt said, scrambling blindly to grab onto him in return. "No, stay. Please." He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, allowed Blaine's presence to ground him. When he opened them again he felt calmer—hopefully looked it, too. "We need to work this out. Rachel, I'm—"

"No, I'm sorry! All I've wanted for months was to apologize, Kurt, and for you to not even hear me out…" She sniffled, eyes watering, and Finn put his arm around her, tugging her close. Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, the sickening feeling of guilt playing at the corners of his heart. "I know what I—what we did was wrong. I know. And I'll admit, a part of me loved the drama of it, but Kurt… I wasn't faking my affection for you. Maybe at first, but… the truth is I've never met another person, another natural person, who's matched even a quarter of my epic love and admiration for Barbra or Liza Minnelli. I really… I really liked being your friend, Kurt." She looked down at her hands, then finished softly, "and I miss you."

"We're all breaking the law now," Finn said, turning his gaze from Rachel to Kurt. "We've all lied and kept things hidden. Don't you think it would be better if we helped each other, worked together?"

"Finn…" Kurt said, his eyes feeling suspiciously moist. He slid his hand down to once again twine his fingers with Blaine's, glancing over at his lover (lover. Lover!) "Yeah. Yeah, I think you're right."

Before he knew what was happening, Rachel was squealing, flying into his arms, Kurt's coffee nearly spilling down her dress. Blaine caught Kurt's eye over her shoulder, and grinned.

In the days and weeks and months that followed, even the danger that lingered in every glance and touch and kiss between them was thrilling. The love bloomed in Kurt's chest as quick and bright and fierce as the spread of blood, so intense and desperate and inevitable and right that Kurt found himself unable to entertain the knowledge that what they were doing was wrong.

There were moments, though rare and fleeting, when Kurt hated himself for not having this with Finn, for being utterly unable, he knew now, to have what he shared with Blaine with Finn. He hated himself for thinking it, but Finn had always felt off to him in the same way that all Fabs had always felt a little off, and in other ways too. And Kurt loved his father. God, he adored his father, couldn't fathom life without his father; his father was his hero. And he would never mistreat a Fab, never treat them as less or think of them as less than human beings, equally deserving of respect, but if he was honest…

There was something more real about Blaine. Something more solid, more tangible, some comfort in the knowledge that he and Blaine were both meant. They weren't planned and calculated and manipulated into being what they were; they simply were. They had grown in their mother's wombs, thrived there, traveled out into the world a revealed, divine mystery. They had matured from tiny, helpless infants, had wrestled with the uncertainties of life to become who they were; they were meant to breath this air, to walk this ground, to survive and to perish on this Earth.

Sometimes when Blaine was so close to him that their breath mingled, their chests pressed together and their hearts pounding and their fingers intertwined, when Blaine spoke softly into Kurt's ear, brushed his lips against Kurt's skin, stared at Kurt with such perfect, open adoration in his beautiful hazel eyes, Kurt thought that maybe, just maybe, they were meant to be together, too.