It was a barren beach, just two people, one quilt, a million stars…

"I'm leaving tomorrow." The statement cut the serine silence like a knife.

"Don't think about it."

"I have to," he laughed. "I haven't packed yet."

"Well, think about packing later." He slid closer to his side. "There are more important things at hand, you know."

"Like what?" he sighed.

"Like the fact that you're here tonight. Right this moment. Now. With me." He squeezed his hand, and inched even closer, until they were side to side, on their backs looking up at the sky. "I think that's important." He put his arm around his shoulder. "All that and the fact that I love you…I think that's really, really important, Kurt."

"I love you." There was nothing else to say.

Their evening had been punctuated with long, comfortable silences, just enjoying each other's time and presence.

Kurt leaned up on one elbow, so he hovered over Blaine. "What am I going to do in…" he lifted his left wrist to his face and checked his watch. "…Twelve hours and twenty-seven minutes? What am I going to do when I have to get on a plane and leave?"

Blaine took the hand with the watch in his and smiled up at him. "Stop that. You're going to drive yourself insane."

"How are you so calm? It is taking every ounce of self-control I have to keep from becoming an absolute emotional wreck!" He fell back onto the quilt, his head on Blaine's chest.

"When I…let myself fall in love with you, I became a live-for-the-moment kind of person. That's how." He kissed the top of Kurt's head, now nestled under his chin. "And this particular moment is pretty good."

Once again, Kurt raised himself up onto one arm and looked down at Blaine, smiling sadly. "I…" he began quietly, staring into his eyes and choking on his failing words, but stopped. If he had learned one thing in a foreign country, where he understood no one and no one understood him, it was that actions—in almost any case—speak much louder than words.

So instead, Kurt kissed him.

~x~

That had been twenty-four hours ago, but Blaine kept playing it over and over in his mind. The way the stars shone, the smell of the salt air, the sound of the waves against the beach, the sense of utter, fervent, irrevocable, almost longing conviction with which Kurt kissed him…

He shook his head and rolled over, trying to get a solid night's sleep in for the first time in over a month. His eyes wandered to the clock on his nightstand. Eleven o'clock seemed ridiculously early compared to recently, but he had nothing better to do, so he had just gone to bed.

His apartment almost seemed haunted now, with all of the many paintings he couldn't bare to sell leaning at awkward angles anywhere he could fit them. He didn't want to think about facing a dozen pairs of eyes the next morning…but he wanted even less to think about getting rid of them.

He stared at the ceiling again.

Then his phone rang. He threw his sheets off him and jumped from his bed sprinting across his apartment, clad in still only his boxers, to the phone in his kitchen.

"Hello, Kurt?" he panted, after coming to a skidding stop in front of the counter.

"Try again, Juliet."

"Sami, what—?" he spat out. "What are you doing up?"

"Dude. Seriously. It's only eleven o'clock. And it's a Saturday. In summer. And I'm fifteen." Sarcasm—spiked with an air of contempt—laced her voice.

"Sorry," he sighed, rubbing his eyes. "What's up?"

"What's up yourself? I haven't talked to you since our brief discussion about—Kurt, his name is?"

"Look, I'm not in the mood to talk about this, alright? Go to bed." He sat down at the kitchen table, his head in his hands.

"Ooooh. Break up?" Her tone was mostly concerned, with an annoying twinge of fascination.

"No!" he shouted. "He…he went home."

"Tourist…ouch. Well don't worry. I'm sure you'll move on eventual—!"

"Oh…my gosh!" he choked. "You are the least compassionate person I know! I—I don't want to move on…I—I—I love him!"

"You pass," she said casually.

"Wait, what?"

"That was a test…and you pass. With flying colors! If you had any reaction less than that, I would have tried to get you out of the relationship. But no, this is real. This is good."

"I…" he stammered.

"I was just testing you," she repeated reassuringly.

"No, you were being a bi—"

"Nevertheless, all I can say is that I don't worry about you and relationships anymore. You're a big boy now and you don't need your little sister telling you what to do." She paused, thinking. "That is, unless you want me to tell you what to do?"

"I'm good," he yawned. "Thanks."

There was silence from the other end of the phone, then muffled conversation: "No, Dad, I was just saying…"—a low, garbled voice—"Oh, come on, it's Blaine, Dad. You know that he…"—more interruptions from his father—"You—you can't do that…!"—still unclear, almost screams—"Well, he wants to say hi…!"—then, a second of clarity from the voice in the background: "He's made it clear that he doesn't need us, now hang up that phone!"

Then the eerie sound of a dial tone filled his ear. Great.

On his way to his room, he stopped at his laptop, perpetually open on his kitchen counter, and composed a short apology to his sister:

Sorry about Dad. Call later. It's safer. Much love, -B.

And a short, almost love-note to Kurt:

Thinking of you always. I miss you more than you can imagine. Recover from jetlag. Call me whenever. I love you. –Blaine

And he dragged himself down the short, narrow hall to his room and fell asleep, suddenly exhausted.

He dreamed of beaches, starry skies, and blue eyes that night.

I apologize for this chapter. It really is just me wanting to throw in that flashback scene and realizing that I had to write something around it. *Newsflash: that beach scene was my attempt at sexy. I fail. Oh well! I hope you liked it!

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