Author's Note: Wow ... I'm nearly at 300 reviews ... I can't believe it! Many thanks to all of you who take the time to leave me a review. It means the world to me! Again, I'll be offering a oneshot to my 300th reviewer. And as usual: review = sneak peek (make sure you're logged in and allow private messages to be sent to you).

There are several of you who are calling me out on continually rehashing the contents of my story by writing it once from Kurt's and once from Blaine's point of view. I'm sorry if it disappoints you, but I am not going to change that. It's just the way I write, and it's also why I update three times a week, so that you will never have to wait for too long until you get new content. Feel free to skip chapters that you deem repetitive.

Chapter 52: Heart-to-heart

"Even more, I had never meant to love him. One thing I truly knew - knew it in the pit of my stomach, in the center of my bones, knew it from the crown of my head to the soles of my feet, knew it deep in my empty chest - was how love gave someone the power to break you." (Stephenie Meyer, New Moon)

Kurt woke up feeling slightly disoriented. The bed was cold where Blaine had slept, so his boyfriend must have been up for a while.

Kurt yawned, stretched, rubbed his eyes and got up. He heard Blaine sing, and padded to the kitchen, but though there was fresh coffee in the pot, there were no other breakfast preparations and Blaine was nowhere in sight.

Oh, he's in the shower, I guess …

He looked at the oven clock and blanched. It was 6.35 AM already. No wonder Blaine wasn't bothering with breakfast, he was running late!

Okay, that calls for my emergency breakfast bars …

He reached for the cookie tin in one of his top cabinets, and took out two breakfast bars for Blaine. He filled a travel mug with coffee, and busied himself chopping fruit for a fruit salad, which he put into a small Tupperware container. He put a spoon on top and fixed it there with a rubber band. Then he put everything into a sturdy paper bag, put it on the table by the front door and waited for Blaine to emerge from the bathroom, ready to help him into his coat.

Two minutes later, Blaine stormed out of the bathroom.

"Hey honey," said Kurt cheerfully, "I packed breakfast for you." He pointed at the paper bag.

"I … forgot … to set the alarm," panted Blaine, reaching for his shoes and putting them on in record time. "So sorry … to hurry away … like that … but … I'm late!"

"I know," smiled Kurt. "Don't worry about it, we had all weekend together. Text me when you've arrived at school, okay?"

Kurt helped Blaine into his coat and hugged and kissed him. Then he handed him the paper bag. "Off you go now! Don't keep your class waiting!"

Blaine gave him a last peck on his lips and hurried down the stairs.

Kurt watched his car disappear around the corner and swallowed thickly.

Each time, it gets harder to see him leave.

Kurt ate a bowl of muesli and got ready for the day. He usually wasn't up this early, but he would put the extra time to good use. His newest thriller was finished and now it needed to be edited before he sent it to his publisher.

Even though he'd been so busy with Naomi's dress, he'd been writing like a man possessed whenever he found a free moment. Writing equated with stress relief for him, and his muse seemed to positively thrive on stressful situations and lack of sleep, happily providing the inspiration he needed at the most inopportune moments, making his hands itch to write it all down before he forgot about it.

And yes, he definitely had his signature detective now. He smiled fondly, thinking of the character he'd created. Devon Bergensen was like Blaine in so many ways. He had the same dreamy looks and curly hair that exasperated him so much that he gelled it down into oblivion. He also possessed the enviable talent of getting along with just about anyone. Young, old, man, woman: everyone fell for his charm. He was perspicacious and mature beyond his years. He did his job with drive and dedication, coupled with a fierce sense of justice. He'd been through so much, yet he still persisted in seeing the best in everyone and offering second chances.

Charles Henson was interesting, too. He'd started out as just a run-of-the-mill murderer whose first murder attempt failed. Then, bizarrely, his second attempt failed, too, as did the next half-hearted attempts, and each time, Charles left a clear crumb trail for Devon to follow. And what did Devon find out in the end? Not only that Charles never had any intention of really killing the person he was after, but that he was trying to bring that man to justice in his own devious way. In the end, it was not Charles who was charged with murder, but his "victim", Edward Moore, who had not only taken the life of Charles' mother, but of many other women as well.

Devon could have figured it all out sooner, only he'd been distracted by Charles. He'd nearly caught him in the act during the first murder attempt, and caught a glimpse of piercing blue-green eyes that had haunted his dreams. After the second attempt, he'd chased after Charles and given himself a firm talking-to when he'd grown distracted admiring Charles' fine figure. Just before Charles disappeared in the dark, he had laughed, and Devon's heart had skipped a beat when he heard the clear bell-like sound.

So Devon had felt guilty for liking a murderer, yet he'd pined after him for weeks. And then, when the truth had dawned on him, he'd been numb with relief. He had painstakingly collected all the evidence and brought Edward Moore to justice. Then, when he'd seen Edward sentenced to death, he'd slowly left the courtroom, lead in his legs all of a sudden when he realised he'd never see Charles again.

He knew where Charles' mother was buried now, and he went to visit her grave. And while he was talking to her, explaining that her son had brought the truth to light, Charles appeared. He caught the tail end of Devon's speech, and it choked him up. So when Devon stopped talking and turned around, he bumped into a crying Charles. The book ended with Devon letting Charles cry on his shoulder and then inviting him to go have coffee with him, and taking Charles' hand in his when he said yes.

Kurt was pleased with how the story had turned out, but he very much wondered what his publisher Kevin would think of it. He'd never weaved a love story into the plot before. He'd always liked that when it happened in Agatha Christie's books, though, so maybe Kevin wouldn't mind. After all, he'd wanted a detective that would stick around for a while, hadn't he? In that case, giving said detective a love interest might not be a bad idea.

Kurt skimmed through the text, scanning it for typos, spelling mistakes, grammatical errors and sentences that were poorly written or ambiguous.

When that was done, he checked his watch and yelped when he saw that it was already ten past twelve. He immediately sent a text to his dad to warn him he'd be a bit later and set to making sandwiches for himself and Burt.

Twenty minutes later, Kurt found his dad in his office in the shop.

"Hey dad, sorry I'm late," Kurt apologised.

Burt, who was writing an invoice, just grunted in response, finished up and handed the invoice to the customer. The man paid and left, and Burt turned to Kurt. "Hey kiddo."

Kurt handed him one of the sandwiches and took one of the desk chairs.

Burt bit into his sandwich and grunted in appreciation.

Kurt decided to be straightforward. "So what did you want to talk about, dad?"

Burt took his cap off and scratched his head for a second. "I wanted to say sorry for Friday. You know. For being grouchy. For grilling Blaine. You're right. You're an adult now, and it's not my place to meddle."

Kurt nodded. "Apology accepted."

Burt sighed deeply. "For what it's worth, this Blaine of yours seems a nice enough kid. It's just … When you came back home after your sixteenth birthday, you were so … Closed-off. I'd hoped you came back to live with me because you wanted to. Because you missed me as much as I missed you all those years. But you came back, and though you'd grown, you were just like that little boy that pushed me away time and again because he only wanted his mom. Only now, you didn't do it physically. You just … kept your distance. As though I was a random stranger, instead of your dad. And I could see that something had happened, there in LA, something that had really shaken you up. It killed me to see you so broken. But you didn't say a word about it, and then you found out about me seeing Carole, and you really let me have it, and it took me months to even make you acknowledge Carole and be polite to her and her son. So I guess I got side-tracked. And I didn't really dare to ask you what had happened. We didn't have much of a relationship back then, and I didn't want to drive you away again. But it cut me up inside that you were unhappy and that I couldn't help. That I hadn't been there for you when you needed me. Maybe I should have held on to you all those years ago. Told Mary that I'd sort it all out. Kept you with me. I'm sorry I didn't. You've grown closer to me over the years, but I'm still not the first person you come to with good or bad news. I wish I were. You're my son and I'm tremendously proud of you, but I wish you'd let me be more of a dad."

Kurt had listened to Burt's speech silently, but somewhere halfway through, he'd started crying silently, tears dripping from his face. His mind went back to his sixteen-year-old self and his heart ached both for himself and his dad.

He sniffled and blew his nose, and then looked at Burt.

"I was just a big ball of frustration and anger, and I took it all out on you. That wasn't fair of me, and I'm really sorry. I should have told you what had happened, though I'm not sure I would have been able to talk about it back then. What did Aunt Mary tell you?"

Burt shrugged. "That you'd had a party and that it had gotten out of hand. And that the paparazzi had taken pictures, and that you were very ashamed, and didn't want anything more to do with fame. That you'd quit your role on that TV series, and just wanted to come home and forget about it all."

Kurt let out a humourless chuckle. "That's the bare bones of it, yes. There's more to it, though. Remember what I said Friday, about that boy I had a crush on?"

Burt frowned and nodded.

"He played my elder brother in A Tree Called Life. My first day on set, the director asked him to show me around and take me under his wing. He did, and he was a good friend to me some of the time. He taught me French. He told me stories and listened to mine in return, and encouraged me to write my stories down. He made me laugh. He helped me with my homework. He taught me how to fold pretty much anything I wanted from a piece of paper. He was easy to talk to and fun to be around, some of the time. And then, at other times, he'd want me gone. He'd call me a baby and send me away. He refused to talk to me, to sit with me, to have anything to do with me. It was confusing. And I liked him, dad, I really liked him. Practically from Day One. But he never showed any interest in me that way until my sweet sixteen party. It was stupid of me to throw that party. I wish I hadn't. There were far too many people, and there was far too much alcohol. I had never drunk alcohol before. Ever. And I didn't realise the effect it would have. It made me do really stupid things."

Kurt stopped there for a moment and took a long, shuddering breath. Burt put his hand on Kurt's shoulder comfortingly.

When the silence stretched on, Burt prompted: "It made you do stupid things, you say. What did you do?"

Kurt flushed rosy red and swallowed nervously. "We … we stripped off all our clothes and jumped into the swimming pool."

Burt let out a short bark of laughter. "Been there, done that."

Kurt raised an eyebrow at this revelation, but it gave him the courage to go on. "And this boy … he was there, too. And I … I kind of attacked him. Kissed him and stuff."

"And he went along with it?" inquired Burt.

"Yes. Yes, he did," confirmed Kurt. He hesitated a moment, and then went on: "And then the paparazzi showed up and started taking pictures. And I was ashamed and horrified … And the boy … he just laughed and ran away. And I was angry with him for leaving me in this mess. I was heart-broken too. I could see it hadn't meant much to him, as it had to me."

"Maybe he just didn't know how to deal with his feelings," said Burt reasonably. "You should have talked to him before you left your whole life there behind and came back here. Have you talked to him since?"

"Only once," admitted Kurt.

"And did he explain himself?" asked Burt.

Kurt snorted. "No, he didn't."

"Well, if you ever see him again, talk it out," Burt advised. "You'll feel better afterwards."

Kurt hummed non-committally and took a bite from his sandwich. Burt took that to mean that their conversation was over and continued eating as well.

When they'd both finished, they stood up to go back to work, and Burt surprised Kurt with a bear hug.

"Thanks for telling me, son. You know you can come to me whenever you like, right? Whatever the matter is? Don't bottle it up. Don't try to deal with everything yourself. Sometimes it helps just to talk about it. And I'm always here for you."

"I know," nodded Kurt. "Thank you, dad. Now please let go, I can't breathe!"