Sebastian is gone when Kurt awakes late the next morning – and so are both his headache and the churning sickness in his stomach. He thirstily drinks the rest of the cold tea left by his bedside and then carefully tests his legs. When he finds that he feels still a bit wobbly, but otherwise fine, he moves to put on his clothes, aware that he now has no excuse to spend another day in bed.

When he sees his reflection for the first time in the mirror, he actually squeals in disgust: there's a sickly pallor to his skin, he has dark circles under his eyes, his hair looks greasy and his cheeks hollow.

"Oh God," he groans when he remembers that Sebastian has seen him like this, and then he finds it silly that he cares that Sebastian has seen him like this. He fights through his weakness until he has washed his hair and body thoroughly. His hands tremble a little, but he finally feels human again when he enters the kitchen, where his arrival is met with great cheer by the other servants.

He has to take it easy for another day or two, and he's thankful for Andy and Will, who make sure that he has to carry nothing heavier than a teaspoon by himself. Just climbing the staircase up to the second floor makes his knees shake and his body break out in cold sweat, and when he tries to serve at dinner that first day, Sebastian takes one long, hard look at him, rolls his eyes and sends him back to bed.

But it's clear that the worst is over and Kurt is relieved – not only because contracting a terrible illness in itself would be bad, but also because he'd never forgive himself for missing what London has to offer this season. The topic ablaze in the streets, the papers and the household, discussed in speculative headlines and short conversations with the milkman or the mailman, is the opening of the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park. Everyone is scrambling up enough money to visit, consulting the papers for the cheapest admission dates, and everyone has a favourite attraction they're most looking forward to: Will wants to look at the musical instruments from all over the world, Jane's eyes light up whenever she talks about the India exhibits, and Andy just wants to chat up some pretty girls and impress them with bad lines of poetry he's been memorising just for the occasion. Kurt himself isn't drawn to anything in particular – he just wants to see the spectacle, the event, especially now after he has heard Sebastian talk about it.

They make plans to visit the Exhibition next Sunday all together, but Kurt has other things to worry about first. He has luckily just recovered in time for the ball at Spencer House and is sufficiently nervous, as are Andy and Will.

"I've never served at a large ball before," Andy says as he's brushing out his uniform under Kurt's watchful eye. "Our former masters weren't that grand a people, mind you. The only thing we served at was a house ball, and there were maybe twenty people there?"

"And nobody wanted to dance," Will adds, his eyes round with worry. "Oh Lord, people will dance at this, won't they? What if I crush into anyone? What if I'll spill something?"

"You'll do great," Kurt reassures him, even though Will's comment sets his own thoughts reeling: what if he spills anything? Or trips over the hem of some elaborate dress? Kurt has walked past the house before, it's not that much bigger than Minerva House, and if so many people are coming it's going to be absolutely crowded…

"You will be fine," Nick interrupts his thoughts. He is the calm centre of the room as he combs his hair out of his face, already looking immaculate – crisp white shirt, shiny shoes, not a speck of dust anywhere. "All of you. You don't have to worry – of course you should try to be as inconspicuous as possible, but there's no harm if you're not. It's absolutely impossible to avoid some spillage at these gatherings, and no one will hold you responsible." He dips his comb into the wash bowl one last time. "I know Mr Durham, he's kind and competent. He'll let you know exactly what he'll expect of you, but he also won't hold it against you if you trip up once or twice."

Nick is right about that: Mr Durham really is competent. When the delegation from Minerva House arrives six hours before the start of the ball, Spencer House is already buzzing like a beehive – full of people frantically running around, placing flowers, cleaning plates, arranging furniture. There are at least twenty people cramped downstairs in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and stuffing chickens, but Kurt catches only a short glimpse inside before Mr Durham sets them to work. They carry carpets and tables, help the musicians set up their instruments once they arrive and polish a small army of wine glasses, and Kurt is thankful for the activity as it keeps his nervousness at bay.

Darkness has fallen over Green Park when the first guests arrive and over the next hours, Spencer House fills with the elite of the aristocracy and landed gentry. Earl and Countess Spencer are pleasant hosts, Kurt thinks as he watches them greet their guests one after the other. He offers refreshments to the people walking past him and into the house, and he is surprised by how many faces he easily recognises. There are the Huntingtons and the Crawshaws and several men with severe expressions, who leave their wives at the earliest opportunity and gather in small circles, to smoke their pipes and discuss politics. Kurt can spot Lord Bromley in one group, casting suspicious looks at another group gathered around Lord Manners. Kurt's eyes move quickly from one guest to another as he tries to drink in everything – the soft music drifting through the open doors, the light of the candles and lamps, the smart tailcoats of the gentleman and the elaborate dresses of the ladies that walk past him. His heart is pounding and he has to actively stop himself from smiling to widely. Instead, he schools his face into a polite mask of professional indifference and silently offers glasses filled with wine to anyone walking past him.

He doesn't miss the moment Sebastian arrives, clad in a black tailcoat that emphasises his narrow waist and long legs. He chats amiably with Lord Spencer for a moment, kisses the hand of the Countess and whispers something in her ear that makes her laugh and slap Sebastian's shoulder playfully with her feathered fan. He catches Kurt's eye when he walks up the stairs and lingers a moment to pick a glass of wine from the tray Kurt is carrying.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he says, his lips barely moving, his words only loud enough for Kurt to hear. Kurt's smile must be enough of an answer because Sebastian winks and ducks into the next room, where he is immediately accosted by Lady Isabella, who demands to have a dance with him.

Kurt doesn't leave his post for another hour until most guests have gathered in the other rooms and the Spencers give up their welcoming post. One of the last guests to arrive is a face Kurt could have done without ever seeing again: Sir Reginald arrives alone, clad in an awful waistcoat in a colour somewhere between grey and snotty green that Kurt would like to set on fire immediately. The sneer on his face seems to have become a permanent feature now, and Kurt hates the sound of his whiny, grating voice when he greets the Spencers. It reminds him of days he'd like to leave far behind him – days of humiliation, misunderstandings and fights, days of feeling alone and uncertain and not enough.

The feeling doesn't vanish when Sir Reginald brushes past him without sparing him a glance. It doesn't leave when he returns to the kitchen to restock his tray, not when he weaves through the crowd gathering in the great room, collecting empty glasses and handing out full ones. Kurt hates that his happy mood is fragile enough to disappear after seeing one unwelcomed face, but now, he begins to ask himself what exactly he's doing here. Being excited about people who don't care one bit about him, to whom he will never be important enough to be acknowledged – it's quite pathetic in a way.

As Kurt turns around to move around two ladies deep in conversation behind one shared fan he scans the crowd, looking for glasses to be collected until suddenly, his gaze meets Sebastian's across the room. Sebastian is looking directly at him, smiling over the glass he is pressing to his lips. It's brief, but full of warmth, and even though Sebastian's gaze immediately darts back to the person he's engaged in a conversation with, the brief moment is enough. It dispels Kurt's memories which so easily turn into reservations. It makes Kurt focus on the moment, makes him realise that despite being a room full of rich, well-dressed, handsome men, Sebastian is still looking at him.

His feet have carried him halfway across the room before he realised it. He has to stop frequently, to hand out a glass or two or to avoid stepping on the train of another elaborate dress, and he has time enough to peer at what Sebastian is doing.

There's another man standing next to Sebastian. An offensively handsome man, Kurt notices instantly. Dark, brown locks fall into his sparkling dark eyes and he has obscenely long legs, broad shoulders, full lips and dimples when he laughs, which he does often. More importantly than that, however: he has his arm around Sebastian's shoulders while he gestures at someone across the room. He grins and then leans forward to whisper something in Sebastian's ear, and something inside Kurt's chest twists with intense dislike. It's all perfectly innocent really, from an objective point of view. And yet, there is something about that scene, something about the easy familiarity between them and the way Sebastian returns his smile that doesn't seem quite so innocent to Kurt. The glass of Sebastian's companion is empty, and Kurt etches closer to them until he can hear what they're saying.

"- never seen such a sourpuss in my life, Bas. Whatever have you done to the man?"

Sebastian rolls his eyes, "We both know that gossip reaches you ears faster than those of any other man in England. Surely you don't need me to explain what happened."

"Maybe not," the other man says with a teasing grin. "But maybe I want you to explain what happened."

"What, right here? Now?" Sebastian says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Sure, what a stellar idea Ned. Maybe one of your best. Would you like me to get up on the table and made a grand speech about it?"

The other man throws his head back and laughs. "Oh, can you imagine the look on Georgiana's face?" He chuckles for another moment, but then he turns to Sebastian again, and his tone is serious when he says, "Bas. Bastian. If you need any help, my friend…"

"I know," Sebastian replies and his smile is honest in a way it seldom is when he talks to other people. "Thank you Ned, but I'd like to consider the matter settled."

Kurt is torn between wanting to step between them and listen to their conversation unnoticed forever. He doesn't have to ponder this conflict for more than a second though, because the other man looks up, spots him and waves him over to exchange his empty glass for a full one. Kurt takes great care to avoid Sebastian's gaze, but out of the corner of his eye he catches how Sebastian's smile widens.

"Well, if you change your mind… about anything we talked about," he winks at Sebastian and Kurt feels the sudden urge to trip and pour all of the remaining glasses over this man's admittedly fabulous tailcoat. "You know where to find me. Now if you'll excuse me, Isaac Griffiths has been staring at me all evening and I intend to make the most of it."

With a last pat on Sebastian's back he vanishes into the crowd and Kurt stares after him, mouth slightly agape as he questions whether he just heard what he believes to have just heard. When someone places a glass on Kurt's tray he looks up, only to be greeted by warm emerald eyes beaming down at him. Whatever Sebastian sees on Kurt's face makes him pause. He has barely opened his mouth, however, when a voice cuts through the noise around them:

"Lord Smythe!"

Sebastian and Kurt turn around at the same time, and for a moment, Kurt doesn't recognise the young lady approaching them with careful but determined steps. But then Sebastian gasps, "Claudine?" and Kurt knows where he has seen the woman before. He's grateful for the reminder though, because he wouldn't have recognised Lady Isabella's sister without it. Lady Claudine looks absolutely stunning. Gone are the affected hairstyles and make-up – her dark hair is curled in ringlets in the front that frame her pretty face, but the rest is piled up in a neat but simple bun. Her dress is decidedly subtle in comparison to the gowns she sported at Bailey Hall, but it is cut to the latest fashion, with a low neckline and a wide skirt, and its bright blue colour makes her eyes sparkle. The effect aimed at with the cut of the dress, carefully designed to hide her growing midsection, is made null and void by her hand that lovingly cradles her swollen belly as she navigates through the people in the room. The most drastic difference, however, is not her appearance – it's the fact that she seems to radiate happiness, from the bright smile on her face to the light bounce in her step as she comes to stand next to Sebastian.

"Don't say you don't recognise me," she laughs and extents her hand. Sebastian is staring at her, his mouth lightly open. "No, I…" he replies and Kurt has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning. Speechless isn't a look he sees often on Sebastian.

"It's been almost a year, hasn't it?" Lady Claudine says kindly, "How have you been?"

Sebastian finally shakes off his surprise: his shocked features change into an honestly pleased look as he bends down to kiss Lady Claudine's gloved hand. "Not as well as you, I see," he replies, "Claudine, you look radiant." Lady Claudine laughs at that, though there's a slight blush on her cheeks. "Stop it, you know it's not true. Lady Adelaide has given me scandalised looks all evening for disrupting the ball with my 'condition'." She smiles cheekily and Kurt has the distinct impression that she couldn't possible care less about the opinion of Lady Adelaide.

"Truth be told, that only makes me appreciate your company more," Sebastian winks, and Kurt feels a strange pinch in his stomach when he realises that Sebastian is flirting. He's not sure whether Lady Claudine noticed though, since her gaze is already darting away.

"Lord Smythe, you must meet my husband," she says, half-turning around and waving at someone across the room. "I've been looking for you at the few balls we attended, but Arthur told me you stayed at Bailey Hall until recently?"

"Yes," Sebastian says, "I'm sure my company has been missed terribly, which was all the more reason to make myself scarce."

Lady Claudine laughs at that before she extents her hand and reaches for the arm of the man approaching her. He is short, not much taller than Lady Claudine herself, with a stout figure and an impressive moustache. He's older than Sebastian, maybe in his forties, and the lines around his eyes give him the appearance of a good-natured fellow.

"Lord Smythe, this is my husband, Sir Edward Comyn," Lady Claudine introduces while her husband extents his hand. "Eddie, this is Lord Smythe – you remember, a good friend of Arthur and Isabella."

There's a spark of recognition in Sebastian's eyes when he shakes the other man's hand, and he asks, "Comyn? I must have heard the name before…"

"Ah, you have undoubtedly heard it in connection to my uncle's family," Sir Comyn says. The lines around his eyes deepen when he smiles. "Sir Robert Buckley Comyn has a reputation I can only hope to live up to one day."

"Well," Sebastian says, "There must be benefits to having a famous man of the law as your uncle – and a number of drawbacks, I imagine. Are you in the same line of business?"

"Indeed," Sir Comyn says and immediately straightens his back when he adds proudly, "Comyn and Sons, the finest solicitors in London." He fishes a card out of his pocket and hands it over to Sebastian. "If you're ever in need of legal advice or a business partner, Lord Smythe, you must come to us."

"Thank you," Sebastian says, briefly studying the card before he slips it in his pocket. "Business partner, you say?"

"Well, from what my dearest Claudine told me," Sir Comyn says and when he looks at Lady Claudine, his eyes shine with love and adoration so much that Kurt has to avert his gaze because it feels like he's intruding on a very private moment – especially since Lady Claudine returns that look with equal fondness. "You are an honest man, Lord Smythe. Honesty is something I value in a business partner."

Sebastian looks at Claudine, his face equal parts surprise and guilt, and Kurt too is reminded of how not only Sebastian, but also Nick, Jeff and himself talked about Lady Claudine during her visit.

"What business are you referring to?" Sebastian asks.

"Well, you see…"

"Kurt," a low voice hisses in his ear and Kurt flinches hard enough that the liquid in his glasses sways precariously. "Don't just stand there eavesdropping on people, do your job. Lady Charlotte has been asking for wine since – dear god, is that Lady Claudine?"

Kurt follows Nick's surprised gaze and nods. "Married to a solicitor, Sir Comyn? Do you know him?"

"I've heard of his family," Nick says. "His uncle, Judge Comyn, must be a nightmare." He grins, "Newly-knighted family and a working man? Isabella must have thrown a fit when she heard of the connection."

"She was probably elated," Kurt replies dryly. "Now she is secure in the knowledge that she made the more favourable match."

"True," Nick agrees and nudges Kurt's shoulder. "Less gossiping, more serving."


Her majesty doesn't make an appearance after all and Kurt feels almost thankful for that, because when the last guests leave at three in the morning, Sebastian among them, he is dead on his feet.

"Go home," Nick tells him, Andy and Will, who both look like they're about to fall asleep right where they stand. "The regular staff will handle most of the cleaning tomorrow, I'll just help Mr Durham delegate some of the tasks." He looks at Kurt, "Will you be fine acting as the valet for one evening? Assuming his Lordship hasn't already crawled into bed?"

Kurt nods. The cool night air on the short walk home helps to wake him up, so it isn't too gruelling to walk up the stairs and knock on Sebastian's bedroom door. Sebastian is, in fact, still wide awake, even though he has already discarded his tailcoat on his bed.

"So?" he asks when Kurt enters the room. "How was your first London ball?"

Kurt opens his mouth but has to hide a yawn behind his hand before he can answer, which makes Sebastian laugh. "Exhausting," Kurt says, "but amazing."

Sebastian grins as Kurt steps closer. Nick has handed over his valet duties, after all – and suddenly, the tiredness has vanished behind a nervousness Kurt is quite unprepared for. He's done this a thousand times, he reminds himself as he reaches for the buttons of Sebastian's vest, has helped dress and undress a number of men. He can't even count all the times he's helped Sir Robert in or out of a waistcoat.

But none of these thoughts can dispel the fact that Sebastian is not any of these men, and that it's quite a different thing to stand so close to him, feeling the fabric of his waistcoat, warmed by his body, under his fingertips. He can hear Sebastian breathe above his ear, and he has to say something, anything, because if he doesn't he'll look up, and he doesn't know if he's prepared for what he'll see in Sebastian's eyes.

"Lady Claudine looked gorgeous," he says and is grateful when his voice sounds unaffected by the moment.

"Didn't she?" Sebastian replies. "Her husband is quite the character. We talked about business for a while, and he actually had some decent proposals."

"Do you know how her family reacted to the marriage?" Kurt asks. He opens the last button and slides the silky material off Sebastian's shoulders. When he steps back, he feels simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

"Apparently, dear old Isabella fainted when she heard of the engagement," Sebastian replies, and now from a safe distance away Kurt looks up to see the grin on his face. "I can't say I'm surprised. She was always a terrible snob. I never thought Claudine would have the backbone to go through with an attachment like this against her family's wishes, but apparently I've been quite mistaken about her character."

"Well, it wouldn't be the first time," Kurt mumbles and Sebastian throws his cravat at him, or at least tries to – it sails gently to the ground not even halfway to where Kurt stands, and Sebastian has to pick it up to the laughter Kurt doesn't bother muffling.

They chat some more about the ball and its attendants, and Sebastian shares the conversations he had with various people, both known and unknown to Kurt. He is, however, absolutely silent on the matter that Kurt is most curious about, and after waiting a while for Sebastian to address his conversation with the attractive gentleman, Kurt can't bring himself to wait any longer.

"You spent a long time talking to that handsome lord," Kurt says. He hates that his voice sounds higher than usual and falsely cheerful, but he can't make himself keep his mouth shut.

"Hm?" Sebastian says, sorting through his cufflinks. "Who?"

"The man with the brown, curly hair, in the dove grey tailcoat?" Kurt says.

"In the grey- oh, you mean Ned?" Sebastian says. "Lord Edward Drummond-Willoughby?"

Kurt shrugs, though he does recall Sebastian calling the other man 'Ned'. "Yes, I think that was him." And then, because he can't stop himself, he adds, "He's very attractive."

"Oh, that he is, and trust me, he knows," Sebastian agrees and winks secretively. Kurt's toes curl in his shoes. "He has gained quite a reputation over the last years – and not just with the ladies."

"So, he's a friend of yours?" Kurt asks.

"He is," Sebastian says, "Or, well, he was. He is? We haven't really kept in contact over the last months. But let's just say that…" he hesitates briefly, "Out of all the men I spent time with after my father's death, Ned was one of the decent ones."

This confirms Kurt's suspicions. He's happy to hear that Sebastian has had 'decent' people by his side in dark times, of course he is, but he doesn't know how he feels, now that he can put a face to that fact. A very attractive face at that. A picture rises from his memory of Sebastian and Ned standing close together, their faces turned towards each other. Kurt's no fool – he knows what "spending time" with Sebastian entailed in those days, and other images rise from his imagination – of what Sebastian might have done with Ned, with his perfect smile and perfect dimples and perfect long legs. How they might have touched, or kissed, or –

"Great," Kurt says and closes the wardrobe with just a little more force than necessary. "That is. Good to know. And great. Seeing how you're still friends, and all."

His voice sounds just a little too happy and Sebastian frowns at him, puzzled, "Well, as I said, we haven't really kept in contact. He apparently ran into Reginald before and wanted to know what happened between us."

And great, here's another name Kurt would like to banish from the earth. Why are all of these people from Sebastian's past determined to haunt him tonight? "Is he a friend of Sir Reginald?" he asks. Part of him wants Sebastian to say yes, if only so that he has a decent reason for hating Lord Drummond-Willoughby.

"I don't think so," Sebastian says. "They run in the same circles, but I doubt it. Reginald tried to talk to me, I don't know if you saw?" When Kurt shakes his head, he continues, "I told him in very clear terms that I don't want to see his face anywhere near me ever again, but he just wouldn't leave me alone. And well, obviously I didn't want to cause a scene. Ned intercepted our talk and rescued me." He shrugs, "He's always been quite good at reading the room."

So Lord Drummond-Willoughby is not only attractive and decent, but also looks out for Sebastian enough to save him from uncomfortable situations with Sir Sneer-Face. Kurt wants to scream.

"Is he married?" he asks and cringes at how hopeful he sounds. Like that has stopped people before – Arthur Huntington being the shining example.

"Who, Ned?" Sebastian shudders and shakes his head. "I doubt he would do that to any lady. Last I heard he was seen frequently in the company of one Madame King, though from what I saw tonight his attentions might now be directed at Sir Griffiths." He grins and wiggles his eyebrows in a suggestive manner. "I doubt Isaac will regret it, that I can vouch for."

Kurt's teeth are clenched too tightly so that his jaw is beginning to hurt from the tension.

"Capital," he chirps. "Splendid. I'm very happy for them. Are we done here – I mean, is that all you need me for?"

Sebastian frowns, his expression puzzled, "Ah, yes? I mean I can manage but Kurt… is everything alright? You're behaving strangely."

"I'm fine," Kurt replies. "I massively enjoy standing here and hearing you talk about your former lovers. Especially the oh-so-attractive Ned." He lingers on the vowel of the name, drawing it out in disdain, before he leans against the wardrobe and crosses his arms in front of his chest. If he's behaving childishly, he really doesn't care at this particular moment.

Sebastian seems surprised for a second, but then he grins, so wide and amused that Kurt is starting to feel aggravated for an entirely new reason.

"Kurt," Sebastian says. He takes two steps across the room until he stands directly in front of Kurt. His arm comes to rest next to Kurt's head as he leans against the wardrobe, his face moving closer towards Kurt's. "Tell me: are you jealous?"

Kurt opens his mouth to immediately deny the accusation, but he pauses. He looks up at Sebastian, takes in the amused twinkle in his eyes. Possessiveness isn't something Kurt had previously considered to be part of his character, but he can't deny it. It's not just Lord Drummond-Willoughby though, he has to admit – this feeling has become somewhat familiar over the last days. He feels it, to some degree at least, every time Sebastian leaves without him, when he flirts or laughs with other people. Maybe it's because he still isn't secure in what is going to happen between him and Sebastian – whether there's a chance of them coming together when there's so many obstacles between them.

But there's one thing that's abundantly clear to him, and that's the realisation that he wants Sebastian – in so many ways.

"So what if I am?" Kurt replies. He doesn't back away, doesn't put any distance between them. He merely looks up at Sebastian, whose eyes darken at Kurt's admission. His grin drops and his expression changes into something different, something more intense.

"Then I should probably tell you that while I'm still friends with Ned, everything else that happened between us is long in the past," Sebastian says. His voice is lower than before, and Kurt nods, slowly. His own voice is barely more than a whisper when he replies, "Yes, I think I'd like to know that. You should definitely tell me that."

"And maybe…" Sebastian's tongue darts out and wets his bottom lip, "Maybe I should also tell you that I'm not interested in Ned, or Reginald, or Arthur, or whoever was there before." He pauses and his gaze is heavy with emotion when he stares down at Kurt, "Because none of them mattered, ever. And right now, I want something, someone who matters."

Kurt's breathing has become shallow. "Matters how?" he asks.

Sebastian hesitates. "In every way," he says finally. "But I'm waiting for him to tell me how he feels about that. Because I pushed him around and away far too many times, and I don't want to make that mistake again."

Kurt's throat is dry when he tries to swallow and he can feel his heart beat faster while his whole body tingles with warmth, and oh God, has Sebastian's face always been this close?

"In that case," he says, while his gaze darts down to Sebastian's lips and up to his eyes again. "I should probably tell you that I think we both waited long enough."

Sebastian inhales sharply at that. He watches Kurt's eyes for another moment, and his fingers come up to rest on Kurt's cheek, caressing his skin as he leans closer.

The sound of a door falling shut down in the hallway makes both of them jump apart. Footsteps echo down the corridor, approaching Sebastian's door, and then there's knock. When Sebastian shouts, "Come in" and Will sticks his head through the door, Sebastian is sitting on his bed, busy removing his shoes and Kurt is on the other side of the room, hanging up his waistcoat and tailcoat for what is technically the second time.

"I apologise for the disturbance, your Lordship," Will says, his expression apologetic, and rightfully so, Kurt thinks with bitter disappointment. "But we sort of have an emergency downstairs."

"What kind of emergency?" Sebastian asks.

"Toby is sick," Will says and Kurt immediately feels ashamed of his previous resentment, ashamed and concerned. "And Mrs Davies is really worried. She thinks it might be the same thing Kurt had? She wants to send for the doctor, but Mrs Abbot said we have to wait for Nick to come back, but he isn't back yet, and I'm just worried and Mrs Davies started crying and we didn't know what to-"

"Of course you have to send for the doctor," Sebastian says with calm authority. "You fetched him last time, didn't you? Do you remember the address? " When Will nods, he turns to Kurt. "Can you…?"

"I'll go get Nick," Kurt immediately agrees. "We might have to send the maids home as well if it's contagious."

"Thank you," Sebastian says and all bitterness vanishes when Kurt looks at him, at his smile and the silent gratitude in his eyes. It's this expression that keeps Kurt warm as he hurries back towards Spencer House through the thick mist that has fallen over the city, because it promises one thing: later.


Notes: First of all – thank you so much for your wonderful feedback. I have no idea how much each and every comment means to me and how much I cherish and reread them. I'm sure I would not have managed to continue this story if it weren't for you, so really, from the bottom of my heart – thank you.
Secondly, a word about Ned (get used to him, he'll be here for a while) – I do realise that he falls into the stereotype of the "slutty bisexual", and I am aware of the problematic nature of that trope. The reason why he is that way is that I modelled him after Lord Byron, who, well – feel free to look him and his many many affairs up on Wikipedia. I'll try to balance this out in the course of the story.
Lastly, the next chapter (which might be my favourite chapter in this whole story), will be up next Friday. I hope you are all well in these dark times, I hope you and your loved ones can stay safe, and I hope this story brings you some joy.