Chapter Twenty-One: New Year's Eve

Being here felt fundamentally wrong.

The bed was soft under him, cradling him like a mother cradles her newborn baby to her chest. Deeper, even so, like if the baby had come out half dead; he felt half dead lying there on it. But the bed was soft, and that was the worst possible thing that could have been happening. Except the walls were also covered in posters of happy things, of musicals and shows and one from the play the school was putting on that he'd actually had the balls to audition for, even if he didn't get cast, but he'd put the poster up anyway because Rachel was the lead, like she usually was, and she was his best friend.

Kurt rolled his eyes as he wiped a stray tear from his cheek. Stupid. What a stupid thing to cry about. He had so much to cry about, but he chose something stupid. His therapist would have a lot to say about that, he thought bitterly, but relaxed the tense muscles in his face when he also realized that she would not appreciate his bitter thoughts.

Really, if he thought about it, the time to cry had already passed. Why do it now, right before the New Year? Why cry when there's a fresh chance both literally and metaphorically waiting for you downstairs? His voice was back, he was going to school soon, and his boyfriend was in the kitchen concocting something indigestible from his stepbrother's collection of soda and energy drinks.

But being in his own bedroom, the one he'd moved into with his new family and decorated after weeks of cutting out magazine clippings and printing and gluing pieces into a mood board, being here felt wrong. He couldn't breathe. His fingers found the bracelet around his wrist, and he took deep, shaky breaths until they evened out, the cool metal touch grounding him to the real world.

If it helped, it felt less wrong than it did five hours ago, when Kurt, flanked on both sides by Burt and Carole and with Finn behind him just in case, climbed the stairs and set foot in his own bedroom for the first time in over a month, after weeks in a coma and more weeks in the hospital and some more confined to the bottom floor like the invalid he was. It felt less wrong than when he'd finally been left alone, maybe for the first time in over a month, and combed through his closet for something to wear to the party his friends were throwing for him in his own house that he still couldn't leave. Less wrong than the first time he'd retreated up here, hauling himself up those stairs with an iron grip on the railings like he'd just run a marathon instead of climbed a few steps, so he could hide from the loud laughter and fireworks and the incessant buzz of the television streaming some celebration in New York that he might never see for himself.

Yeah, he thought optimistically. It feels less wrong now.

A quiet knocking came from the open door, and Kurt lifted his head. Blaine was leaning against the doorframe, bowtie undone and resting against the crisp white shirt of his suit – the cheeky man had insisted on wearing semi-formal despite being in a small house filled with teenagers on New Year's, and damn, did he look good doing it. Kurt's hands stretched towards him instinctively, and Blaine laughed as he walked across the length of the room.

"Are you okay, babe?" Blaine whispered against his forehead as his hands came around to cradle the boy's head.

Kurt sighed contentedly, nestling closer. "About as okay as possible. Maybe more."

Blaine frowned, nevertheless. "Do you want to talk about it?"

His eyes fell shut, and a small smile formed on his lips. "Do you know what I want to do?"

"What?"

"See the snow again." Kurt opened his eyes, and he swore he'd never look away from Blaine's if he had the choice. "I want to go outside and breathe the fresh air and get out of this goddamn room, that's what I want to do. And I want to do it with you."

Blaine grinned and stood, holding out a hand. "I think I can make that happen for us."

Kurt took it. "What are we waiting for, then?"

They'd snuck out through the back to avoid the partygoers with non-alcoholic drinks in their red solo cups and music blasting loud enough that it would warrant a noise complaint any other night of the year and come around front to the same porch where they had watched the stars. The cold air nipped at their noses and ears like a friendly puppy on the sidewalk, neither one bothered by it as they huddled together on the porch seat.

Blaine sighed, resting his head in the crook of Kurt's neck as snowflakes danced down from the clouds and settled happily on his warmly wrapped shoulders. "Can I say something?" he asked.

"Anything," Kurt replied.

Blaine breathed in deeply, nose pressed against Kurt's skin, taking in the scent of freshly showered skin and cologne that smelled like the ocean. Comforted, he confessed, "When you were in the coma, I would pick a dandelion from outside the hospital and leave it in a vase on your windowsill. Every day, I would. Until you woke up."

"What?" Kurt asked, stunned. Of everything he'd expected Blaine to say just now, that was probably the last. Neither of them had really addressed the time between Kurt being wheeled into the E.R. and him waking up two weeks later, if for the sole reason that it was, well, an inconsequential time. To Kurt, at least. Apparently not to Blaine. "Why did you do that? That was before you even knew me, before we met."

"It wasn't before we met," Blaine corrected. "We met in the E.R. I don't know how much you remember from that day, but I remember every second vividly, the way I remember the day my father or Cooper's wife died."

Kurt sniffled dryly, tipping his head down to press a kiss to Blaine's lips. "I remember bits and pieces. You, saying my name, saying that it would be okay. I remember the pain, and then it went away suddenly, and then the dreams started and kept happening until I…"

"The pain went away when you died," Blaine explained. He wasn't crying, but the misty look in his eyes betrayed him. Maybe he was crying a little bit. "I'd never seen anything like it, not really. I could have sworn that when your heart stopped, so did mine." Kurt's mouth had dropped open, and Blaine's pulse began to quicken nervously. "What?"

"I… I died?" he repeated incredulously, breathing through the pain in his chest. Phantom pain, as though his body could remember what his mind didn't. In, out, the blood in his heart, the air in his lungs, in, out.

Blaine's eyes widened. "Shit, did they not tell you? It was on the first night, Kurt, and it was weeks before you woke up, and your dad probably didn't even remember that it happened, or he didn't think you needed to know…"

"No, they didn't tell me," Kurt cut him off, watching his boyfriend's face. "You brought me back?"

"I…" Blaine nodded weakly. "Yeah, I did."

Oh. Sometimes Kurt forgot that he was dating a man who'd been through college and most of medical school and spent his days saving people's lives – saving his life. He'd always thought his first boyfriend would work part-time at Breadsticks or they'd meet at an acting class in New York and be cast opposite each other in a romantic play. This, he had never imagined. He couldn't understand this.

"You saved my life and got me flowers," Kurt joked, placing a hand softly over Blaine's. He could tell the man was struggling with their conversation, just like he was. "I guess I got lucky with you, huh?"

Blaine shrugged, like he truly didn't know the answer. "It was hard, not knowing if you were going to wake up or not after everything my brother and I did in that operating room. I counted the days with those dandelions, and when the space ran out in the vase, you woke up. I know it was probably nothing, but to me it was-"

"Good timing," Kurt interrupted. "Nothing but good timing."

"It could have been magic for all I cared," Blaine huffed, hiding his face in Kurt's neck again. "It could have been divine intervention and I would have thanked a god I don't believe in if it meant you were alive."

Kurt bit his lip, eyes welling. "Oh."

"It was everything. I couldn't believe it. When I went to the flower shop to get you a bouquet – I thought it would be okay, you know, because you looked so lonely and sick in that dreary place and the nurses buy flowers for the rooms sometimes, so I figured why not, even though I suppose they're more weeds than anything else, and that's a bit morbid – anyway, when I went, I saw these flowers I had never seen before. They were the most gorgeous, unique things in the place, and they… well, they reminded me of you, even though I didn't know you."

"And you bought them?" Kurt asked. He tried not to think about the beautiful things Blaine was saying too deeply or he might start bawling again for no reason.

Blaine shook his head. "I was being stupid and reckless, and I overstepped. Told the woman to sell them to someone in love. It wasn't about you, not really. I barely even knew you then. It was more about me than anything else."

"What do you mean?"

"I…" Blaine ran a hand over his face. "It's hard to explain. Cooper kept making these stupid jokes about me and Sebastian getting married, but I never wanted that. I didn't want some predictable, safe romance with my best friend just because we were both lonely and it was convenient. I wanted recklessness, something that knocked the breath out of my lungs with how powerful it was. Something that hurt enough to make me feel. And that's what I got with you."

Kurt folded his lips together. "Blaine, that sounds horrible."

The man threw a glance at Kurt as though only just remembering he was there. "I know how it sounds, but it's not like that," he dismissed, explaining himself. "I've always been Blaine. The dependable one. The one who's in charge. But with relationships, I wanted to be at the mercy of my feelings, so much that it was impossible for me to talk myself out of it, even if everyone around me said it was a bad idea. I wanted to let the universe take charge for once."

"I guess I can understand," Kurt decided. "It's just that, if there was one thing in my life I could control, it would be never, ever hurting you, Blaine Anderson."

"It's good that all the hurt's in the past, then," Blaine said, smiling, bringing Kurt's hand up to his lips and pressing a kiss to it.

Kurt leaned back against the seat, content. "I wonder if anyone ever bought those flowers."

Blaine nodded. "I think about it sometimes. Another reason I didn't buy them was because I didn't know if… if you would ever see them. And I wanted them to mean something, convey something, even if it wasn't from me to you."

"Why do you do that?" Kurt groaned, burying his nose into the man's soft curls.

Blaine frowned, confused. "Do what?"

"Make it so damn hard for me not to, like, need to kiss you."

A delighted smirk spread across Blaine's lips. "Maybe because I'm not trying very hard to stop it."

Kurt wiped his smirk off, then, and simultaneously shut his teasing mouth up with a deep kiss, the kind at the end of a fairy tale where one of them sweeps the other into a bowed embrace, and cheerful music plays to make you forget that you have to let go of the story soon, and only those two can really feel the magic while everyone else just grasps desperately at straws to understand.

They broke apart, resting their foreheads together. For the rest of their lives, they told themselves that that was the moment Burt found them, and not a moment sooner. It was their moment, a sweet, tender moment that was meant to be one of the rungs on the ladder of falling in love.

A strong, firm grip tightened around Kurt's arm, and a moment later, he was being ripped from Blaine's embrace. His eyes opened groggily but alarmed, and he flailed to get away from the intruder's grasp until he realized it was his own father. "Dad?" Kurt called out as the man let go of his arm and stepped in front of him defensively.

"Burt, please," he heard Blaine say, but couldn't see him from behind his father. "Let us explain."

"Explain?" The man roared, finally moving further from Kurt which allowed him to see more clearly. Blaine's hand was clutching his face, and Kurt realized in a horrific moment that his father had hit him. "Explain how you took advantage of my injured son? How you wormed your way into his vulnerable head just so you could get him to think he had, what, feelings for you? He's a child, Anderson. My child."

Kurt took a step back, shocked at the things coming out of his father's mouth. His head swam with dizziness, and tears pooled in his whirlpool eyes. "Dad," he whispered, hand covering his own mouth.

"Mr. Hummel," Blaine began, removing the hand from his face to reveal a swelling eye and split lip. Kurt gasped quietly, and Blaine shot him a look that said not now before turning back to his father. "I would never, ever hurt your son. Not in a million years. I remember every word you said to me during that car ride home, how you would do anything it takes to keep Kurt from pain like he's already known. But I would do exactly those same things, Mr. Hummel, which is why I don't plan on leaving him for as long as he wants me to stick around, regardless of what you think about it."

"He's a child-"

"No, he's not." Blaine let his eyes wander to Kurt's frightened and tear-stained face. "He's not a child. He turns eighteen in three months, and he's a strong, independent man who's been through more in that time than many of us can claim since we've been alive. And you agreed about that, too, the night in the car. You agreed to let us be alone together because Kurt is an adult who can handle himself. Sure, he's still a teenager, but teenagers date. It's what they do. He should be allowed to make his own decisions, whether or not you agree on if they're mistakes."

Kurt just stared back at him with something swimming in those eyes, something unlike anything Blaine had ever seen before. "Dad," he said, evenly and calmly as he took a step forward and placed a comforting hand on his father's shoulder. "He's telling the truth. Just because bad things have happened to me doesn't make me any less than I was before. You trusted me then, and I need you to trust me now."

"He's going to hurt you," Burt whispered weakly in protest.

"So? Let him hurt me," Kurt fired back, ignoring Blaine's alarmed expression. "Let him hurt me, because boys my age get hurt sometimes. We have first loves, first heartbreaks, and if Blaine is the person I'm meant to be with, none of that changes anything. And if not, then at least we tried."

"Tried for nothing!" Burt cried, grabbing Kurt's sleeve in hysteria. "I can't see you hurt again! These have been the worst few months of my life, Kurt. Worse than when your mother passed away, because at least hers was painless. At least she wasn't suffering."

Kurt pulled himself away, shaking his head as tears streamed down his cheeks. "I was assaulted. I died. My heart stopped. I've been hurt, and honestly, I don't know anything anymore. I don't know how I'm going to walk through the halls at school without flinching, or how to sleep without tossing and turning the whole night because I'm afraid to close my eyes, or how to look at myself in the mirror without wanting to smash the whole fucking thing, or how to-"

"Stop." His father's voice was like the shingles on a rooftop after a hurricane. "Please, Kurt."

The boy soldiered on, fallen prey to unconstraint. "All I know is that Blaine would never, never hurt me, okay? He does the opposite of hurt me. Being around him heals me. Because I want to try with him, when lately all I've wanted to do is give up."

Burt's knees gave out, and the porch seat caught him. "I hoped you two would never..." Burt trailed off, wiping his pale and sweaty face with the back of his hand. "Because he's older than you, and he's going to have a hard time of it as a doctor, and I didn't want that in your life. But I never thought... I never thought of how you-"

"Think of it. Please." Kurt sat beside him, taking his father's hand in his own. "That's all you should have been thinking about in the first place. Let me think about the rest. They're my decisions, and it's my life, and even though I care about what you think, dad, Blaine is going to be in it whether you like it or not."

Burt swallowed around the knot in his throat. "Okay."

"Okay?" Kurt repeated, barely believing this was happening right now. They would never have to hide again. They could have dinner together, hold hands, cuddle on the sofa as they watched the game with his family. He could tell his friends.

Burt nodded and met his son's eyes. "Okay. I won't stand between you two. That doesn't mean that I like this, not right now."

"But someday?" Kurt tried, his eyes wide as the arms of an embrace. His father shrugged noncommittedly, and that was enough. He wrapped him up into a hug, and soon enough, Blaine came to join them on the seat. He didn't join the embrace, but it was enough. For now.

Someone cleared their throat in the doorway. Kurt turned his head to see the front door flung wide open, a crowd of his friends gathered in it. Finn smiled gently at him when he caught his eye, and Santana mouthed I knew it. He rolled his eyes at her, instead looking to his stepmother, whose face was clouded with a multitude of emotions, but the one she settled on seemed to be contentedness, which he was okay with. Blaine stood first, holding out a hand for Kurt, who took it happily as his boyfriend led him inside the house. Burt stopped them.

Kurt turned to his father, ready to start fighting again, but stopped when Burt merely pressed a hand to Blaine's shoulder. "I'm sorry for hitting you," he said, dropping his hand.

Blaine gave him a half-smile. "It's okay."

"No, it's not," Burt replied, echoing Kurt's exact sentiments. "It was impulsive and childish, and I'm sorry."

Blaine nodded. "Hey, it's kind of badass."

Kurt rolled his eyes and touched his fingertips gently to his boyfriend's injured lip, wincing as Blaine's face clouded with pain. He sighed. "Don't you go all fighter on me now, Blaine. My heart can't take it."

"I promise, no more fist fights," Blaine teased, tightening his grasp on Kurt's hand.

Carole stepped outside into the cold, wrapping her shawl tighter around her shoulders. "Why don't you boys head inside?" she suggested. "I'll be right in to take a look at your battle wounds, Blaine."

Agreeing, they headed inside where the rest of Kurt's friends had retreated, closing the door behind them as Burt and Carole seemed to want a moment to themselves on the porch. The girls pounced on Kurt right away, almost before he could even revel in holding Blaine's hand in front of everyone.

"How long have you two been together?" Mercedes grilled, wrapping him in a firm hug that made his ribs ache a bit, not that he said anything.

"Since Christmas," Kurt replied, breathing through his nose as she released him. Somehow, the touch had been okay. He didn't feel the need to flinch away or run back upstairs to his room, not right away at least. It was less wrong than it had been before.

"And you didn't tell us?" Tina gasped, holding a hand to her chest dramatically. She giggled, eyes falling to Blaine and widening as she seemed to really take him in for the first time. "Damn, Kurt."

"Sorry for wanting to keep my handsome boyfriend to myself for a while," he teased as Blaine wrapped an arm around his waist. His chest was light and airy, free. He was the happiest he could remember. It was okay. Yeah, it was okay. It was getting better.

Blaine watched Kurt with his friends, smiling and protesting when they suggested playing games but eventually relenting and dragging them to the cupboard where they kept them. It was innocent, clean high school fun, and he missed it. Kurt caught his eye and gestured for him to join them, but that was when Carole and Burt came back inside, shivering from the cold, and Blaine mouthed in a minute, have fun before hurrying to make them some hot coffee.

Carole waltzed into the kitchen, a small, blue bag in her hand. She set it down on the island and unzipped it, revealing an array of medical supplies. "You got quite a shiner there," she commented as Blaine poured the coffee into three mugs. "Doesn't look like that nasty cut on your lip needs any stitches, though."

"Your husband has quite the right hook," Blaine fired back humorously.

"Haha," she retorted, pressing his lip with a wet towel. "Hold that there."

He did. "How do you feel about all of this? I know Kurt's like your son, too."

"Kurt is my son," she corrected, cracking a cold compress and holding it to his eye. "And I'm not happy about the fact that he lied to me, but I'm not unhappy about you two being together. He's always had this thing about you, ever since he first said your name in that hospital room. It's like you being around makes him feel safer."

"I should hope that he feels safe with me," Blaine said, wincing as his eye throbbed painfully.

"Not just that," Carole explained. "It's like he feels safer just knowing you're out there. Like the first night he came home and your voice calmed him down during his panic attack."

"You know, he calms me down too, even if sometimes I don't realize it," he mused. "I've always been wound up. Stressed. On the edge. He makes me think about the bigger picture." In fact, he could barely believe how much he'd changed over the last few months. In some ways, the weight on his shoulder had become heavier, but now he had someone to share it with. It was bearable, now. Sure, he couldn't save everyone. He'd learned that the hard way. But he was a better person now, the kind who knew life and truth and happiness all at once when he'd only ever known them separately. He knew the storyline so far and what it meant, but what happened next was all up to him and how he reacted — they teach you the codes in school, but you have to learn the conduct yourself.

Carole packed away the rest of her supplies, smiling. She glanced at the clock, eyes lighting up. "It's almost midnight. Should we head back inside?"

"Of course." Blaine grabbed his own drink and Burt's, following Carole into the living room and handing it off. The man nodded in thanks, the gruffness almost gone from his actions, and they all gathered in front of the TV to watch the ball drop. After a moment, Kurt and his friends came tumbling back into the room, all laughter and smiles and easiness. Kurt curled up into Blaine's side, lacing their fingers together and tucking his head into the crook of his neck.

"Someday, I'm going to be there," the boy whispered, pointing at the screen with their joined hands where crowds of cheering people chanting the night away, making room for the New Year.

"Yeah?" Blaine responded, grinning at his boyfriend's ridiculously adorable nod. "How would you like some company when you're finally there?"

Kurt turned his wide, beautiful eyes onto him, and the loud count-down to midnight fell hush to his ears when he began to speak. Ten, nine… "Really?"

Blaine brought their hands to his lips, leaving a gentle kiss. The quiet sting of pain reminded him that they were finally allowed to be together, and he welcomed it. Seven, six… "Anywhere you go, I'll follow you, gladly." … four, three…

The rest of them leaned closer towards the TV as the last three seconds ticked down, but Kurt and Blaine couldn't be bothered to look away from one another. There would be other midnights where they could watch the screen. Not this one. Shrieking sounded from the television, and they vaguely registered the others celebrating in hugs and kisses and words.

Blaine looped a finger under Kurt's chin, tilting it up and pressing their lips together. It was a soft, tender kiss, the one after the end of the story, when no one's watching even if someone is, when there's nothing left to fight and all the heroes have to do now is let themselves realize that. They broke apart after a minute or two, and Blaine whispered against his lips, "Happy New Year, Kurt."

Kurt's shining eyes flickered in the light of the TV. "Happy New Year, Blaine."

And somehow, they both had a feeling that it would be.

A/N: This was a hard one to write. I've been working on this story for almost two years now, and I wasn't ready to end it. But, once I started writing this chapter, I knew it was the end. Maybe not the end of the verse, but the end of the story. If there's going to be a sequel, it will be more fast-paced – it's hard to believe that this whole story took place during just over a month. If you would like to stay tuned for a possible addition to the verse, follow me here or on Instagram at nayawarbler. I would just like to thank everyone who took the time to read and leave me a message for Codes & Conduct, and say that this story is very, very dear to my heart. A lot has happened over the last two years, and writing is a constant in troubling and happy times alike. Happy holidays everyone, and happy New Year! I hope, like Kurt and Blaine's, and it will be a great one.

See you soon,

Naya