Notes: Warning for suggested non-consensual sex involving a minor. This chapter does get a bit intense but it felt right for the characters. I've brought a lot of my own experience of therapy into this as well. I hope it isn't upsetting - I've tried to focus more on healing than pain.

Before

Santana rarely goes to parties, but she's glad Blaine convinced her this time. Usually, she would smash down his idea, but she figured a certain cheerleader would be there, along with a substantial amount of alcohol. She and Brittany have been exchanging glances, kept getting paired together in class, and the way that girl laughed just does something to her. But it's nothing compared to what she's doing to her right now.

They're in the bedroom of someone's older sister who's off at college, bass thrumming through the floor, and Britt's fingertips are slowly teasing at the hem of her shirt as she trails kisses down her neck.

She's seen other girls at school go crazy for boys, and never really understood it before. The feeling of this girl on top of her, weight settled over her, whispering 'you're so hot' into her ear – she gets it. She understands every girl who's dumbed herself down, gone weak in the knees, risked getting crabs for some stupid boy. Obviously, she would never feel like this with one of those meatheads sucking bruises into her collarbone, but with Brittany, she can feel herself melting, weakening, and she doesn't care. Her skin is buzzing with the pleasure of it all.

No. Wait.

'Is that you?'

'What?'

'Oh, god-' She fumbles for her phone with every intention of shutting it off, but it's her dad. She's got seventeen missed calls from him too. He knows she's at a party, and just how much of an anomaly that is, and wouldn't bother her this far before curfew if it wasn't important. 'I'm sorry; it could be an emergency.'

'It's fine,' Brittany grins mischievously, 'I'm not going anywhere.'

Santana kisses her one more time before answering.

'Hi, honey – you're not in trouble. But. You need to come home. I'm sorry, I know you're out having fun, but I, I don't know what to do-'

'What's happened? Is Luna okay?'

'No. I mean, she's not hurt, but she's – Tana, please.'

'Right. Okay. I'll be as fast as I can. Hold on.'

'Britt, I'm sorry.'

Brittany frowns, more upset than annoyed. It's worse, somehow.

'Don't worry. Just go. Do you want me to come with you?'

'No, I came with Blaine anyway. We- um. I don't know. I just have to go.'

Brittany nods, squeezing her hand. 'Don't worry. I'll see you on Monday.'

Santana wants to smile, but the coldness in her chest won't let her. She nods instead before running out. As she takes the stairs two at a time, she calls Blaine. Voicemail.

'Where are you? Are you still here? We have to go, it's an emergency. If I don't find you in 5 minutes I'm leaving without you and you'll just have to get over it.'

She rushes from room to room, and he's not in the kitchen, the living room, the garden, the pool – although she does see some vomit in there, good luck to whoever lives here for tomorrow – and he's nowhere to be found. Considering how hard he was pushing to go to this party, she doesn't get why he's hiding, but she just doesn't have the capacity to worry about him. She calls him again and leaves another voicemail.

'Sorry, B. Please let me know you get home safe. Or crash here and I can pick you up in the morning, I don't know, I just need to get home. Talk tomorrow.'

She grabs her jacket and heads over to her car.

'Dad?' she calls out the second the door opens. Her mind has been racing the whole drive back, imagining every awful scenario she can think of. Hands shaking, she walks into the living room. Dad's on the couch, staring blankly ahead, Luna asleep on his lap. Both of their faces are streaked with tears. The room looks the same as always, but everything feels wrong. 'What is it? Where's Mom? Is she hurt?'

He shakes his head silently, passing her a scrap of paper.

'I'm so sorry, honey. You deserve better than me. I love you all very much.'

The only noise in the room is the clock ticking while she reads the note over and over. 'What does this mean? Dad, where is she? When is she coming back?'

He shakes his head. 'I don't know. I don't think- I don't think she's ever coming back.' His hand strokes Luna's hair as he just keeps staring forward. 'I got home from work and all her things were gone. Her half of the closet empty. Her perfume, her toothbrush. All gone. Like she was never even here.'

'Why? Daddy, I don't understand, what's happening?' Her voice is cracking, but she knows she needs to keep it down for Luna. God knows how long it's already taken her to cry herself to sleep. 'Why is she gone?'

Again, he shakes his head. The TV isn't on, but his eyes are glued to the blank screen. 'I'm sorry, Santana.'

She swallows past the lump in her throat. 'So… what now? What do we do?'

He doesn't move. 'I don't know. I guess we figure out how to keep going. Just us.'

She looks at the clock. It's still early for a teenage party, but it's past Luna's bedtime. Looking at her father, she knows he won't be moving for a while. She sniffs and wipes the tear from her cheek, then scoops Luna's tiny body up off the couch to take her to bed. As she feels her sister's arms wrap around her neck, she takes another look at her father – his empty expression, his eyes full of desperation, utterly lost.

'Mommy?' Luna whispers, still pretty much asleep.

'No, baby. Let's get you into bed.'

She doesn't know it yet, but next week Brittany will try again and again to hold her hand, kiss her cheek, give her endless secret glances, but she won't notice. She won't notice much of anything.

There are about fifty different emotions she can't even begin to process, but for some bizarre reason the one that stands out as she tucks Luna into bed is how this has ruined the party. She knows it's irrational, but she's furious with Blaine for disappearing, and probably having a fantastic time while she's in this house, with this awful thing happening, with her whole family breaking, and he's out there somewhere living his best life.

Blaine isn't at the party long. That was never the plan.

He's been thinking about boys more and more the last few months. He can't possibly imagine coming out to anyone except Santana, and they're pretty much in agreement that the rest of the population of McKinley is trash. But every day he sees boys and girls holding hands at school, in the street, sucking face in public like the world is about to end, and he can't help being affected by it. It's not exactly jealousy; lord knows if any of these guys touched him like that he would retch. He just feels like there's this huge part of life, of adolescence, that he's missing out on. Like he's failing at being young. He's almost fifteen; surely he should have at least held hands with someone or maybe even had his first kiss, but how can that ever happen? There's only one other gay kid at school, and while there's definitely something captivating about him, he's very out-and-proud, outspoken, out there. There's no way Blaine's ready for that.

So he downloads a couple of those dating apps. At first he stays anonymous, no pictures, and within 24 hours he's received dozens of messages – some innocuous, some downright filthy. It's half-exciting, half uncomfortable. Everything he thinks about all the time, closeness, attention, just being around other gay guys, and it's all right here at his fingertips. The first month, he doesn't reply to any. Then he feels a little bolder and posts a picture – heavily filtered, carefully angled in a way he hopes makes him look older than he is. He'd give anything not to feel like a little kid anymore, getting left behind while everyone else does all the things that are a part of growing up.

He replies to a handful of messages, surprised by how quickly he gets used to that way of talking, so suggestive and explicit. No intention of anything going further than a couple of messages back and forth, relishing the attention, the validation that comes with being told over and over that he's hot, that guys want to do so many things to him. Occasionally, he touches himself thinking about those saturated photos, those possibilities, those wild scenarios he can't imagine ever really being in.

But then one message feels different.

'I'd make you feel so good, baby.'

He's been called so many things – dude, bro, filthy little slut – but this one… it does something to him.

'Oh yeah? How?'

It sounds like just what he's wanted for so long, what everyone else seems to have already felt. 'I'd stroke your hair,' 'I'd hold you all night,' 'nobody else gets you like I do.' His photos are nice – a little older than Blaine, but judging by how he texts, probably not by a lot, and using the same tricks as him to look older. This is just how it is for gay guys.

'Babe, I wanna meet you so bad. Wanna know what your lips feel like. We can keep it a secret, don't worry.'

Blaine's skin burns as he sits up late at night in bed, addicted to feeling so wanted. He's usually non-committal, just making the occasional suggestion, but he can't hold back any more.

'Want to meet you to. Want to feel your hands on me.' He pauses before adding, 'Where are you?'

A smirking emoji comes back. Blaine is not going to turn 15 having never been kissed.

After

'So I told him there was a party that Saturday that I could crash and then sneak away from.'

'And then what happened?'

'Well, Claire, this conversation started with you asking me what my first sexual experience was like, and then I started telling you this story, so I feel like you can probably connect the dots.'

Blaine has never loved and hated anyone quite like he does his therapist.

'Blaine.'

'I know.'

'We can stop if you want to.'

He sighs. 'No. Sorry for being rude. I can keep going.'

'Take your time.'

He takes a sip of water from the glass that's always sitting ready for him. 'I think deep down,' his insides tighten with embarrassment, 'I hoped we would be boyfriends or something.' He looks at his hands. 'He didn't have the same idea. He wasn't as nice in person.'

'What do you mean by that?'

A pause. He feels an urge to backtrack that he doesn't fully understand.

'Well, he didn't hurt me or anything.' He swallows. 'Not really.'

'So it was a positive experience?'

He can still feel it sometimes. The stale breath. The hands grabbing his hips a little too roughly. His mouth being forced open and hair being pulled. The unmistakable sound of him spitting in his hand and- Blaine closes his eyes for a moment. He looks at Claire. He knows exactly what she'll say if he tells her everything. Not saying everything won't change it, though. Another sip of water.

'He, uh. He didn't smile the whole time. I thought I was going on a kind of date, and he didn't even smile when he saw me. Although I guess my smile was pretty fake anyway. He looked much older in person.'

'Do you think you consented to sex with him?'

Okay. That's not what he thought she would say. He expected something like 'What did you think would happen going to meet a strange guy from a hook-up app? A proposal?'

'I – I didn't say no. And I'd said a lot of stuff in my messages.'

'And is that consent?'

Blaine wraps his arms around himself, squeezing his lips together tightly. Kurt drifts into his thoughts, as he often does in here when things get too much, but he forces him out. He doesn't want to taint him with this conversation.

'It was just… bad communication. I got better at that. I don't think he wanted to hurt me. I just should've said when it was – uncomfortable.'

She nods sagely. He hates when she does that. It means she's about to absolutely nail something and he really doesn't want her to do it now.

'Remind me - how old were you when this happened, Blaine? Fourteen?'

'Well, I turned fifteen the next day.' It sounds so flimsy when he says it out loud.

'Right. And how old do you think he was? Just roughly, if you're not sure.'

His stomach churns.

'Maybe twenty-five. Maybe older.'

'And it was your responsibility to say when you were uncomfortable?'

Blaine rubs at his eyes. 'Do we have to do it like this every time? Can you just this once tell me what you're thinking and we can save like ten hours?'

She smiles, glancing at her notes. 'Okay. Let me come at this from a different angle. You said you're in your school's PFLAG group. Are there freshmen in that club?'

That question throws him. 'Sure, plenty.'

'If one of them told you the story you just told me, how would it make you feel?'

What Blaine hates the most about therapy is that even when he learns things he knew deep down already, it can still knock him for six. Claire pours him some more water and pushes the box of tissues closer to him, and it makes it so much worse, and he makes a mental note of where the trash can is in case he throws up, but it doesn't happen. His eyes are stinging, head spinning, and he's vaguely aware of Claire moving her chair closer and touching his hand.

He remembers how he felt so distinctly, especially the walk home once he'd finally heard Santana's frantic messages. As hard as he's tried to forget, he's never been able to shake that feeling: humiliated, isolated, so stupid and naïve for believing this was going to be anything else. He can remember wanting to brush his teeth and realising that even after all that, he still hadn't been kissed, and finding that yes, it was his fifteenth birthday. Even the slight grazing on his chest from the brick wall he'd been pushed up against is vivid in his memory.

But one thought he'd forgotten until now: 'I guess this is how it's going to be now.' Imagining any other fourteen-year-old thinking that makes his heart hurt.

'Can you tell me what you're thinking, Blaine?'

'I was just a kid.'

'Yes, you were.'

He takes a tissue and wipes tears from his eyes.

'That guy took advantage of me.'

'Yes. I think that man took advantage of a young boy.'

'Jesus.' He clears his throat and drinks more water. He's already planning what he's going to write in his therapy journal, try to make sense of other encounters he's had over the last couple of years. 'What else are you thinking?' She raises an eyebrow at him. 'Come on, I've put in a lot of work today, you can give me this.'

She rests her notebook and pen in her lap. 'Okay, Blaine. Firstly, I think you might to try to blame yourself for what happened, even though you know it wasn't your fault. Because saying "I was so stupid" is easier than admitting that somebody hurt you.'

He breathes slowly through his nose, trying to be aware of the feeling of his stomach expanding with each inhale, clinging to the real, the tangible.

'Okay. Anything else?'

'You won't like it.'

'I never like it. But it's usually what I need to hear.'

After a pause, she says, 'I think you probably weren't the first boy he did this to. And I highly doubt you were the last.'

He thinks back to six months ago, before everything happened to him and Santana, to the cocky asshole he was. He always knew it was something of a front, but he hadn't really put together why he was doing it. It was so much easier to say he loved it all than admit how much he was hurting, how excruciatingly lonely he was.

His stomach finally unclenches. He knows there are still tears on his cheeks, but he isn't sobbing. He just feels suddenly exhausted.

'So now what do I do?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, now that I'm a victim of… whatever it was. Now what?'

'Whatever you want. You don't have to call yourself a victim of anything. I can't tell you what you're going to feel about all of this. It's probably going to be hard, but that's okay. It's okay to cry for a week, or to punch things, or go scream off a cliff somewhere. But more than those, you may find yourself grieving. Not because your life is over, but because you're rethinking how you look at your younger self. I try to get a lot of people to treat their former self – or, please don't roll your eyes at me, their inner child,' he lets out a chuckle, 'with more kindness and compassion, and that would certainly apply here, but you may also feel a sense of loss for that former self. That childhood. That boy had to grow up very quickly because of what someone else did.' He breathes in and out, in and out. He gives her a small nod. 'But you also get to comfort that boy. Reassure him.'

He can barely move. He can't imagine having to comfort a real person right now, let alone his inner child.

'How?' It's barely a whisper.

She smiles.

'By telling him how much better things are going to get. That young Blaine won't feel like that forever.'

This time he doesn't push thoughts of Kurt out of his head when they fade into his mind. The way he feels with Kurt couldn't be further from what he felt that night. He's never desperate to leave or uncomfortable when Kurt tells him he's beautiful or kisses him on the forehead just because.

Blaine had spent so long convincing himself that it was childish to want to be loved. Unrealistic. But now, rather than a painful twist in his stomach, a heavy throb in his chest, there's warmth.

He doesn't even think before he says, 'But isn't that too much to put on Kurt? Isn't it still unhealthy to put all my happiness into my relationship?'

She doesn't mean to, but she laughs. 'Sorry. Blaine, it's okay that your boyfriend makes you happy. That's what he's supposed to do. It makes me like him. But I actually didn't even mention him. What else is different about your life now?'

'Oh. Yeah.' He feels his cheeks heating up, embarrassed that he jumped to the most obvious conclusion of what happiness meant. 'Well, home is much better now my parents know everything. And I have more than one friend.'

'Jeez, brag much?'

He snorts. 'Fine. I… I don't feel alone anymore.'

'And is that just because of your relationship?'

He looks out of the window for a moment then shakes his head. 'No. It's everything. It's me.'

'If you and Kurt broke up, do you think everything else would fall apart?'

The very notion is horrible, but after some thought, he answers, 'No.' He's sure he would have a complete breakdown and spend a few weeks crying on his parents and eating a thousand cookies, but he knows he wouldn't go back to his old ways. Because the idea of lying alone with his thoughts at night isn't so terrible now.

'Okay. So maybe, if you start to feel sorry for the boy you used to be, maybe you could tell him all the things he has to look forward to. You can't go back in time,' he has to bite his lip. He knows he needs to be honest with Claire, but he also doesn't want to get sectioned, so certain anecdotes are still kept between him and Santana. 'And you can't change what happened, but you can decide how you react to it. You can't be the child anymore, but you get to be the parent. You can treat that boy with the love and gentleness he needed.'

He has to sit with that for a moment. He finishes his water. Claire doesn't top it up this time, as their session or more or less over.

'That was really nice. You should write poetry of something.'

'How do you know I don't already?'

'Good point. Okay, next week, we talk about you.' She laughs. He knows it probably isn't healthy, but he does desperately want her to like him. 'One to ten. How broken do you think I am?'

'Do you really think I'm going to answer that?'

He sighs. 'Fair enough. Thank you.'

His mother is waiting in the car with a book. He goes straight to her door, opens it and hugs her.

'Oh! Okay, sweetie. Good session? Have a breakthrough?'

'Breakthrough. Breakdown. Who knows.' He takes a deep breath, soaking in the smell of her perfume, thinking how much fourteen-year-old Blaine needed to do this. He knows he'll just have to give himself everything that kid needed now.

'Obviously, we can do this for as long as you want, but it's starting to rain. Could we maybe go home and hug there?'

'Actually, would you mind dropping me at Kurt's?'

'Of course. If you're sure it's okay to deviate from the post-therapy routine?'

He nods into her shoulder. 'Yeah. Special treat.'

'No problem. Maybe tomorrow we can go to dinner or something? Special treat for all of us – Kurt included?'

He smiles. 'That sounds great. Let's go.'

Kurt isn't entirely sure what to do with post-therapy Blaine at first. He pulls him into a long, warm hug the second he arrives – Blaine thinks he may have picked out this sweater especially because it's extra soft and smells gorgeous – but when they go up to Kurt's room things are a little stilted.

'Do you want to talk about it? Do you want to be distracted? We can make out if you want – but maybe that's not helpful, uh-'

Blaine kisses him.

'All of the above, please.'

Kurt smiles and kisses him back. 'Works for me.'

They put music on, something calm and quiet, and sit at the head of the bed and talk. They've been together long enough now that Mr Hummel doesn't mind if they have the door closed – or maybe his wife has convinced him that it's okay. Either way, both are grateful for the privacy.

'So, I want to talk about my session.' He doesn't usually bring up therapy much. It's not a secret, and Kurt has a rough idea of why he goes, but that's as far as the conversation has gone. Blaine notices Kurt tense up a little, as if he's scared he won't do this right. 'It's okay. I'm okay.'

Kurt's shoulders drop a little. He nods. 'Good.'

'I want you to know about before we got together. About, like, other guys.'

Kurt can't hide his grimace. 'Do I have to?' he blurts out before realising it's probably the worst thing to say. 'Sorry-'

'No, I don't mean like that. I don't really want to go into details about what happened. Maybe someday, but it's not important now.'

'Okay,' he still seems uncertain.

'I want you to know why I did all of that. Kurt, I know you get nervous about, like… sex stuff.' Kurt wants to be indignant, but he knows Blaine's right. He loves kissing Blaine, and feeling Blaine's hands on his waist and on his cheek and in his hair, but if they ever come close to going any further than that, he freezes. Blaine is lovely about it every time, and once or twice he's tried to push himself to initiate more than just making out, and Blaine's stopped him, knowing he isn't comfortable. 'And I just want to tell you that it's all okay. That everything we do is great. Kurt, if all we ever did was sit a metre apart and talk, I would still be happy.'

A small smile creeps onto Kurt's face. 'Really?'

Blaine nods, holding his hand. 'I mean, don't get me wrong, if we stopped doing this,' he holds their joined hands up, 'or this,' he gives him a small kiss, 'I would miss it. But I don't miss the other stuff. It never made me feel good. I know you want to ask me about it, but you don't want to intrude, which is very thoughtful. But I think it'll really help if you understand it all better.'

Kurt nods. 'Okay.'

'I didn't think I could ever be brave enough to be like you. The idea of my parents knowing I was gay, let alone the whole school, terrified me. I honestly thought hook-ups were the only way I could be honest about myself, but really I was just lying even more. Being a scared kid was horrible, so I thought I could just act like a grownup and it would be easier. But it never made me happy.'

'That sounds lonely.'

Blaine swallows. 'It was. But I didn't know how to ask for what I actually wanted. I don't think I even knew what I wanted.'

'What did you want?'

'This. Someone who would want me how I am. To feel like someone knew who I really was, and liked me anyway.'

'I do like you. So much.'

He smiles. 'I like you too. In therapy today we talked about the first time I hooked up with someone and it was really difficult, because I had always told myself it was something I wanted, but actually it was what someone else wanted. My feelings didn't even matter then. And I remember thinking it had to be like that for people like us. There were so many guys just saying sleazy stuff and ready to meet up whenever, like it was nothing, I just figured it must've been normal. That's why I spoke to you like that before.'

'It's okay, you've apologised enough for that.'

'I know, but I'm still sorry. God, this is just turning into more therapy. Look, what I want to say is that while the apps and stuff are fun for some people, it was all wrong for me. And I don't want you to feel nervous because of it. Because all of our firsts are still my firsts. The first time we kissed was the first time I ever kissed somebody I really liked. Our first date was my first date. I love that we're taking everything slowly, because it means I'm not just trying to get it over with. Does that make sense?'

He knows that Santana could argue with what he's saying. Not only has Blaine had moments like these before, he's had them with the same boy. But he doesn't feel like he's lying. In the last six months, he's learned so much about himself and about this Kurt, that it all just feels like an extension of what they had before. Everything that happened between them back there was so amazing, but there Blaine had a clean slate to start with. They were on an uneven playing field from the start – here it feels familiar but totally new at the same time. Blaine hadn't realised how fraught and anxious it was before, like a nervous rehearsal, a frenzied trial run, until he had this: calm and safe and simple. He knew that before he only had Kurt for a little while. Now they have each other for the rest of their lives.

'Can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to.'

'Of course.'

'You said your first time – you didn't really want to?'

A pause. 'Not the way it happened, no.'

There's something in Kurt's face he's never seen before. He can't identify it until he asks, 'Did he hurt you?'

It's cold, hard rage. Blaine feels about an inch high when he nods and mumbles out, 'Yeah. He did.'

Kurt's breath is a little shaky, as if he's trying desperately to keep it under control. 'Do you know who he is? Can my dad and Finn go beat him up?'

'No. I don't even know if he told me his real name. Sorry.'

'Don't ever apologise.'

'Okay. But I'd rather pretend that he just zapped out of existence somehow. Is that okay?'

He nods very quickly and pulls Blaine into a hug, tucking his head under his chin. 'I just wish I could take care of you back then.'

Blaine sniffs, a tear rolling off his cheek and disappearing into the wool of Kurt's sweater. 'I know,' he whispers, his voice breaking, 'but you can take care of me now.'

Kurt puts a hand on his cheek, and kisses him slowly.

'Forever and ever. Thank you, Blaine.'

'For what?'

'For talking to me about this. I know how hard you're working on all this stuff and I really appreciate you letting me in.'

'Thank you for showing me things can be better.'

Blaine kisses him back, his hand settling on his knee. He feels sparks low in his belly, his skin buzzing, and he pulls Kurt closer, knowing they can just stay like this, holding each other and smiling into each other's mouths between kisses, for as long as they want. He pulls away to take Kurt in, the flush creeping up his neck, the hazy eyes and smile.

'You're my favourite.'

Kurt hums, resting his forehead against Blaine's. 'Mmm. You too.'

Blaine kisses him again quickly. 'Now, can we watch something that is so mind-numbingly trashy that it takes zero brainpower and all I have to do is snuggle up right here?' He presses into Kurt's side, resting his head on his chest.

'Oh, I'm gonna make you regret asking me that,' he reaches for the remote, 'Jersey Shore marathon, here we go.'

'Sounds like perfect garbage.'

As he nuzzles into his boyfriend's side under the blanket Kurt drapes over them both, he thinks about his therapy session again for a moment, and about his younger self, so desperate for affection, so quickly shut off. So cold and cynical to cover up so much worry and pain. Yes, when he first started seeing Claire, he would've cringed at the idea of talking to his inner child, his fourteen-year-old self, but he silently does it now.

He apologises for everything that happened to him. He tells him one day he won't be pushing people away, but being pulled close instead. And he promises that one day he will be so loved that it won't hurt any more.

'I want some too, Tana!' Luna tugs at her sleeve, desperate to look as pretty and sparkly as she and Brittany do right now. Brittany kneels next to her.

'Sure thing. Come here, sugarplum. Hey, do you want me to do your hair, too?'

She nods eagerly. 'Can I come with you? I love dancing, too!'

The girls smile at each other. 'Sorry, baby. This is for special grown-up dancing.' Their fake are IDs in their purses, not that they really need them. They don't really care about drinking. The few times they've been drunk before was just to feel less nervous or be a little braver. They don't need that now; they just want to get into the club and feel every second of the night. 'But Britt will be here in the morning, too. How about we watch movies and have our own dance party tomorrow?'

She considers this option for a moment. 'Okay. But only if I can have pink on my eyes.'

'Well, that goes without saying,' Brittany says as she gives Luna smooth curls and a purple smile. Santana takes them both in, her favourite girls, acting like sisters. It's not her job to worry now, about homework or bedtime or giving her too much sugar. Santana loves being the cool big sister so much more than being the surrogate mom. Although, seeing Britt and Luna smiling at each other, pulling silly faces in the mirror until Lu is giggling helplessly makes her think that if this is what her future holds, maybe it won't be a bad thing. But for now they blast some Carly Rae Jepsen and dance round the room like idiots until Luna is sleepy and Santana and Brittany are ready to go out.

By midnight, they're with the other girls in the club, all singing along to Ariana, hair sweaty, toes screaming in agony, makeup smeared. Every now and then the two of them sneak off and make out in a dark corner with bass thrumming through their bodies, hands disappearing places they probably shouldn't go in public. Santana can't even bring herself to be remotely embarrassed. She feels sexy, she feels worshipped, and she finally feels like a teenager, every cell in her body electrified and alive. The others whoop and cheer when their friends kiss, but verbally assault any guy who does the same. She knows that Kurt and Blaine will be cuddling quietly somewhere, and she knows that's what he wants, but now she gets to have the adolescence she's wanted for so long without even realising.

In a different time, but a not so different place, the blossoms are out in the park again. They drift to the ground lazily, falling at the feet of five playing children while their parents watch from a distance. The kids gallop around in circles until they get dizzy, sometimes being wizards and witches, sometimes knights and unicorns, and occasionally pretending to be their own parents, making exaggerated kissy faces and loudly proclaiming 'I love you soooo much!'

The parents are by the lake, sipping iced tea and lemonade. Santana twists her wife's hair into ringlets, who in turn kisses her cheek and plays absent-mindedly with the vibrant embroidery on her skirt, laughing at the kids, on careful watch in case somebody trips and grazes a knee or somehow gets something jammed up their nose (she has no idea how her son manages it, but he does most weekends). Kurt holds his baby daughter close, while his husband holds her hand and coos over her.

The sky is blue, the grass is green, and the blossoms are beautiful. Nobody bats an eye at the sweet families, the best friends, the loving parents enjoying their Sunday together like they do every week.

The eldest girl, almost eight, yells, 'Last one in the water's a rotten egg!' and the kids all run over to the adults, pulling at arms, dragging their moms and dads to jump in too. Kurt is happy to use the baby as an excuse, crying with laughter as the others dive in. Blaine has one of the twins in each arm, Santana has her youngest on her shoulders, the second in her arms, while Brittany has a splashing fight with their oldest. They race up and down the water, they see who can make the biggest splash, and they do clumsy, messy somersaults.

That evening, they walk home together in the evening sun, the kids still breathless and giggling, the two families going their separate ways to their houses, and a couple of hot baths and lots of fluffy towels later, all the kids are in bed, their parents smiling in at them from bedroom doors. When they were younger, they had no idea this life would even be possible for them. Now all they can think about is how lucky they are that it is.

Blaine and Santana don't walk to school together anymore. Santana's dad drops her and Luna off on his way to work now that he has a job to go to – it's just a standard office job, nothing exciting, but it means she can work fewer shifts and keep all her wages for herself – and Blaine walks with Kurt, often with one earbud each so they can listen to music or a pop culture podcast together. They even start doing a few little dance moves on the way when they (incorrectly) think nobody else can see. Kurt's much better at them than Blaine, who often stumbles just at the right point so that he falls into Kurt's arms. It definitely beats cold walks home in the early hours of the morning, but he does miss putting the world to rights with Tana. They still see each other at PFLAG, but they're usually busy mentoring new members or coming up with ideas for new projects – this month it'll be a bake sale with all-rainbow cakes, and the younger students are all adorably excited. For them, being queer doesn't mean anguish and anxiety, but community and celebration, and it feels good to be a part of that.

As busy as they are with college applications and relationships and happy home lives, it's naturally much harder to see each other like they used to, so when Santana catches Blaine one Friday after school and offers to buy him a coffee, he says yes without hesitation. Kurt and Brittany smile at each other, suggesting they develop a secret friendship so they can have special meetings too. Blaine and Santana think that sounds insanely cute.

'So, seems like you're doing pretty well?' she asks, sipping her mocha.

He smiles into his tea. 'Yeah, I guess. I mean, therapy is hard work. Sometimes I feel like I'm doing so much better, but then one session some new sad thing comes and knocks me on my ass, and it's like I'm back at square one again. Claire says that's normal, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck.'

'Dad says it's the same for him.'

'But he's getting better, too, right?'

She nods. 'So much better. It almost makes me realise how bad things had gotten, you know? Like, I'm so happy when he's showering and getting dressed every day, and I realise how pathetically low my standards are for a functioning home life. But, yeah, he's doing really well, keeping the job going, doing more for Luna.'

'So you have more time with Britt?'

She can barely make eye contact with him, and he could swear she's blushing. 'Maybe. God, B, I'm such an idiot for not trying to be with her sooner. It's like all the rage has just… gone. Except the obligatory 'aren't straight people the worst' rage. It's her, and Dad, and Luna being so much happier, and just, I don't know, being a normal teenager doing normal, dumb, teenager stuff. I didn't realise it could actually be fun.'

Blaine smiles. Of course, it was always fun being friends with her; nobody could come up with a quip as fast or shut down a shit-talker in quite the same cutting fashion as Santana. He's sure that spark is still there, but all the meanness is gone from her face. She's not looking around her, ready to be on the defensive at a second's notice. She just sips her drink and grins at him and goes all gooey whenever she talks about her girlfriend.

'That's really good, Tana.'

'And how about you? Mom and Dad good?'

'Great. They ask after you a lot, actually. It's good, not hiding stuff from them anymore. I used to be so mad at myself for not being honest sooner, but I'm trying to be more forgiving towards past Blaine.'

'Wow,' she grins, 'this woman must be good.'

'She's infuriating, but yeah, she's really good.'

'And Kurt? That's still a fairytale?'

He shrugs. 'I mean, I don't remember Cinderella being in therapy, although she probably could've used it. It's not very dramatic or intense or explosive like I thought it would be, like the movies. Like when we – you know. But it's better. I'm just happy. He makes me so happy I don't even know what to do with it.'

'Just hold onto it, I guess.'

'Yeah. Guess so.'

There's a comfortable pause. The thing they used to have in common is gone, but it's been replaced by something so much stronger.

'One thing. Have you ever told him about… what happened to us?'

His eyes widen. 'God, no! I mean, I don't want to keep secrets from him, or my parents, obviously, but I don't want them to think I'm insane. I don't know how to explain what we went through without sounding like I need to be locked up. I wouldn't want to date somebody who told me that happened to them.'

'Even if it was Kurt?'

He thinks for a moment. 'Okay. Maybe. But he's already tolerating a lot of crazy from me as it is. How about you? Have you told your dad? Brittany?'

She shakes her head. 'No. I'm, like, 100% certain that if I told Brittany, she would believe me without question and ask when we can go visit the other us, but I think I kind of like leaving that as it is. For whatever reason, it happened, and we know it happened, and for me, that's enough.'

He sips his drink. 'Do you know what's weird?'

'What?'

'How it just… doesn't feel weird?'

She sits up and leans forward in her chair. 'Oh my god, right?!'

'Like, I thought coming here and leaving that Kurt behind and getting closer to this one would feel wrong, but it doesn't. It's like this is just… the rest of that story.'

'I like that. I think I know what you mean.'

'The way I see it, I got to fall in love with Kurt Hummel twice. I think that makes me pretty lucky.'

Knowing exactly what he means, she takes his hand, giving it a squeeze. 'Love, huh? Have you told him that part?'

'Not yet. But it's okay. We've got time.'

Notes: It's finally finished! Those of you who took a risk on a WIP back in May are angels and you deserve many kisses. All reviews are greatly appreciated because this has been so many hours of planning and writing.