Author's Note:

I've finally completed Never Saying Goodbye to You (aka the Time Travel and Family Curse Fic), and I will be posting the remaining chapters on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Previously on Never Saying Goodbye to You: Kurt goes back in time to the 1920s, meets his great-grandfather's secret beau and helps his great-grandfather (also called Kurt, and looking like his identical twin) to woo a girl. He has no idea yet why he's time-travelling, only that it might have something to do with a curse placed on his family. Disclaimer: I am not a historian, so the 1920s bits of this story may contain historical inaccuracies. Chapter 6 is again from modern-day Kurt's point of view, and things are getting even more complicated than they already were... Happy reading, and by all means let me know what you think, I love hearing from my readers!

Next chapter is coming your way on Sunday.

Chapter 6: Chance Encounters

2016

Kurt felt better after his talk with Mercedes, but decided not to go back to the run-down hotel. No. He'd put the matter out of his mind and work. Yes. That was far better. And in the evening, he'd go see Mercedes perform. She was only here for a few weeks, after all, and she deserved his full support.

Accordingly, for the remaining two and a half weeks that Mercedes was in NYC, Kurt was front and centre at her every performance. During the day, he worked as hard as he could. His portfolio of designs had grown a lot thicker, and he'd started sewing a three-piece costume complete with a bowtie. And if he pictured the man wearing the costume as dapper and handsome, with slicked-back hair and a smile that filled his stomach with butterflies, no-one would ever know.

On a sunny Saturday, he decided he couldn't spend one more minute indoors, and took the subway to Central Park. Everyone seemed to have had the same idea as him. The walkways were packed, and he constantly had to swerve out of the path of joggers and dog walkers and strollers.

He was looking over his shoulder at an adorable cocker spaniel when he bumped into what seemed like a solid wall. "Oof…"

He quickly turned his head again and saw that it was a man he'd collided with. A man he recognised. But how was that possible? "Blaine?"

"Ugh, not again! See, killer, I told you gelling down your head wouldn't help! Everywhere we go, we run into fans of yours. And they always know it's you. Whatever you wear. Or how you do your hair. I'm so sick of it. Get lost, you!"

All this was said by a guy looking like an Abercrombie model, who scowled at Kurt and flapped a hand at him as if to shoo off a cat.

Kurt, who was still trying to figure out how Blaine had suddenly travelled here from the 1920s, gaped at him and his companion for another moment, and then it clicked. This must be his modern-day counterpart, and he obviously didn't know Kurt at all!

Kurt ducked his head, mumbled a sorry and swerved around the two men to walk on, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"Hey… No! Hey! Don't… I… I LIKE meeting fans! I promise you I do. Seb's only being horrid about it because sometimes I take too long talking to fans."

Kurt turned to face Blaine again, uncertain, and winced when Seb grumbled, "Sometimes, he says. As if he isn't indulging all those whiny brats day in day out. And always keeping me waiting."

Blaine's eyes flashed. "Enough, Seb! If it weren't for my fans, you wouldn't be leading such a cushy life. Always the best of everything, without you ever lifting a finger."

Seb quirked an eyebrow. "I don't need your fans for that, thank you. I've got quite enough money of my own."

"You mean your FATHER does," Blaine retorted.

Seb shrugged. "Same difference. It's all going to be mine one day. So you can stop slaving away and feeling indebted to anyone who so much as smiles at you. Make me your priority. I have more to give. And all I ask is unlimited access to that sweet ass of yours."

Kurt felt his cheeks burn and tried to slip away from the lover's quarrel, but Blaine stopped him again, his gaze earnest and sincere when he said, "I'm sorry. For bumping into you. And for making you feel unwelcome. Well, that was Seb, but still."

"No… No problem. Really. Have a nice day."

However confident Kurt tried to look, his reassurances came out all squeaky, his voice abandoning him just when he needed it most.

Blaine frowned. "Don't you want an autograph? A selfie? It's the least I can do."

Kurt shook his head. "I'm… not a fan. No offense."

"None taken. But… You recognised me?"

Kurt exhaled shakily. "Not… you. I thought… You look so much like…"

Kurt swallowed thickly. "Never mind."

He glanced up at Blaine, choked down a sob and fled as fast as his legs would go, not stopping until he reached the subway station.

Well… That was embarrassing. I wonder, though… Is this Blaine the great-grandson of the one I know? They must be related somehow.

K&B

Kurt tried to put the incident from his mind. No use in fretting over yet another guy he could never have. Yes, this one actually lived in the same time period, but chances of bumping into him again were small. Not to mention modern-day Blaine was a celebrity, and he was taken.

Thinking of Blaine's boyfriend made Kurt grimace. Ugh. At least 1920s Blaine had good taste in men, and would never have picked such a smarmy over-privileged brat. Seb was good-looking, yes, but his attitude!

Ah well, it had nothing to do with Kurt, nor would it ever, so he dove back into his work. For his senior-year thesis, he was creating a collection of garments, and a few weeks ago, his thesis supervisor had told him his ideas were good, but he needed some kind of theme to pull them all together.

Now, when he met up with professor Francis again and showed her the three-piece suit he'd designed and made, as well as the sketches for more casual outfits he'd pictured Blaine in, she exclaimed in delight.

She loved his work, and called the completed outfit a daring spin on the classic black suit. "I love the pattern and the detailing, and the bow tie is a really nice touch. What inspired you?"

"Uhm… 1920s fashion."

The professor nodded. "Excellent. Maybe you can branch out and design the female counterpart as well? A modern take on the flapper dress?"

Kurt was a bit taken aback, but then started picturing Lieselotte with her hair in a bob and wearing a flapper dress, and his eyes lit up. She would look stunning, and his brain was instantly teeming with ideas.

Professor Francis laughed. "I can tell you have something in mind already. Good. Can't wait to see what you come up with. If you keep this up, you'll definitely be featured in our end-of-year exhibition at Parsons Festival."

K&B

The next weekend, the weather was lovely again, and Kurt found himself on a bench in Central Park, soaking up the sunshine and putting the final touches on a sketch of Lieselotte wearing a travel suit with peplum ruffles on the coat and a cute cloche hat that would frame her face beautifully.

He started sketching a brooch on the coat lapel – his rose brooch, which had gone missing. He couldn't remember when he'd last seen it or where. He had a hunch he'd been wearing it the last time he went to The Dalton, though. No way of retrieving it if he'd lost it there.

Just my luck… That was a family heirloom. Practically the only thing I have left that belonged to my parents.

He sighed and flipped over the page to start a new sketch. Blaine this time, in golf attire.

Blaine would look great in plus fours, he was sure. And a checkered sweater vest in cream, brown, and green, to make his eyes pop.

Kurt was adding shoelaces to the saddle shoes he'd draw to complete the outfit when suddenly, a shadow fell over his sketch, and someone sat down next to him.

"I'd wear that."

Kurt looked up, startled, and his eyes widened when he saw who was sitting on his bench. Blaine!

Blaine gave him a grin and a dorky wave. "Hey."

"Hey."

"So this is what you do?" asked Blaine, pointing to the sketchbook. "Designing clothes?"

Kurt nodded.

"That's how you know me, then, if you're not a fan! My stylist bought from you, didn't she? What's your name?"

Kurt shook his head, and started putting all of his things in his bag. "My name is Kurt. Kurt Hummel. But I don't work as a designer yet. I'm still studying at Parsons. I don't know you. You just… reminded me of someone."

Blaine cocked his head to the side and quirked an eyebrow. "Also called Blaine?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh." Blaine's smirk made it clear he didn't believe Kurt at all. "And he's the one you're designing for?"

"Yes. Well, no, but… he's the inspiration."

Blaine laughed, low and sweet. "Your muse?"

Kurt fastened the buckles of his bag and stood up. "I guess. Have a nice day."

"Hey, don't go! I didn't mean to tease you, honest!"

Now it was Kurt's turn to give Blaine a disbelieving look.

Blaine ducked his head. "Yeah, you're right, I did. Sorry. Kurt, was it? I'm sorry, Kurt. Please come back and talk to me."

Blaine patted the place next to him on the bench invitingly, but Kurt didn't budge, and asked, "So that your boyfriend can chew me out again for taking up too much of your time?"

Blaine grimaced. "I haven't made the best impression on you so far, have I? I'm sure your Blaine is much nicer to you."

Kurt thought back to the few times he'd spoken to his great-grandfather's beau, and said softly, "Yes, he is."

When the two of them made eye contact again, there wasn't a glimmer of laughter left in Blaine's eyes, just curiosity.

"Tell me about him. Please."

Kurt shook his head. "You'd think I was nuts."

"Maybe I already do?"

Kurt's eyes flashed. "Because I don't worship at your altar, Mr. Too Big For Your Boots?"

"That was a joke! A bad one, I know… I keep putting my foot in it when I talk to you. Not saying one more word now. Tell me about your Blaine."

Blaine mimed zipping his mouth shut and then looked at Kurt expectantly.

Kurt sighed and sat down again. For a few moments, he said nothing. He just stared right ahead without paying attention to anything.

Then he looked to the side. Blaine hadn't moved, hadn't spoken, and his expression was still encouraging and interested.

So Kurt let it all out, the whole unbelievable story. Let Blaine think he was crazy. Or a liar. What did it matter? It wasn't like he knew the guy.

When at last the tale was done, Kurt risked another glance to his left. Far from disbelieving or disgusted, Blaine looked fascinated.

"Wow. And he looks just like me?"

"Yes. Why did your parents call you Blaine? Is it a family name? Same name as your grandfather? Or great-grandfather?"

Blaine cocked his head to the side, thinking. "I don't know. But… Before my father left us, he had a row with my mom. About me being gay. And he shouted something like, "It's all your fault, giving him that name. Ten to one he'll meet the same sticky end." I've never known what that was all about. But maybe you're right. Maybe it is a family name."

"Ask your mom," Kurt advised him. "And now I really need to go. Bye."

Blaine smiled at Kurt. "Nice talking to you. Bye!"

K&B

The next weekend was rainy, so Kurt stayed indoors and started sewing the clothes he'd designed for Blaine and Lieselotte. He took a break on Saturday afternoon to go help Isabelle at the Vogue headquarters. She'd called him in tears because another intern had messed up horribly by spilling coffee all over her computer, and that had killed it stone dead, of course. Thankfully, Kurt made weekly back-ups of Isabelle's and his own hard drives, so they had lost a week's work at most. Moreover, he found an IT guy who managed to retrieve all the data up to the day before. Isabelle called them both miracle workers, and took them to the nearest coffee shop to treat them to a drink of their choice.

"Never again drinking coffee in my office, though," she grimaced as they sat down at a free table.

"Good thinking," said the IT guy. "Better be safe than sorry."

Kurt took a long sip from his mocha and closed his eyes, enjoying the taste.

"You look exhausted, Kurt," said Isabelle. "Been studying for your exams?"

Kurt shook his head. "Working on my collection. For my thesis. I've drawn all the designs, and now I'm sewing them."

"Can't wait to see them at Parsons Festival!"

"I might not make the cut. They only choose the best, you know."

"I know. And I also know you ARE the best."

Kurt grinned at Isabelle, happy to have her in his corner. Applying for an internship at Vogue was the best decision he'd ever made. He'd learned so much, and in Isabelle, he'd found a friend and protector with enough pull to get him a real job once he graduated.

And clearly, Isabelle was thinking along the same lines, because she asked him what he wanted to do once he had his degree.

His answer was drowned out by a loud voice drawling, "Oh, not again! Babe, this guy is stalking us. He turns up wherever we go!"

Kurt looked up, knowing whom he'd see before he clapped eyes on them. Yep. There they were again. Blaine and Seb. And Seb was making shooing motions at him and hissing at Kurt to get lost.

"Why are you harassing my intern?" Isabelle asked in her iciest of tones.

And when Seb started on his stalker spiel again, she cut him off, pointing out that she had brought Kurt to the coffee shop they were sitting in, and that they had been having a conversation and had not been paying attention to any other customers. "Right, Kurt?"

Kurt nodded.

"Well, of course he'd say that," Seb snapped.

"Seb, leave it!" Blaine admonished him. "Let them have their coffee in peace, and let's get ours and get out of here."

But because of Seb's loud tantrum, other people had noticed Blaine Anderson, the celebrity, was right here, and soon he was surrounded by a crowd clamouring for autographs and selfies.

Blaine gave his fans what they wanted, with a kind word for everyone, but Kurt noticed that his smile didn't quite reach his eyes and that he gripped his pen rather tightly.

Huh. Not so happy with his fans after all. Or maybe he's just mad at Seb. I know I would be.

By the time Kurt left with Isabelle and the IT guy, Blaine was still signing autographs. Seb was standing next to him, drinking coffee and looking bored.

I bet half the time you complain about Blaine dealing with his fans, it's your fault they noticed him in the first place. And you didn't even buy him a coffee, you selfish prick!

Making a split-second decision, Kurt stepped up to the counter and ordered a coffee "for the poor guy there who's being mobbed by fans". The barista stifled a giggle, nodded and accepted his money.

"Make it for him when he's all done buttering them up," Kurt instructed her. "So that it's still piping hot when he gets it."

"Will do. Who do I tell him it's from?"

Kurt's eyes went wide. The last thing he needed was that Blaine actually started to believe he was a stalker. "Nobody."

Kurt heard her giggle again as he hurried out of the coffee shop and ran to catch up with the others.

"So you're a Blaine Anderson fan, are you?" Isabelle asked.

Kurt sighed. "Would you believe me if I said I had no idea what the guy even does? I bumped into him in Central Park the other day. That's why I got called a stalker, I guess."

Isabelle quirked an eyebrow at him. "Really? You don't know him at all? He was on that TV series, what's it called? The one where they sing a lot. And he can really sing. So next thing, he brought out an album, and now he's a big pop star. Tours the whole world. He was a coach on The Voice for a few seasons. Does other television work as well, and the occasional stint in movies."

Kurt shrugged. "None of that is my thing. As a kid, what I watched on television was Avatar the Last Airbender. Ben 10 and the like. Cartoons. And nowadays, when I watch television, it's reality TV."

Isabelle's hum in answer had a note of disbelief in it, but she didn't push the issue, and only thanked him again when they reached the Vogue building.

Instead of taking the subway home, Kurt decided to walk. It wasn't raining anymore, and he could use some fresh air. He'd spent way too much time cooped up indoors the past week.

It wasn't until someone called his name that he started to pay attention to his surroundings. He'd gone in the general direction of where he lived, and somehow, he'd ended up in front of the Dalton hotel again. In the 1920s. With a Blaine that knew him, sort of.

"Kurt! I've got something for you."

Kurt could only gape at Blaine dumbly when he grabbed Kurt's hand and put something cold and heavy in its palm.

Kurt looked down and saw that it was his rose brooch.

"You lost this last time you came."

Kurt nodded, and managed a thank you.

"Kurt is inside," Blaine told him. "With the girl. So I wouldn't go in, if I were you. She's the one who found your brooch, by the way. And Kurt let her keep it. So you're getting his mother's brooch instead. It's the same, just newer."

Before Kurt could say a word, a loud voice boomed, "Anderson, where are you? People want to dance!"

Blaine gave Kurt a little wave and a smile, and raced up the steps to get back to work.

Kurt watched him go, and then inspected the brooch he held in his hand. It did look newer. Shinier and brighter. But it was the same brooch all right.

He smiled and pinned it on his jacket.

A cold wind made him shiver and wish he'd taken the subway home. It passed, though, and when Kurt looked up again, he was back in the graffitied street, looking at the sad remains of The Dalton hotel.

He turned his back on it and made his way home.

When he got into bed that night, his mind whirled with all that had happened and he tossed and turned for a long while. Then, he put his reading light on and wanted to grab a book from his night stand when he saw the brooch glinting in the light. That helped settle his mood.

Well, at least I got the brooch back…