Blaine bows his head and for a moment, there is silence. Kurt waits, nervously biting his lip. Eventually, unable to stand it, he reaches out, and tentatively touches his shoulder.

"Blaine?"

"Why?" he whispers sadly. "Don't you have any self-respect? The guy walked in on you in the shower; I paid thousands of dollars for you to stay away from him and now this?"

"Jeez, I'll pay it back if that's what you're upset about."

He lifts his head and to Kurt's complete shock, he sees his eyes are shining with tears. When he speaks, his voice is soft and sad. "That's not what I'm upset about! I'd give you all my money if you asked for it. I don't care. I care that you're worth more than that. You're better than Frank Fisher and his crappy musicals. Take a look at his track record, Kurt. Most of his plays close not long after opening. Very few last longer than a six week run. You should know; you've been in two of them already."

"But I..."

"But even if he was the most esteemed director on all of Broadway, I still wouldn't want you working with him. You were upset about my reputation, but I've never forced myself on anyone. Anything I've done has been with full consent on both sides."

"Frank didn't force himself on me."

Blaine suddenly roars with anger, slamming his fist down onto the table. "He masturbated with you in the bed next to him, and then again when you were showering!" he shouts. Pushing back from the table, he gets to his feet and begins to pace in front of the windows, his despair and upset evident. "I wouldn't even do that with you, and I'm in a relationship with you! It's not okay, and what's worse, is that he's only offering you this role now because he knows then he'll have a chance to hit on you all over again."

"Oh my God!" Kurt stands too, pointing across the table at him. "That's it, isn't it? You're jealous!"

"As if! Why would I be jealous? I've got you. He hasn't."

"No one's 'got me', Blaine," Kurt warns, his voice low. "I'm not a commodity, I'm a person in my own right."

"So I see."

"It's okay for you. If some sleazy editor asks you to write something you can afford to take a moral high ground. I can't. I need the money, I need the exposure this role will bring."

"No you don't," Blaine argues back. "I've got all the money you'll need. I'll pay you ten times what Frank will, if you'll stay away from that lousy show. As for exposure... you don't need any more bad reviews."

"It's only you who writes shit about me."

"But I'm not the only one who writes shit about Frank's shows," he counters. "And the more you work with him, the more you'll become known as one of his casting couch boys, and your name will be tainted. You think you'll get to Broadway by playing one of his leads? Because I'm telling you now, that will never happen."

"Everyone has to start somewhere."

"You've started already, Kurt. I've told you before; you've got to put quality over quantity. Wait a little longer for the right role to come. Actually, you know what? I don't care. Join the chorus of American Planet if you want to, but I'm telling you, you shouldn't do this show."

"You can't tell me what to do, Blaine."

Blaine stands with his back to him as he looks out on the water. "No," he says with a heavy sigh. "I can't."

There's another long silence and then suddenly, he turns back with a smile, though it is somewhat forced. "Let's have dinner."

"Um...yeah. Okay," Kurt agrees, somewhat dazed by the abrupt turn in conversation. He takes his place again at the table, watching as Blaine tops off their wine glasses. "This is all very romantic."

"Yeah." He gives an embarrassed smile. "I was uh..." He stops, looking up toward the kitchen door. "Nevermind. Food."

"Did you cook?"

"I ordered in," he replies and at that very moment, a waiter enters with two entrees.

Kurt's eyes grow wide; he follows the man across the room, watches him set the plates down, and watches him leave again. "What the hell was that?"

"I ordered in."

"So that guy brings the food and waits in the kitchen until you demand it?"

"No, the chef I ordered comes and cooks the food, and that guy brings it out when I tell him."

"There's a chef in your kitchen?"

"Yeah." Blaine smiles, pleased with Kurt's amazement. He reaches out, taking his hand and kissing his fingers. "I wanted tonight to be special."

"You're so wasteful. How much does all this cost? You could've called for Chinese food...ordered pizza...Hell, you could even have cooked it yourself, but no, you've got a guy in your kitchen cooking for you."

"It's a woman, actually, and she's cooking for us, not me," Blaine snaps. "And yes, I could have called for a pizza, but I told you, I wanted this to be special."

"Why?"

"It doesn't matter now. You're being a brat, so I don't want to say."

"Fine."

The romantic meal turns into an hour of awkward silences, interspersed with polite, strained talk about Blaine's day. By the end of the main course, both parties have had enough, but it's the hotheaded Blaine who breaks the tension, by slamming his glass down so hard it shatters.

"Fuck!"

Kurt leaps up, grabbing his napkin to try and stop the red wine from ruining the rug, but it's too late. "Damn. Blaine, your hand..."

"It's fine."

"The mess..."

"Don't worry about it," he barks. "Just leave it."

"But..."

"I'm wasteful, remember?" he says bitterly. "I'll pay someone to clean it."

"Blaine..."

"Excuse me."

He walks quickly from the room, seemingly not caring that he's dripping blood from the cut on his hand. Kurt is unsure of what to do, but when the waiter silently enters and starts picking up the shards of glass, he immediately tries to help.

"No, no, sir. I'll do it."

"I can't let you, really."

He thinks he's being kind, but the man looks affronted rather than pleased, so he gathers a few large pieces and then goes in search of Blaine. He finds him in his office, a room he's not been in before. It is large, opulent, and home to a magnificent curved mahogany desk. It is this that Blaine sits on, rather than the chair, and his back is to Kurt as he stares out of the window.

Kurt's unsure if he even hears him arrive, the carpet is that thick, and he doesn't turn around either. He looks around the room. It is masculine, filled with all the latest technology plus expensive antique furniture, but it's the first time Kurt has seen anything of Blaine's personality in any room of the apartment. On the right hand side of his desk sit three picture frames. One holds a photo of him and Kurt taken on the Mermaid ride at Coney Island. That makes Kurt's heart surge with emotion, to know that Blaine thinks enough of him to want a permanent reminder of him, but if that photo makes him happy, the other two make Kurt nearly cry.

One photo is undoubtedly a young Blaine with his parents. He's no more than five years old, with wildly curly hair and dressed in cute overalls. He holds both his mom and dad's hands, and he's looking up at his dad, smiling, as his parents grin at the camera. It's faded; a distant moment in time captured and preserved forever, when no one could have predicted how the future would unfold.

The other photo, Kurt assumes, is Blaine with his brother. Though the two don't look alike, there is still a family resemblance. It's taken on his brother's college graduation day and though Kurt has never asked, there is obviously a fair few years between them, since Blaine looks to be around sixteen in the picture. The two brothers have their arms around one another, grinning broadly. Of course, there are no photos of Blaine's own graduation.

"Did anyone even go?"

Blaine starts at the sound of Kurt's voice. "Go where?"

"To your graduation."

"I did."

Kurt doesn't ask any more. He comes around the desk, stands between Blaine's legs, and kisses him as lovingly as he can. "How's your hand?"

"It'll be okay. I need to go get a bandaid."

"I ruined everything."

"Don't worry about it."

"You're sad, though, and that's so much worse than when you're angry."

"I'm hurting," he admits quietly, looking down at the towel wrapped around his palm. "I know tonight was extravagant but I wanted to do that for you. We have a thousand and one nights to order chinese food, or whatever, but tonight I just wanted...and then you came home with that news, and I could just feel all my expectations for the evening slipping away."

"Do you want me to quit the role?"

Blaine pauses. "I want you to decide for yourself," he says eventually. "Because if I demand that, you'll resent me for it, and I'd hate that. I um..." He pauses, takes a deep breath, and then looks Kurt in the eye. "I don't want to lose you, Kurt. I worry that I will, and then it scares me that I'm worried about losing you and... I just care about you so much."

"You won't lose me." He rests their foreheads together, bringing his hands up into his hair. "But I want to do the show."

"I know you do, but let me just say this, okay? I have a lot of concerns. Firstly, Frank has had this musical in the pipeline for a long time now, but no one would be stupid enough to back it. The Life of Riley Morton is a weak ass attempt at making another Sweeney Todd, only Riley Morton murdered little black kids. It's a gruesome story and God knows why Frank thinks it'd make a decent musical. I think it'll close quickly, and I think that will reflect badly on your career. I know I said to push yourself, but I think the role of such a disgusting historical figure is beyond anyone's capabilities, especially the way Frank will write it.

Then, my biggest concern is the effect this could have on you. Frank is a sleazy guy, with one thing on his mind. You've already spurned his advances in the worst possible way, but trust me, he will try again and again and if you keep turning him down, he'll want his revenge, and he'll do that by spreading ugly rumors, malicious gossip...and I don't know if you, or us, will withstand that."

Kurt sits next to him on the desk, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together. "Look, Frank is desperate here, and I've stepped in to save his show, and his ass. If he tries anything, I swear to you, I'll walk away and smear his name all over this town."

"You don't have the influence to do that, Kurt."

"No, but you do."

"I do."

"Come with me to a few rehearsals," Kurt suggests. "Let's make Frank very aware that we're together."

Blaine nods, a slow smile forming on his face. "You wouldn't mind that?"

"No. I kinda want pretty much everyone to know you're my boyfriend so..."

Blaine wrinkles his nose. "Boyfriend makes me sound like I'm fifteen."

"Babe."

Blaine laughs. "Stop it."

"Cutie pie."

"I'm warning you."

"Honeybunch."

"Okay, enough!" He reaches out, grabbing Kurt and hauling him into his arms, smothering his face with kisses.

"We need to get bandaids for your hand," Kurt says between his laughter.

"In a minute." He pulls Kurt into a long kiss and then into a strong hug. "I'm sorry for the way this evening turned out."

"Hey, no, it was me. I shouldn't have gone off over the meal. It was really sweet of you. I just have a hard time adjusting to this lifestyle, that's all. I still feel bad that you've paid for my flight home on Friday."

"So do I," Blaine says. "I'll miss you."

He distracts Kurt then, kissing down his neck and running his hands up under his sweater. "Hmm."

"Bandaids," Kurt orders. "Now."

They head back to the living area, where there is no longer any hint of any staff, or of any dinner, blood, glass...nothing. Everything is quiet and still, and it baffles Kurt as he follows Blaine into the pristine kitchen.

"This place is amazing."

"It's okay, I guess." Blaine stands by the island, frowning. "Hmm. Bandaids."

"Don't you know what's in the cupboards?"

"Nope."

"Blaine!" He watches, laughing as Blaine opens a few doors.

"I know where the fridge is, and the wine. Good enough for me."

"Have you ever cooked here?"

"No."

"Blaine! I like cooking, it's fun. Baking is best. Cookies, cakes."

"Feel free to cook here anytime you choose," he mumbles, his head in a cupboard. He emerges, triumphantly holding up some band aids.

Kurt takes them and orders Blaine to the sink, where he washes his hand, carefully dries it and then applies two band aids. He raises his hand to his lips, kissing his palm and then the inside of his wrist, keeping eye contact the whole time.

"Are you staying?" Blaine asks, his voice rough.

"I want to."

"Then stay."

Kurt is not expecting to be hoisted up onto the island, and he's definitely not expecting Blaine to climb up there too, pushing him back and kissing him passionately. But that's what happens, and the next thing Kurt knows, clothes are being shed, and the fantasy he's always had- of someone wanting him so much that they have to take him there and then- is coming true.

Blaine falls asleep first that night, wrapped protectively around his boyfriend, but Kurt lies awake for a long time, thinking everything over, playing out the evening's events, and hoping he's not made a massive mistake by accepting the role.

Blaine is absent when he wakes and, feeling more comfortable now, Kurt pulls on a robe and goes in search of him, nodding politely to the housekeeper.

Blaine appears through a door which Kurt had assumed was a storage closet. It turns out to be a staircase down to a fully equipped gym though, and after gazing around it in wonderment, he follows Blaine back up the stairs and into the bedroom.

"You know you said you'll miss me this weekend?"

"Yes."

"I was thinking. Why don't you come with me? You could meet my dad and granny, see where I grew up...it'd be fun."

Blaine pulls his shirt over his head, and kisses Kurt's lips on the way to the bathroom. "No thanks."

"What?"

He turns around in the doorway and gives a shrug. "I'm good. Thanks for the invite, though."

"But I want you to meet my dad!"

"Yeah...no. But thanks for thinking of me."

Baffled, and thinking that Blaine has totally missed the point, Kurt decides to let it slide this time, and he says no more of it. Blaine insists on accompanying him to the airport, and tells him yet again that he will miss him over the weekend.

"Come on, you must be looking forward to the break," Kurt teases. "I've been at your place every night since Monday."

"You'd think, but no. Funny, I never thought I'd like having someone around."

"Same, and I've never liked sharing a bed with anyone before, either."

For a moment, Blaine looks like he's about to say something but then he just smiles, kisses Kurt's cheek and holds him close for a moment. "Have fun. I'll see you Sunday."

Kurt turns away, but then Blaine reaches out, closing his fingers around his wrist. "Please."

Kurt looks back. Blaine's dark eyes are pleading, and though he knows why, he still asks the inevitable. "Please what?"

"Don't do it. The show, I mean. I know I said I wouldn't ask you to quit, but I'm asking you now. Please."

"Blaine, I..."

"Just think about it, okay? You're supposed to start Monday, I know, but you don't have to. Just take the weekend, and think it over." He kisses him again, quickly, and then walks away, leaving Kurt standing there wondering what he should do.

When he lands, his dad is there waiting for him and, having spent much of the flight agonizing over whether to follow his own heart or abiding by Blaine's wishes, he feels like sinking into his dad's embrace and staying there.

Burt quickly notices, of course, and tries repeatedly to get answers to his probing questions, but Kurt takes refuge first in his own childhood bedroom and then across the hall, in Logan's room.

When Logan had first died, Kurt wouldn't set foot inside but since then it's become his sanctuary, the place he always goes to when he needs time to think, or just to feel close to his brother once more. The room is still more or less as Logan had left it when he first went to college; there's still his old high school football trophies on the shelves, old ticket stubs, photos and drawings on the pin board, and pictures of their family everywhere. The room also gives a view of the yard, and the tree Kurt and his dad had planted in memory of Logan stands in the center, already growing strong and tall.

"Thought I'd find you in here," Burt says, coming in and sitting on the bed. "Tree looks good, huh?"

"I've met someone, dad," Kurt says without turning around. "And I feel more for him than I ever thought possible, but I don't know if we're ever going to work."

"You're dating?"

"Yeah." He turns around, leaning back against the window frame. "I have been for a few months."

"Oh. Is it serious?"

"Yes. I think so, anyway. I didn't tell you because... well, because I wasn't sure, for quite some time, and he's uh.. He's a bit older."

"A bit?"

"Twenty years."

"What?" Burt shrieks, getting to his feet. "Kurt! That's... you're... Okay. Okay. I can't tell you what to do here, kid, but that puts him much closer to my age than yours. And you say it's serious? Marriage, serious? Babies? He'll be too old."

"No, no, not that serious," Kurt says quickly. "Dad please. This was not something I was ever expecting to happen. He's that critic, you know? The one that dissed me in all those reviews?"

"You hate him!"

"I do." Kurt smiles as he thinks of the way he and Blaine fight. "He drives me crazy. He's moody, sullen, rude...and sweet, funny, caring... He's this big gruff grizzly bear with a heart of gold and I..."

He stops himself just in time, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. "He makes me really happy."

"I need to meet him."

"He's a little reluctant about that," Kurt says diplomatically. "But I have an opening night coming up. You could fly in for that?"

"You're in a show? Since when? Why do I not know anything about your life any more?"

As it turns out, Kurt and his dad talk all afternoon, and long into the evening. By the end of it, Burt knows every detail of everything that's happened, including what had taken place in London, Blaine and Kurt's subsequent dates, the huge amount of wealth Blaine has, the amazing apartment where Kurt has been staying this past week, and all about their stalemate over Kurt taking the role in Frank's show.

"So what do I do?"

"No good me telling ya'," Burt says gruffly. "You never listen. I agree that you need to work, but this old guy seems to know what he's talking about."

"Please stop calling him the old guy. And yes, he does."

"This Frank guy worries me, and I agree that he's only offered you the role to get you where he wants you. But I know you can handle yourself, and I think if you make sure never to be alone with him, and you make him fully aware that you're committed to the old guy, you should be okay. It's three weeks of rehearsals and then a month's run, right? So two months from now it'll all be over and if it works out to be a stepping stone for you then great, and if not then you just move on."

"That's what I think too, but Blaine seems so sad about it, you know? Not pissed at me, just sad, and that worries me. I can move on, if it all goes horribly wrong, but will he? Or will he just keep telling me he told me so? Should I just back out now and save two months of awkwardness between us?"

"Honestly, Kurt? It's a straight up choice. Follow your career or follow the old guy's wishes. You've never been anyone's lap dog, my son, and I don't see why you'd want to start."

"No," Kurt says, sitting a little straighter. "I'm not, you're right. I'm my own person, capable of making my own decisions, and I've decided. I'm doing the show."