(PLEASE READ!) VERY IMPORTANT Author's Note:

Hello, my wonderful and beautiful readers. Sam here. I just wanted to thank each and every one of you for following the story! No, this is not the end. There are about one or two chapters left, depending on the length of chapter nine.

I'd love to read any liveblogs of this chapter, by the way, if anyone wants to. If on Tumblr, please tag it under littlemusings, or INGTH. If you want me to find something, just tag it as such as well.

Well, the whole point for this long author's note is that I just wanted to clarify something with you all (I know, it's a bit sad when an author has to re-clarify things because they were probably unclear to some readers, please forgive me), and that is: Kurt was not apologizing for not being (quote) A good little wife (unquote) and following Blaine around. The reason why Kurt was apologizing in the first place was that he didn't think of giving he and Blaine a chance when he left. Most of it will be cleared up in this chapter. I saw that the reasons were a bit unclear to some reviewers/readers, so I wanted to clear this up.

Now, I present to you: chapter eight. Sorry for my ineptitude to post each week (two weeks? SAM, YOU ARE BAD!). We moved into a new house recently, and I've been having a horrible case of writer's block, and we just got our internet.

Also, I will have the series of Blaine and Danielle's childhood/adolescence posted up soon! It will be called My Brother's Keeper, if you want to keep an eye out for it. I'll continually post updates on my Tumblr. The URL for my Tumblr is on my profile, and also at the end of this chapter.

Now up on Tumblr:

- Danielle's biography (Duke's will be up, soon)
- Blaine / Danielle drabbles
- Very random Klaine and Niff (Nick/Jeff) drabbles
- The I'm Not Gonna Teach Him soundtrack

I really hope you all enjoy this chapter, and cry or laugh, whichever happens, as much as I did when I wrote it.

Love,
Sam

Disclaimer: I do not own Glee, or Blaine and Kurt. Just Dani, Duke, and Buh-layney and Dee-Dee's parents, and that sounds a bit wrong. I also do not own the songs that are mentioned or quoted in this story as a whole. They are property of their respective artists and recording companies.

I loved you, so, so much that it hurt

CHAPTER eight
Beautiful Mess
of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How To Dance With You
by littlemusings

All in all, Blaine was rendered speechless.

"You knew I was going to order the fettuccine," Blaine said with an accusatory tone. Kurt smiled sheepishly, and nodded towards the door. "Don't play coy with me, Mister Hummel."

"Who's playing coy?" Kurt simpered. Blaine stood up and followed him.

They regarded the owner and the waitress with bright smiles and walked out of the restaurant quickly. The pair headed towards the parking lot, and right towards a bright red Beetle.

"Oh my god, your car is amazing," Blaine said in awe as the pair walked out of the restaurant. "I mean, I saw it earlier, but I didn't think it was yours—"

"Volkswagen Beetle, 2010 model. It's my baby. I bought it last year," Kurt sighed, looking over at the bright-red car they were walking towards. "I miss my Navigator, though."

Blaine shrugged. "I still drive it. Don't worry, it's still in mint condition."

"Thank God. Thanks for taking care of it."

"No problem."

Blow the candles out; looks like a solo tonight

Blaine jumped as his phone started ringing; Kurt smirked at the tune. He dug into his cardigan pocket and pulled out his Blackberry, answering it immediately. "Hello?"

"Bumblebee!"

Blaine's eyes widened. "Not now, Dan."

"Um, I'm really sorry for calling you on your date and all, but it's an emergency—"

The twenty-five year old rolled his eyes and held the receiver. "Kurt, I'm really sorry, it's Danielle." Kurt nodded, laughing, and shooed Blaine away jokingly as he unlocked his car doors with the automatic key.

"What's wrong, Dan?"

"I think Duke drove back here."

"Are you kidding me?" Blaine spluttered. "What—he was supposed to come back tonight!"

"He's standing outside of my dorm building by the car. I think the driver's asleep. I don't know, but he's outside. My roommate told me he was asking for me. Oh, shit, what did I do last night?" she groaned. "First, I come back from class with the biggest headache in the world, and now I find your manager outside of my fucking dorm building, waiting for me."

"Um…honestly, Dan, I don't know," Blaine lied, attempting to hide the amusement in his voice. "Go down and talk to him, and tell him to get his ass back to New York as soon as possible, or we're going to miss our flight to Chicago tomorrow afternoon."

"Fine. I will call you later with details, as you will, too, Buckeye."

"This is a civil and non-romantic date—I mean, meet-up!" Blaine covered his mouth immediately, and sighed in frustration. "Now you've got my mind all a flutter, kiddo. I'll text Duke. Call me later, okay?"

"Meeting, my ass! Love you, Bee."

"Same to you," Blaine heaved, and he hung up his phone, immediately hurrying back to Kurt, opening the door to the shotgun seat.

"Is she alright?"

"Duke."

Kurt's mouth formed a little 'o,' and he chuckled to himself. "Let's make a quick stop before going to my flat."

"Where do you have in mind, good sir?" Blaine asked curiously. Kurt gave him an impish grin.

"I need to go and grab us some drinks at the grocery."

"You, Kurt Hummel, at the grocery, a public domain, where there could possibly be paparazzi?" Blaine asked; his voice piqued with interest. "I don't think so."

"It's a really small grocery store near my apartment building. I go there and get baking ingredients whenever…I'm down," Kurt confessed, driving out of the parking lot and onto the main road. "It's on the Upper East Side, where I live. Usually, the people who go there are the rich peoples' maids and whatnot, but I go there since it's pretty discrete and everything I need is there on that little corner. It may be small, but the design of the place itself is wonderful."

"Monochrome color scheme?"

Kurt's eyes narrowed, and a smile crept onto his lips. "Yes, but a wonderfully pristine shade of white dominates."

"And about getting drinks: I thought you vowed never to drink again after Malibu?" Blaine asked again, frowning as he remembered their conversation in the restaurant.

"A shot of Tequila Rose or just a few small drinks never killed anyone," Kurt winked as he turned a few more blocks, and he saw Blaine give him a doubtful look out of the corner of his eye. He immediately turned on the radio, eyes still on the road. A familiar beat began to play on the radio. "Oh, well, look here! I love this song!"

"Every night, I walked the streets, never dreaming what could happen!" Kurt sang along loudly. Blaine rolled his eyes. "Come on! Sing with me! I know you know this song, Blaine."

"No," Blaine laughed. Kurt gave him an incredulous look, then turned back to face the road.

"You're a party pooper."

"Whatever, Kurt. I am the party man."

"Indeed, you are. Come on! Give it a try. We haven't sung together in years. Wow…years."

"Fine. Continue," Blaine sighed. Kurt bobbed his head to the beat of the song.

"I'll wear that dress, if you wear that tie, and baby, we'll dance through the night…" Kurt hummed. "…'Cause no one's got what we've got goin'."

"Happiness never held onto me, until you helped me see that together we're just better off," Blaine continued sheepishly. Kurt immediately stopped singing, and changed the radio station.

"Sorry. That was too much," he mumbled. Blaine shrugged and laughed nervously.

"No, no, I'm sorry. You're right, I am being a party pooper," he grumbled, leaning back onto the plush leather seat. "It's just that…here we go again, with the flirty duets."

Kurt blushed. "That…that wasn't my intention," he said in an airy, nervous tone as he turned another corner. There was another echoing silence in the small car, and Blaine cleared his throat and sat up in his seat again. Kurt looked at him nervously and back to the road. "Damn this traffic," he muttered as he came to the main road. A vast multitude of cars were beeping loudly, bumper-to-bumper. Kurt muttered a few more expletives as he poked his head out of his window. An accident had happened at an intersection up ahead.

Kurt grumbled to himself and rolled his window back up; leaning in his chair, dejected.

"Good ol' New York traffic," Blaine said idly, smiling weakly. Kurt returned the smile, arms tightly folded.

"There's been a small accident. So why did Dani call earlier?"

"Apparently, Duke is outside of her dorm building when he's supposed to be back at the Palace right about now," Blaine sighed. "Did I tell you what happened while she was drunk?"

"Under what drunken stereotype did she fall under?"

"'Needy girl' drunk," Blaine muttered. "And 'Insane Drunk.'"

"Let me guess. She kissed Duke."

"Correct, and to be honest, I think she's liked him since she was seventeen. About four years," Blaine rolled his eyes. "I think he's beginning to reciprocate those feelings."

"I knew it. Did you know my assistant likes him?"

"Jamie Lewis?"

"Yes," Kurt sniffed. "I love Jamie with all my heart. She's a sweetheart. I can tell when she's pissed, and despite her concern for me this past afternoon, she sounded a bit strained. Voice sounded hoarse from crying a little bit."

"Poor girl."

"Thing is, she broke up with a guy last summer. Cheater," Kurt sighed. "She may seem a tad bit uptight out of the studio, but she's a good person."

"Duke thought she was very pretty."

"When she mentioned Duke, she referred to him as Anderson's manager."

Blaine snorted. "Anderson's manager. Interesting."

"I knew immediately that she liked Duke. I know Duke, too, Blaine. During our freshman year and his senior year in college, he always had girls hanging off of him. Wasn't surprised Jamie liked him. He is quite good-looking."

"Honestly, he's not my type, and he's straight," Blaine laughed. "And about women—not recently," Blaine said pointedly, adamant. "He's been working his ass off daily."

"Not my type either," Kurt winked.

"Changing the topic: did your parents call you at all this morning?" Blaine asked. Kurt nodded.

"My dad yelled at me for the first time in years for not 'controlling the situation,' but then…when I told him about me and Anthony breaking up, he seemed to…not take it as hard as I did. It was the same with Carole."

"Why do you think that?"

"He and Anthony weren't always friends."

"I see," Blaine mused, lips tightened. "How about Finn?"

"He and Anthony always hated each other."

"What happened?" Blaine asked, attempting to hide the amusement in his voice.

Kurt exhaled loudly. "Arguments and stuff. Finn didn't really like him at first sight, and then Anthony picked a fight, and then it became a flurry of fists and expletives—oh, hey! The traffic's gone!"

"Thank god," Blaine said in relief. "And you sure do have one awesome brother."

"And you have an equally awesome sister."

Kurt revved his engine along with the other cars on the road, and they made their way down the streets of New York towards the Upper East Side.

Toronto, Ontario, Canada / Ryerson University

Danielle reluctantly made her way down the stairs of her dorm building, her heart thumping wildly. What did I do? Why the fuck is he still here? The same two questions kept on running through her head, and she wove her way through a small sea of students already making their way to bed. Her head was still throbbing slightly, and her steps were wobbly. Focus, Danielle Marie. Focus. Look sober. Well, you are sober. Just stand straighter, you little hipster bitch. She adjusted the sleeve of her baseball shirt (she changed out of the one she wore to come back to Toronto) and finally made her way to the front door of the dorm building.

"Anderson!" a voice called out. She ignored it and kept on walking, her headache getting slightly worse.

As she opened the door, however, someone from behind ran towards her and knocked her down.

Again! Fuck this shit! She stood up immediately, brushing her shirt off. "Damn it! Again with the knocking down! I am not that fucking short! You can see me! I am visible! 5'3" is not that damn short!" Danielle said a few more 'words' and looked up at the person who knocked her down, and folded her arms.

A tall, green-eyed, dark-haired boy stood behind her sheepishly, ruffling his shaggy hair. "Sorry, Anderson."

"Bobby," she said, trying to control the anger in her voice, "Bobby. Robert Green. Next time you do not watch where you are going, you will end up in a crack house and the crack heads will sell your body for drugs. I do not care if we are in the same writing class: I swear I will throw you into a crack house. Or maybe a furnace. Whatever works."

"I…I just wanted to ask you something," the boy said, biting his lip. She looked at him, eyebrows raised, arms folded impatiently. "Dani Anderson, do you want to go to din—"

"Dani!" another voice called out. Danielle twirled around and her face flushed as Duke ran up to the door, still in his suit, looking incredibly tired. The tall boy, Bobby Green, sighed and walked away, crestfallen. Danielle gave him an irritated, yet apologetic glance, as she ran out to meet up with Duke before he set foot in the dormitory building.

They walked along the path outside the dormitory together.

"Why the fucking fuck are you still here? My brother's flight for Chicago is tomorrow, and you're supposed to be with him!" she said angrily. Duke cleared his throat and pursed his lips guiltily. "Don't give me that gassy baby look, Desmond Jude Whitely!"

"Shhh! Don't say my name so loudly!" Duke exclaimed, covering her mouth quickly. She pushed his hand away. "I don't even look like a fucking 'Desmond'!"

"Your mother named you that, so you have no excuses, and I don't give a flying fuck if we are friends. I have a rape whistle, and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Danielle, you're legal and we're friends," Duke said bluntly, frowning, and stopping in his tracks. Danielle turned around to him and gave him a look of utter irritancy.

"Won't stop me!" she said threateningly, reaching into her pockets. Duke gave her a panicked look and sighed exasperatedly.

"I didn't want to, um, leave, without telling you what happened last night."

There was a very pregnant pause.

She stared at him blankly, blinking. "Did we…?"

"NO!" Duke said loudly and defensively. She backed up a little.

"Holy fuck, was I that drunk?"

"No! We didn't do any of that!" Duke exclaimed. "Ew—I mean, ugh, don't think that," he groaned.

"What do you mean, 'ew'?" she said, taken aback. "I'm not gross!"

You're not, Duke thought. "Whatever. I just wanted to say that last night, when you were incredibly intoxicated…"

"Don't remind me."

"Fine. You don't want to know what happened? I'm out, bitch," he said quickly, turning on his heel and hurrying straight back to the limousine parked in the dormitory building's driveway. Danielle ran after him and pulled at his sleeve angrily, pulling him to face her.

Damn it, oh fuck, he thought, panicking wildly.

"You did not just drive back here to deny me gossip, Desmond Jude Whitely."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Desmond Jude."

"Stop, Dani."

"Desmo-o-o-nd Ju-Ju-Jude," she sang loudly. Duke stared at her.

"You clearly don't have your brother's pipes, therefore I am not dealing with you," he said, turning around again on a whim. She ran in front of him, arms folded.

"Yes, you are. When you turned your ass around and left my brother in New York, where he's probably being a hypocrite and getting wasted with Kurt, it became your time to deal with me," she said menacingly. "And I know I can't sing as well as Blaine. So, what the hell happened last night? Obviously, we didn't have…have…"

"Sex, no we didn't," Duke said bluntly, blushing fiercely.

"Oh, thank god," she sighed in relief, running a hand through her hair. "Then, what? Did I streak with you around the Palace lobby?"

"YoukissedmeandIkissedyouback," Duke said quickly, blushing an even deeper shade of red. Danielle looked at him with apprehension.

"What? I don't understand 'blushing bride tones'. Did we drive to Vegas and get hitched?" she said, panicked.

"As your mom would say, 'hay naku!'" he said with a terrible Filipino accent. Dani had to hide her laughter. "We wouldn't have had time for that, stupid!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air, irritated.

"Point made."

Duke inhaled deeply.

"We made out with each other."

Danielle stared at him, and her face flushed pink. I what? I WHAT? "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh,'" Duke said quietly. "In the back of the limo." Shit. Here comes the pain.

"Oh god."

Danielle covered her mouth, her sleeve covering her hand. "I made out with you."

"And I kissed you back."

Duke. Oh my god, I finally kissed Duke. I kissed Duke Whitely. Desmond Jude Fucking Whitely. Duke. Oh my god. And I didn't remember? Fuck my life.

"That's all you came here for?" she said indignantly, clearing her throat nervously. Duke nodded.

"Pretty much."

"Does…Does Blaine know?"

"Yeah."

"And he didn't tell me. That bitch," she snapped, reaching into her pockets for her phone. Unfortunately, she had left it back in her dormitory. Cursing, she looked at him. "I fucking kissed you."

"And…"

"What 'and'? What else did I do or say? Because—because—because none of that shit is ever real, okay? I was—I was drunk!"

"You…uh, told me you loved me."

Danielle stared at him blankly.

Oh god, the blank Anderson Stare again, Duke sighed in his mind. The two stared at each other.

"I didn't mean it," she said quickly.

"Yeah. Yeah…" Duke said, his voice trailing off. "…Yeah, you probably didn't mean it."

Oh my god I said it when I was drunk. Stupid, you are stupid, Dani! What horrible timing! He might think you're a tequila slut! Or maybe he already does!

"I…I guess I don't speak the truth when I'm drunk," she stuttered. Duke pursed his lips once more and nodded curtly.

"I…I'm going to go now," he said hesitantly. I guess it's been a long time coming, but think I really do love you back. "I…I just didn't want to not see you again for a while and have you not know about what went down last night."

"Duke," she said, her voice becoming gentler. She put a hand on his arm. No. Yes. No. Oh, come on, Danielle. He's just a few years older than you, very few years, and he's very, very handsome and cute and holy crap but—no. Danielle Marie Anderson, you will not tell this man anything. You—No. Yes. Oooh, maybe. Nah, no.

"Yeah?" he asked, standing straighter.

"…Thanks for telling me," she said softly. She let go of his arm and grumbled, "I'm a tequila slut now, aren't I?"

"No, I wouldn't say 'slut,'" Duke said off-handedly. She hit him gently and sat down on the pavement. He sat down next to her. "I'd call you a tequila binger. Never a 'tequila slut.'"

"Sorry for kissing you."

"Sorry for kissing you back."

They looked at each other for a brief moment and then looked away.

"You should go back to New York. My brother's going to need you in the morning," she sighed. "Thanks again." Fuck you, Dani. Fuck you for being stupid.

"You're quite welcome," Duke said. "And I will. I'm giving the driver ample time to relax."

Danielle looked at him. "Do you think Blaine is going to be okay?"

"First time I haven't heard you call him 'Bee' in a while," Duke smiled. "I hope so."

"Yeah. I think so, too. And I haven't called him by his proper name in forever, really," she confessed. "Got used to calling him 'Bee' because I had a minor speech problem when I was a kid. That's why I ended up nicknaming him 'Bee'."

"He told me that story before."

"Yeah. Mom told me I was trying to say 'Blaine,' but it kept on coming out like 'Been.' 'Been,'" she laughed. "I got tired of saying the 'n' so I dropped it and called him 'Bee'. Then it became 'Bumblebee,' and then 'Buckeye' when he started getting into football."

"You really love your brother, do you?" Duke asked gently. Danielle nodded.

"He's the only one I've got," she said quietly. "Mom's always following dad around. She loves us, I know, but she's always so busy trying to make dad happy. And dad, don't get me started on dad," she said darkly. "He wasn't always so nice. Hit Blaine once when we were in high school, and he had to stay at Kurt's for the night. I was somewhat his little protector our whole lives. Pushed his bullies' siblings into trashcans and sandboxes when their older siblings hurt Bee. I was really happy when he found Kurt, you know. That's why I pressed for him to try singing at the party, too."

Duke looked at her softly.

"Same reason for me, except I didn't push kids into sandboxes. I think it was a good thing that he sang at the party," he shrugged.

"With Kurt, he seemed happier. Brighter. Smiled more."

"Which makes me hope that tonight they at least become friends again."

Silence.

"Last night was insane."

"Yeah."

"Some people were pegging me for information, but I threatened to mace them."

"Please, don't spread anything about the party."

"You mock me, sir. I would never spread gossip about Blaine James Anderson and Kurt Elizabeth Hummel," Danielle said with fake anger. The two laughed, and Duke looked at his watch.

"Got to go if I want to get back to New York in time to pack my shit and get going to Chicago, and take care of your brother."

"Thanks, Duke," she said as he stood up. He held his hand out, and she took it and he helped her up immediately.

"Well…goodbye for now, Danielle Anderson."

"Hasta la vista, Desmond Whitely," she sniffed. "Thank you. Just…thanks for watching my brother for me, and for, um, breaking my nose..."

Duke nodded, gulping, and turned around as he began to walk towards the limo again. "I'm sorry about your nose again," he called out.

"It's alright," she called back in an airy, high-pitched voice.

Girl, it is now or never.

"Duke!" Danielle shouted. He turned around and saw her running towards him, and that was when she pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was gentler this time; unlike the rough, sloppy one she gave him last night.

To Duke, it felt more organic, more natural.

When they broke apart, she cleared her throat.

"Shoo," she said croakily, waving her hand at him. Duke nodded, blushing furiously, and hurried towards the car. "Wait—Duke!"

"Yeah?"

"I thought you liked that Jamie chick."

"I met her yesterday. I've known you for years," he said with a small smile, and then he got into the car. He left the door open just a little bit and added sheepishly but confidently, "She may be quite good-looking, but she's not an Anderson."

With that, the door closed and the limo drove away.

Oh, you crazy son of a bitch, Danielle thought to herself, and hurried back to her dorm building. Took you long enough.

They finally arrived at Kurt's apartment building, laden with grocery bags. The bellboy looked slightly taken aback when he saw Blaine with Kurt, but opened the door and elevator for them anyway.

"Don't mind him," Kurt whispered as they entered the elevator. Blaine smirked. The elevator door shut and the men put their grocery bags down on the elevator floor, sighing in relief as they were rid of their burdens.

"What a fancy building," Blaine whistled.

"Blaine, we're in the elevator," Kurt said amusedly. "You haven't seen fancy until you've been deeper into the Upper East Side."

"Might check it out next time I come back to New York."

Come back. Don't leave, Kurt thought desperately. "You should."

"This elevator really is nice," Blaine whistled.

"Blaine, you've seen an elevator before. Stop fawning over it," Kurt laughed, unable to contain himself. "You grew up richer than me."

"It's marble, though, Kurt, marble. This damn elevator is made of black marble," Blaine said, nodding in approval.

"Are you sure they didn't slip something into your drink at Savore?"

"Positive," Blaine said obdurately, nodding curtly. "What floor are you on?"

"Fifteenth," Kurt answered, looking up at the floor ticker. They were still on the sixth floor. "I…I told Anthony I would have preferred the fifth floor or something, because he wanted the thirtieth floor or the twentieth floor, but we both agreed in the end that the fifteenth floor was alright. It has a nice view of the city in the morning, especially the sunrise."

Blaine asked reluctantly, "When did you…and Anthony…move into this building?"

"A year and three months ago," Kurt sighed. "When Pavarotti and his gallery were becoming more well-known."

"Clever name for your clothing company," Blaine winked.

Eleventh floor.

"It was a tribute to my warbler, okay?" Kurt said indifferently. "Pavarotti deserves immortality. Oh, thank god, we're almost there. I'll probably move out of…move out of here and get a conveniently placed condo on a lower floor. Might find a place that's less expensive than this one now that I've got to pay the rent on my own."

Blaine nodded understandingly.

"Finally!" Kurt exclaimed as the elevator dinged when they reached the fifteenth floor. The two men piled out and walked down the white, carpeted hallway.

"Looks smaller than it does on the outside," Blaine nodded in approval.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Wait until you get into the actual apartment."

They arrived in front of a tall, pristine white door emblazoned with the number 1535. Kurt put down his grocery bags and rummaged through his pockets for his keys, and opened the door. "May not be monochrome, but it was home."

Blaine took a note of the 'was' and stepped into the condominium. As Kurt flicked on the lights, Blaine stared in awe at the place, but he knew immediately, that Kurt hadn't put his heart into the place, for there was a strange mix of colors everywhere in the condominium—a strange mix of random secondary colors. Blaine James Anderson, your gay is showing, he thought to himself, and he shook it off and followed Kurt into a separate hallway and into the pristinely kept kitchen. They placed their grocery bags on the marble counter and Kurt put his hands on it, sighing.

"Welcome to my humble abode."

Blaine bobbed his head in approval. "It's quite nice, but…"

Kurt gave him a withering look. "The colors. Yes, the colors. I had a small spat with Anthony about the colors before. I wanted to give the living room a lot of blue and white, and the dining room a black and white feel with red accents. He wanted just a random assembly of colors."

"You two had quite a few spats, huh?"

"It wasn't often. Probably once a year or every few months. Recently, though, we had arguments every other day…" his voice trailed off. Blaine gave him a sympathetic look. "Go and have a seat; I'll mix us some drinks and then we'll keep talking from there," he said quickly gesturing towards the living room door. Blaine nodded and complied, walking through the hallway, opening the door to the living room once more.

Blaine sat down on the maroon leather couch and looked around. No, none of the living room or anything really, in the main part of the house apart from the kitchen seemed to be Kurt-designed. He was appalled. Looking around, he stood up once more and walked around, and began to question his true intentions of coming to Kurt's condominium.

Kurt hadn't given them a chance three years ago, so why was he, Blaine, with him again, eating dinner and sharing a few drinks? Why did he not just go back to the Palace after their dinner in SoHo? Why did he even agree to meet Kurt in the first place, when he knew Kurt was freshly single? Literally newly single?

Wow, Blaine, you've really gotten yourself into a terrible mess. First, you try to hold his hands in an Italian restaurant. Second, you go grocery shopping with him, like old times, and you two are acting like a married couple. Bullshit, man, total bullshit.

He still loved Kurt: that was obvious. But, he was scared of getting hurt again, and scared of—despite his shared phrase with Duke, 'don't give a shit'—what the public might think of him. The public knew he and Kurt had dated. The public now knew that it was because of him that Anthony and Kurt had broken up and called off their engagement. So what was he now? He wouldn't just be the famous Blaine Anderson, Grammy Award Winner. He would be Blaine Anderson: Grammy-Award Winning, A-Plus Cheating Partner. That was probably what the general public assumed now the news of the happenings the night before came to light. Or, they thought otherwise—that Kurt was the A-Plus Cheating Partner.

But Blaine knew better. He knew that these little rumors would flit away one day—maybe in a manner of weeks, if something 'bigger' in the entertainment world happened. So why was he still scared of falling back in love with the newly single Kurt Hummel and dating him?

Again, the memories came back and flooded into his head.

There's no need to talk. I've grown up. I'm not that baby penguin, the boy you fell in love with five years ago. That's nice, Blaine. I want you to have a good life, okay? You don't need me here. I've got to keep my options open. I'm going to New York, Blaine, and you know that we're not good at long distance relationships. I think that this whole relationship is dragging my dreams and chances down. My feelings have been fading. I don't love you anymore.

Kurt admitted that all of the things he said were because of his jealousy and his fear of them breaking up if they had kept their relationship going on. Blaine, however, knew that he had meant most of the words he said. We're not good at long distance relationships.

The two of them had gone to UCLA together in the first place because Blaine hadn't been accepted at NYU because he lacked a certain class or a certain credit to get accepted—he didn't remember anymore. Kurt, he knew, desperately wanted to go to New York, but on a whim decided to go to California with Blaine since UCLA had his courses…and had Blaine. But Blaine knew that Kurt would one day crack from staying in California for too long, especially since the state didn't have the resources he needed to jump-start his careers in both Broadway, obviously, and fashion. And so Kurt did.

They really weren't good at long distance relationships, even though they hadn't really tried. There was another instance, when they were in high school, when there was an Anderson moving scare: his father had a job offer in Washington D.C. in the middle of Blaine's senior year and Danielle's eighth grade year. He and Kurt nearly broke up then, too. In the end, obviously, Mr. Anderson had turned down the job offer.

What if they had gotten back together? With Blaine now touring the country, and Kurt living in New York, they'd have to start a long-distance relationship.

What if Kurt found someone else?

What if he, Blaine, found someone else while on tour? He knew it wasn't going to happen, but what were the odds? Plus, they would both be incredibly busy with their careers, and the media would be all over them, especially since Kurt had broken up with Anthony.

Anthony Marksman. Blaine felt bitter every time he heard the man's name, yet—he felt sorry for the painter at the same time.

And Kurt! Kurt still seemed to like him back, but he knew Kurt. He longed for companionship. Inside, deep inside, he longed for companionship. Now free of Anthony, he would feel alone, as he said—more alone. With Anthony, he had been less alone. At least that was what Blaine gathered from their relationship. How much more alone would Kurt feel if he were dating Blaine while he was touring? Blaine thought of it: they'd have telephones, they'd have Skype, and they'd have the Internet overall.

But it wasn't the same.

He felt like a petty teenager.

These thoughts and more running through his mind, Blaine walked down another hallway. He looked around to see if Kurt was done mixing the drinks. Clearly, he wasn't, so Blaine continued his self-tour of Kurt's humble abode. He looked up and saw stairs that led to a loft with doors. Bedrooms, he thought, feeling as if a pin fell into his stomach. His and Anthony's room is up there, somewhere. He shook off the thoughts and stayed on the first level of the condo just in case Kurt came out of the kitchen. Blaine turned a left and found himself at a dead end, facing a large and smooth, marble-white door. Curious, he put his hand on the handle and opened the door to reveal a studio.

It was Kurt's—and that was obvious. The couches, together in a pristine pattern of black and white, were gathered around a glass white coffee table (the only things on the table being the latest issue of Vogue: his issue, and a small set of iPod speakers), and in another corner was a large, white table with papers, sketchpads and differently-colored cloths strewn all over the tabletop. There were two mannequins: one, a male mannequin, and the other, a female one, wearing two outfits with very familiar color schemes: Dalton's red and blue color scheme.

Around the neck of the mannequins, there were two signs: not to be produced.

Blaine bit his lip and continued to look around the personal studio. He walked over to a back table, where there were several black photo frames. He saw photos of Kurt and his father, Kurt and his mother, Kurt and Carole, Kurt and Finn, Kurt and Mercedes, and another photo of Kurt, Rachel, Santana, Brittany, and Mercedes, at what he assumed was Brittany and Santana's wedding. Another frame held a picture of him and Anthony. Blaine picked it up and stared at it. He saw a fleck of blue at the corner of the frame, and furrowing his eyebrows, he picked at the back of the frame and took out another photo that was lodged behind the picture of Kurt and Anthony.

It was a small photo strip of him and Blaine back in high school. They had found a photo booth in one of Lima's department stores, and decided to take pictures together for fun. In the first photo on the strip, Kurt was wearing one of Blaine's old Dalton sweaters, and had his arms around Blaine's neck and his lips pressed to Blaine's cheek.

The second photo had the both of them making silly faces to the camera; Kurt made a very airy, model-like glance at the camera, while Blaine decided to make kissy faces at the camera.

The third photo showed the two of them, Blaine's head on Kurt's shoulder. It was a simple photo.

The fourth photo had the two of them, lips locked into a kiss.

Lima, Ohio / seven years previously

"Oh my god, we are insane," Kurt laughed loudly as they sat, squished together in the tiny photo booth. "What are we going to do for the third photo?"

Blaine panicked, thinking of what to do. "Look at me," he said. Kurt turned to face him, eyebrows quirked. Blaine immediately pressed his lips to Kurt's softly, and they kissed as the photo booth counted down and snapped the photo.

They separated immediately and laughed.

Blaine choked back a cry and stuffed the photo back in the frame. He slammed the frame down—gently, so that Kurt wouldn't hear, and he looked around at Kurt's studio.

Another thing he noticed was the program from his Friday night concert on one of the couches.

Wiping his eyes immediately, he regained his composure and hurried out of the studio, closing the door gently. Luckily, as he re-entered the living room, Kurt already opened the kitchen door, pushing through a small cart with various drinks. "Bon appétit."

"Thanks!" Blaine gave him a weak smile and immediately picked up a shot, and drank it quickly.

"You…you alright, Blaine?" Kurt asked nervously as they sat down with their shots. Blaine nodded, shrugging.

"Perfectly fine. Why?" he asked quickly. Kurt shrugged as well and downed his first shot, his face wrinkling. "Are you sure you've drunk lately?"

"Positive. I guess I'm not the best at mixing."

Blaine laughed. "Should have asked me for help. I learned from experts," he said with faux enthusiasm.

"If you call Duke an expert at anything, then Barbra Streisand is a novice at everything she does," Kurt shuddered. "I'd hate to think of the crazy concoctions he'd come up with."

"This is really good, actually," Blaine said appreciatively, pouring himself another shot quickly.

Kurt's eyes widened. "Slow down, cowboy!" he laughed nervously.

Blaine stopped pouring and sat back down, exasperated. "Sorry. I'm…I'm just really tired."

"Ugh, I knew I shouldn't have brought you here," Kurt said in a high, panicky voice.

"No, no," Blaine said quickly. No, you shouldn't have. You're making it harder for me to leave. "It's fine. It's all fine."

"I was…was just guessing that if you wanted to get a drink or two, it's best we partake in these affairs here at my house so that we don't have to deal with driving back from the restaurant…"

"Affairs," Blaine snorted, drinking his shot quickly again.

"Sorry, wrong word," Kurt muttered, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair in frustration.

"Kurt, may I ask you a very simple question?" Blaine asked suddenly, staring at the floor. Kurt turned around to face him anxiously. Blaine looked up, and their eyes met: hazel and blue-green. "Please don't be offended, but…did you really love Anthony, and do you, still?"

Kurt stared at him blankly. "Why are you asking me this?" he said, rubbing his temples warily.

"I know I don't need to know anything about your love life anymore—"

"You were a part of my love life before, Blaine—a very important part of my so-called 'love life,' so honestly—I really think you do have a right to know," Kurt confessed in a quiet voice. "I did love him. I really did. But I wasn't…I wasn't in love with him, per se, as I figured out…after he asked me to marry him."

"After?" Blaine said in disbelief, his mouth hanging agape.

Kurt gave him a sheepish look and frowned, burying his face in his hands. "I'm a really horrible and misguided person, Blaine. You should know that by now." He downed his shot. "I've been a working mess. When he asked me to marry him, we were at another Italian restaurant around here somewhere. He ordered me spaghetti and he got whatever plate he got—I believe it was pesto. He got down on one knee, after having the pianist at the restaurant play a very beautiful Chopin tune, and asked me to marry him. I didn't know what to say. Before I knew it, I said 'yes.'"

"Chopin. Very classy," Blaine mumbled as he continued to drink.

"After that…I don't know what happened to me. I started working more. He pointed out that I didn't stop fucking working. I denied little dates. I came home late. My designs were beginning to reflect my workaholic-like thoughts and how planning a wedding would stress me out."

The red and blue blazer. The red and blue dress, Blaine thought, a lump gathering in his throat.

"So, we started fighting. And we kept fighting, and you saw what happened last night, and when we got home, he threw down his engagement ring and walked out. We yelled at each other. We…we started getting worse on Friday…when I went to your concert."

"I saw you," Blaine said, his whole entire body feeling numb. "You were with Jamie. A few rows…from the front."

"She asked me to go with her."

Blaine stared at him. "Why did you go?"

"I went on a whim."

"I think the tequila will say this for me very soon, but half of those songs—"

"—Were about me, as narcissistic as that sounds," Kurt said, looking down at the floor. "I know you and what you write about."

"Observant," Blaine grumbled as he drank again. "Kurt, do you even know what the hell you're doing with your life? First, you leave without explaining, second, you date someone and agree to marry them, but you're not in love with them, and the night after you break up with them, you ask me to have dinner with you."

"I—" Kurt muttered, taken aback.

Kurt looked at him, shaking, and poured himself another drink. "Blaine, I honestly don't know what I'm doing with myself. I look like such a big shot designer with all of these contacts and a Broadway contract with one of the best musicals of all time, but I don't know what I'm doing. I thought by settling down here in my dream city with everything around me exactly the way I want it to be, I would…I would be whole. But I'm not. I was stupid. Everything—" he drank his shot and poured himself another one "—is going to shit. It all has been."

Blaine's mind began to feel woozy, and he was slowly beginning to succumb to the alcohol in his system. "You think you had it bad?" He stood up shakily and drank his shot quickly, his face scrunching together. He pointed at Kurt with his shot glass hand. "Yeah, I sound so fucking selfish, pardon my tequila, but when you left me, without giving a proper reason or explaining yourself three years ago, I honestly couldn't function. I was going to fly to New York to see you, but all of the flights were booked and I didn't have the money, and that made me feel worse. I was so ready. I was going to skip my damn recording just to go to your audition but you were pissed at me, so I didn't go.

"I'm an idiot, aren't I? We're both idiots, aren't we?" he laughed loudly. "We both don't know what the hell we're doing!"

"Blaine, it's the alcohol talking," Kurt whispered, even though he knew it was otherwise.

"I really loved you. We had it going. I was going to tell you we were going to be in New York together by the next year, but you rushed it and left!" Blaine guffawed. "Did you know I didn't talk to people for days, and Duke thought I drank myself sick? Dani had to fly to Los Angeles to stay with me for a few days. It's really pathetic, you know, when a grown man's little sister has to fly to him to make him feel better. I resorted to talking to my fans on chat rooms online, and they were pretty much my only comforts besides my sister and my manager. My dad was really annoyed with me, too, and you know how he is. He fucking told me 'I told you so.' My mom was the one who sent Danielle to me. You know what? That was when everything started going to shit for me, Grammy or no Grammy; tour or no fucking tour!"

Blaine collapsed to his knees, hugging himself as he started to cry.

Kurt stared at him, his eyes glossing over. He knew Blaine wouldn't have said this if he were sober. He forgot that Blaine had a low tolerance for drinks. He regretted buying the alcohol, and was about ready to throw it all outside the window. Kurt himself was feeling tipsy as well, but he still managed to keep his bearing.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said hoarsely. He got on his knees and put his hands on Blaine's shoulders. "Blaine. Look at me. Blaine."

"It's the alcohol, I'm sorry, it's the alcohol, Kurt, I'm so sorry," he sobbed, hugging Kurt tightly. Kurt was shocked, but he managed to pat Blaine's back gently.

"Shhh, Blaine, shhh," Kurt said in a croaky voice as he let his tears spill over his cheeks. "Blaine, I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry."

"My dad thinks I'm an idiot and a family mockery, and I bet my mom secretly thinks I'm a failure, my little sister's all the way in Canada, the media's always up my ass about things, and—fuck it all!" Blaine exclaimed, separating from Kurt, running his hands through his hair as he leaned onto the couch for support. Kurt stood up immediately, even though he himself felt woozy, and held out his hand to Blaine. Blaine, whose sobs were slowly subsiding, stared at his hand blankly. Kurt bent down and took Blaine's hand himself, and pulled him up gently.

"And you still have our photo strips in a hidden frame," Blaine said hoarsely. "Why the fuck are you doing this to me, Kurt? Why the fuck did you do this to yourself?"

"Come with me," Kurt said firmly, and then he pulled Blaine down the hallway, past the stairs and the loft, and into his studio. He sat Blaine down on one of the white couches and pulled out his iPhone, plugging it into his speakers. He quickly scrolled down his lists, and began to play a song with a soft string and guitar introduction.

Blaine stared at Kurt as he held out his hand again. He took it shakily, and they began to dance.

"Jason Mraz," Blaine whispered. "Beautiful Mess," he said, once the first verse began.

"Blaine," Kurt began shakily, "You're not going to remember this in the morning. I already know this."

"I love you," Blaine blurted. "I love you, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."

Kurt stared at him. He's drunk, Kurt. He's drunk. "It's too soon for me to be saying the same thing to you."

The two stared at each other as they danced, and their foreheads touched gently.

"I don't care," Blaine breathed. Kurt could smell the strawberry vodka on his breath, but he ignored it, and savored this moment.

It might be the last time he would get to do this.

Blaine spun him around gently, and Kurt tried to bite back the tears that were threatening to fall once more.

Blaine closed his eyes.

"Why…why did you keep those photos?" he said, his voice beginning to slur slightly.

"Because…" Kurt began, but his voice trailed off. "Because I l…Because I love you. Still. It took me a while to realize it again, and you won't remember this in the morning, but…but I do."

"Shut up," Blaine responded blearily. He opened his eyes and looked up at Kurt. "I love you, too," he whispered, and he put his lips to Kurt's.

As before, their kiss was gentle. Forward and drunken, but very gentle. Their lips melded together perfectly, and moved with a harmony that they were both familiar with. Blaine put a hand to Kurt's cheek, and Kurt tightened his grip on Blaine's waist, tears falling down his face.

After what seemed like forever, they separated and Blaine looked intently at Kurt. "You're crying," he said tiredly, his body swaying slightly. "I was earlier, too, huh?"

"You need to get some sleep," Kurt said quickly, turning him around, leading him by the shoulders to the couch bed in the corner of the studio. Blaine lay down on it, his head hurting, and he stared at Kurt fixedly, a tear falling down his face as his eyes fluttered closed. Kurt sat next to him, running his hand through Blaine's curly hair. He choked back a sob, and blinked back tears, putting his feet on the bed, leaning his back on the arm of the chair. He closed his eyes and kept a protective hand on Blaine's head.

And within minutes, he found himself falling asleep.

Two Hours Later

Anthony walked down the hallway of his and Kurt's—well, what used to be his and Kurt's—condominium, two large duffel bags in hand. He headed up to the loft and into their—what used to be their—bedroom, and wasn't surprised that Kurt wasn't there yet. Probably at the studio. He walked over to the closet and began stuffing as many of his clothes as he could into his bag, and as many of his belongings. He stared at the photo of the two of them on the nightstand and tore his eyes away from it immediately.

Just…just let him be happy, Anthony thought to himself, blinking back tears as he finished packing his things. He zipped his bags shut and closed the closet doors quietly, and walked out of the room.

He heard soft music playing from the hallway leading to Kurt's studio, and dropped his bags by the stairs and went to the studio to investigate.

He opened the door just a little bit, and saw Kurt lying down on his couch bed, fully clothed, his arms wrapped around Blaine Anderson.

I knew it, he thought, his heart breaking slowly. He closed the door again, and hurried to his bags, and dashed out of the condominium as soon as possible.

Just let him be happy.

Toronto, Ontario, Canada / Ryerson University

Good night, Dan. Miss you already, bitch. Stay sober 4 me & your bro, alright? – Duke

Danielle smiled to herself and pulled her blankets closer to herself as she texted him back. She put her phone on her nightstand and shut the lamp off on her side of the dormitory, and went to bed.

Somewhere Between Canada and New York

Duke shut off his cell phone and lay down on the back of the limo, smiling to himself.

Good night to you too, Desmond. Miss you, too. Oh, and don't use numbers when you text me. I like impeccably beautiful grammar. Stay a dick for me, will you? – Dani

the next morning / upper east side
New York City, New York

When he woke up, Blaine was gone.

Kurt found this out when he shifted onto the couch bed, and found himself taking up all of the space on the small twin-sized bed. He sat up immediately, and ran to the living room.

Blaine was gone.

There was nothing but a plate of sunny-side up eggs, bacon, pancakes, a bottle of syrup, and a letter on the kitchen counter.

Dear Kurt,

Well…I guess it's time for us to get on with our every day lives.

Thank you for everything.

I'll miss you, like I do every day. But you know, this is truly for the best—you and I both know it.

Sorry, I'm a horrible cook. I hope you enjoy the breakfast I made for you, because it's the least I can do for you since you let me stay over.

Remind me not to drink so much next time, if there is a next time. My mind is fuzzy and it's pretty hard to write all of this right now because it is seven in the morning and my hand is a tad bit wobbly.

Again, Kurt, it was nice seeing you again. 'Nice,' of course is an understatement, but I digress.

Thank you for everything.

Your…friend,
Blaine

Kurt looked at the kitchen clock.

It was noon.

His grip tightened on the counter edges, and he began to cry once more.

Author's Note:

Mergh. I want to cry.

Anyway.

AND, HAHAHA. DUKE'S ACTUAL NAME. ME GUSTA. HAHAHHAA.

HE DOESN'T SEEM LIKE A 'DESMOND,' EITHER. I MEAN, WHAT WAS HIS MOTHER THINKING?

He got the "Duke" from the latter half of his middle name, "Jude," and used the "D" from "Desmond". He didn't want to have "Dude" as his nickname, and as a kid, he was into the Dukes of Hazzard, so he picked "Duke" as his beloved nickname/stage name. Because he knew it was awesome-sounding.

The soundtrack is now up on MediaFire. Links to download are on my Author's Profile and my Tumblr: littlewizardmusings (dot) tumblr (dot) com. No spaces.

Please review! Reviews are beautiful things and will be very much appreciated. And, if you want, leave me a hello on Tumblr! I really hoped you guys were fine with this chapter!