The show must go on.
PLEASE READ! Crazy final beginning-of-the-end author's note!
First of all, I would like to apologize for the embarrassing month-long delay for the final chapter. I have been very busy with school (it's such a bitch asdflkjsdf), and I only ever had time for essays and all of that nonsense (just kidding). Now that it's our semester break, I took the time to sit and finish this chapter. And what a whopping 24 pages it ended up being. ALMOST 10k WORDS. WELP. SHOOT ME.
Secondly, I would like to thank everyone who has followed this story from the beginning, and the people who started following it when the more recent chapters were posted. This is a milestone for me as a fanfiction author: this is the first fic (besides one-shots) that I have ever completed, and holy crap; this was a rollercoaster of headaches, wild emotions, and everything under the sun.
It was a wonderful journey, writing this little tale, and I am so glad to have shared it with all of you. I made friends through this story—Cat and Cass in particular. And I would like to thank everyone who put it on their Fic-Rec lists and everything—because this really does mean a lot to me as a writer.
It was fun reading the liveblogs (under the tags INGTH & littlemusings, haha, which I am still following on my personal tumblr – my fangirl-fanfiction related one has been deleted due to school) of everyone and reading the wonderful reviews you all have left me over the past…how many months? FIVE MONTHS! That's a long time. Thank you for dealing with the craziness and frustration this fic probably caused you—it really frustrated me at times as well. Haha!
Okay, I'm crying now. Please proceed to read, and as always, I'd love to read crazy liveblogs of the chapter. Tags are INGTH and littlemusings.
I love you all! Thank you again.
Love,
Sam
Oh, Blaine. You drive me insane.
CHAPTER eleven
Always
of I'm Not Gonna Teach Him How to Dance With You
by littlemusings
Chicago, Illinois
Blaine jolted when he heard the loud "pop" of his Skype alerts. He sat in his seat grinned.
Danielle Anderson
Buh-laaaaaaaainnnnneeeeeeee: 3
Blaine Anderson
Daaaaaniiiiieeeellle.
Danielle Anderson
You copycat, it's my job to use multiple letters whilst typing to you. Mum and dad aren't online yet, so yeeeeahhhh. Since I was too busy yelling at you on the phone earlier, what did you do this fine, summer's day?
Blaine Anderson
Toured around the city, pretty much. You would have loved the shopping district. Lots of amazing clothes and whatnot.
Danielle Anderson
Did you buy me anything? It IS my birthday next week, you twat.
Blaine Anderson
It's a surprise. Oh, hey, mom and dad are online. Let us brace ourselves.
Blaine took a deep breath when the Skype notification stating that his parents (Maria and James Anderson came online) popped up on the top right-hand corner of his laptop. He waited five seconds, and then the familiar incoming call ringtone began to play. He answered it, and two boxes appeared over his head: one with his parents, and one with Danielle, who looked ridiculous in her huge earphones. She looked like she was at a library.
"Hi, mom, hi, dad," he said nervously. Maria Anderson waved back cheerfully.
"We saw the news," James Anderson said gruffly, folding his arms. "About the party and all of that. I told you, Blaine—"
Danielle rolled her eyes. "Wow, daddy, the first thing you do on Skype: chastise Blaine."
"—I'm still angry with you, Danielle Marie."
"Pish-posh, father."
"Oh, calm down, James," their mother frowned. "Let bygones be bygones. Blaine, are you alright, sweetheart?"
"I guess," Blaine sighed. He picked up his laptop and walked towards his bedroom, closing the door behind him. "Didn't go…as spectacularly as I…hoped."
"I knew it, I knew it!" James exclaimed. Maria punched his shoulder lightly. "See, son…"
"I don't know, I guess…he wasn't ready to…you know, get back together." Ugh. Wrong words. He decided not to tell them that he spent the night at Kurt's. "However, he and Anthony have ended their engagement."
"It was on the news. We saw it, and I really wasn't surprised. He really looked like he got a shiner from the punch Marksman gave him," James muttered.
"It was the black eye to end all other black eyes," Danielle said solemnly. Blaine bit back a giggle.
"I see,"
"Am I really going back to Ohio this fall?" Danielle blurted out. Their parents burst into laughter.
"No, you can still go to New York after graduation next month." James sighed deeply. "I'm sorry about yelling at the both of you back in New York. I was over-thinking—rather, overreacting, but…well…it turns out that I was kind-of right, Blaine."
"You were," Blaine grumbled back. "It's okay, dad."
"Cool beans, dad. It's alright," Danielle nodded.
Blaine frowned. "Cool beans? Wow, Dani."
"Oh, shut up, King of Cheese."
"Anyway, what else is going on, anak?" Maria asked, immediately changing the topic. "We visited your grandpa in Columbus yesterday, so we haven't been able to catch up on news."
"I have my concert here tomorrow at the Congress Theater. I'm pretty excited about it; I've always wanted to perform there," Blaine said with a grin. "Not much has happened, you know."
"Wish we could be at all of your concerts," Maria said sadly. "We'll be watching the live stream tomorrow, though."
"Me, too," Danielle chirped.
"How is your nose, baby girl?"
"Fine, mom. Uhm…listen, about my nose…I kind-of have something to tell the both of you."
"Go ahead, shoot."
"Anything, sweetie."
Blaine picked up his pillow and hugged it, burying his face with it in order to suppress his laughter.
"I'm…kinda-sorta going out…with Duke."
"WHITELY?"
The Congress Plaza Hotel, Chicago, Illinois
Kurt fell facedown onto his hotel bed, Jamie doing the same on hers. The two had to rush out of the airport to avoid being seen, and it didn't help that the taxi cab was playing a replay of last night's Entertainment Tonight, featuring a nice paparazzi video of Kurt running to the Palace hotel.
"I'm exhausted," he groaned.
Jamie looked up from her pillow. "So am I."
A short bout of silence followed her comment, and the two of them remained, flat on their respective beds.
He flipped over to stare at the ceiling. "Jamie?"
"Yes?"
"Honestly…I'm scared," he whispered. "I'm really scared."
"Don't be," she said, turning to face him, clutching her pillow, her dark hair falling over her face. "You love him, right? You're twenty-five, Kurt. Follow by what you think is best. You think this trip was an impulse?"
"A little," he chuckled.
"Yes, this may have been an impulse, but call me crazy, but I think you were meant to come here, anyway, you know?"
"Like, fate brought us here or something?" Kurt joked.
"Yeah," Jamie mused. "Have ever heard of the 'red string of fate' myth?"
"No," Kurt responded, turning to face her, his interest piqued.
"It's a Chinese legend. It says that a red string of fate ties two people together. The string is tied around the pinky of each person, and fate works crazily—and it supposedly brings the two people together eventually. The string may tangle or stretch, but the connection remains. It is almost inevitable that the two people are soul mates. You and Blaine probably have a string. It was probably stretched during the three years you two spent apart."
"Never thought you were one for folklore," Kurt laughed.
Jamie smiled. "My mom told me this story before I moved to New York. She told me that my ex and I didn't seem to have a 'red string'. When I asked what it was, she told me."
"So you're saying that…"
"…Maybe the string pulled you here. Part impulse, part fate."
"No wonder I hired you. You're a smart cookie," Kurt winked.
"It may sound like folklore, the whole string thing, but I believe in fate. And I think fate will bring you two back together, as corny as that sounds."
"I'm a romantic, Jamie. I soak in all romanticism," Kurt joked.
"I say we get some sleep before the big day tomorrow."
"Indeed."
The two stood up and started to rummage through their bags to get their pajamas. Kurt immediately took out his moisturizing kit and began his routine.
I'm still scared.
And I don't know what I'm going to do.
The Next Morning: The Chicago Sheraton Hotel
Blaine lay in his bed after slamming his alarm off. He rolled out of bed and went straight for the bathroom, brushing his teeth, then showering. After getting dressed, he found Duke sitting in the living room of his suite, Yankees cap over his eyes.
"You know, you could have knocked," Blaine laughed. Duke shot up and clutched at his chest.
"Holy shit, Blaine, you freaked me out."
"Um, I should be saying the same to you," Blaine grinned, sitting down next to him, picking up an apple from the fruit basket on the coffee table. "I'm going to meet up with an old school friend today before the concert. He's coming here soon, actually."
"David, right? David Thompson?"
"Yeah."
"Is he the one you said adores the gavel or something?" Duke scratched his head confusedly. Blaine attempted to repress a snort and shook his head.
"Nah, that was Wes. Wes is in England."
"The one who thought he was part-British?"
Blaine laughed. "Yeah. Still…hasn't ruled it out," he trailed off, remembering that was the exact phrase he used when telling Kurt about Wes a few nights ago. He took a deep breath, and a loud knock was heard from the front door. Blaine walked over to it and answered it, revealing David Thompson, who was grinning broadly. Blaine's face broke into a grin and he gave his old friend a hug and let him inside the room.
"Duke!" David exclaimed, giving him a hi-five. Duke obliged and smiled, pointing to the opposite couch.
"I've gotta go check on the rest of the crew," Duke grinned. "I'll let you two catch up."
After Duke left, Blaine sat in between the two couches and he and David began talking.
"Want me to order some room service?"
"Nah, it's fine. I already ate before coming here."
"Can I get you a drink?"
"Water's fine. I've gotta get back to the hospital soon. I've got to work another shift," David sighed, leaning back in his seat. "How have you been, Blaine? Been hearing…quite a bit about you in the past week."
"Yeah, about all of that—"
"—Did you hear about Kurt?"
"Wait, what…?"
"Kurt was seen crazily driving towards the Plaza the day you left."
Blaine stared at David indignantly.
"No way," he breathed. David shrugged.
"It was all over the news. I'm surprised you didn't catch it."
"You have got to be kidding me. Maybe he forgot something in the Villard Ballroom—that's it," Blaine grumbled, reassuring himself more than David. "Probably something important, and remembered two mornings later. That has got to be it."
David sighed. "Anyway, Blaine…how's everything else?"
Blaine immediately jetted off into a separate conversation with his old friend about everything that didn't have to do with Kurt E. Hummel.
But, something in the back of his head was bugging him.
The Chicago Plaza Hotel
Kurt collapsed onto his tiny apartment couch, exhausted. He had just come home from an entire day of Wicked rehearsals, and his legs were aching from standing up for so long, and never in his life had his voice been strained like it had been that day. "Run it again! Popular! Defying Gravity! I'm Not That Girl! Come on, Hummel!" he mocked his director, rolling over to face his ceiling. Sighing, he stood up and shuffled to his equally tiny kitchen, and looked through his refrigerator.
You're stupid, he thought to himself as he pulled out a head of lettuce, a pack of croutons, and Caesar salad dressing. He put it all on the counter and wandered over to his very small stack of boxes. Rummaging through the boxes, he cursed under his breath. Where is my fucking mixing bowl?
He stood up and kicked his box in frustration and put his salad ingredients back in the refrigerator.
Japanese, here we go again.
Kurt went over to his landline and dialed the number of the Japanese restaurant he had been ordering from for the past week, and ordered his normal dish of teriyaki chicken and California maki.
California, he thought bitterly, hanging up the phone with force. God, Kurt, why are you so stupid? He thought, tears brimming in his eyes.
It had been two weeks. Two, antagonizing weeks without Blaine by his side, encouraging him in all his endeavors. To Kurt, it was odd not to have Blaine wake up next to him, smiling. It was strange not to have someone hold him while he slept—it was incredibly strange not to have someone sing stupid little random songs as early as five in the morning.
You ended it. You shouldn't complain, half of him believed. The other half was bitter and angry and confused—You just threw all of it away, Kurt.
At night, he still stayed on the right side of the bed, and never moved to the left. You have got to get your shit together, Kurt Hummel. You have to try and get used to this.
You have to get used to this, the voice in his head repeated. No one is going to hold you anymore, no one is going to sing you Katy Perry songs, and no one is going to push you to succeed. The voice grew louder and louder, calling his name ominously—
"Kurt."
"Mmmph."
"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel."
"Blaine," Kurt mumbled in his sleep, turning over slowly, gripping the pristine white pillow next to him for dear life. Jamie sighed and pried the pillow away from him and shook him by the shoulder slowly.
"Kurt, it's me, Jamie. Wake up."
Kurt shot up in his bed, breathing heavily. He looked over to Jamie and breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank god, it's you."
"You okay?" she asked worriedly, still holding his pillow in her arms. He nodded, obviously disoriented, and rubbed his eyes. He threw off his blankets and stood up, arms folded, facing the light from the window that had already begun to drench the room.
"Today is the day."
"Indeed," Jamie mused. "Have you concocted your plan for this evening, yet?"
Kurt turned to her and shook his head. "No, no I haven't," he admitted sheepishly.
"Do you want me to call my cousin to give me her tickets? I mean, she'll give them to us—"
"—Watching his concert like that again won't do anything. It needs to be something big. A huge, celebratory bang, you know? This needs to prove to him that…that I still love him, Jamie. I can't just sit down there and watch his concert. I'll just be idle and all of that nonsense, singing along—" he stopped, mouth opening; his eyes widening in realization. "Wait—I have an idea."
A smile curled upon Jamie's lips. "Shoot."
He raised a speculative finger. "We could…try and sneak backstage."
The smile on Jamie's face faltered immediately. "Wait, what? Isn't that a bit…dangerous?"
"I could call Dani to call Duke and ask him to let us backstage."
Jamie frowned. "Do you really think Duke will let you backstage? I mean, I think he wants to watch out for his client and all of that stuff, like I am doing with you."
"Dani could convince him."
"They really are dating, aren't they?" she laughed.
"You seem to be taking this quite well," Kurt snorted, pulling out his phone.
"Well, I am a bit down that I didn't get to know the guy—I mean he is very good-looking, but all-in-all…" she pondered, milling thoughts over in her head. "Anyway, yeah, try calling Danielle."
Kurt nodded and immediately dialed Danielle's number; the other side ringing. "Thank god; she probably doesn't have a class right now."
"Hello? Kurt?" Danielle's voice floated out of the phone tiredly. "You're in Chicago now, aren't you? What's your grand master plan?"
"Can you call Duke for me?"
"Wait, what, why?" she asked, her interest piquing.
Kurt took a deep breath and let it out immediately. "I need him to let me backstage."
He swore he could hear her drop her phone and pick it up quickly again. Wow, that's a terrible habit. "Danielle, are you still alive? Is your phone still alive?"
"Yes, yes, yes, it's a trooper—are you serious? It's going to be difficult to convince him, I mean he's really watching over Blaine like a hawk now and doesn't want my brother to go a-wol, bat-shit crazy, and honestly, I don't want him to, either. What are you planning to do?"
"Something he did for me a few days ago."
"You are such a copycat," Danielle snorted. "Just kidding; in all honesty, that's really brave of you, and that does sound like a very good idea. Just be careful. Hold on, I shall call you back in a second. I'll call good ol' Duke and let him know that you're going to 'break-in'."
"Au revoir until then, Dan," Kurt grinned. With that, they both hung up and Kurt tossed his iPhone onto his bed. "She's calling Duke right now."
"Shall we plan your outfit for tonight?"
"Yes, we shall."
The Congress Theater, Chicago, Illinois
Duke was running back and forth across the stage and backstage, shouting and yelling at people as they continued to set up the stage. Crazy job, crazy job making me a crazy man. He ran over to the sound booth and saw Junie there, giving him an amused look. "What?" he asked loudly.
"Calm down, Duke, calm down," she snorted. "Everything's going smoothly."
He plopped down on a plastic chair next to her and sighed, folding his arms over his chest; putting his Yankees cap over his eyes. "I know. I'm just nervous."
She stared at him indignantly. "You're not the one performing tonight. Blaine is. So you shouldn't have to worry your little head about a thing, Whitely."
"Thank you, Mama Junie."
"Don't you dare call me that, you make me sound ancient."
"You are. You're like, nearly forty."
"Fuck you," she laughed, holding up her middle finger to his face. "Anyway…take a breather. Go outside or something. Chill."
"Alright, I'll do just that. Where's Blaine, by the way?"
"I'm not his manager," Junie whistled, turning back to the mixing table. Duke shot up and ran for the front of the stage, where Blaine was sitting amongst the many crewmembers walking back and forth, playing with his keyboard. Sighing in relief, he ran up to Blaine and tapped him on the shoulder.
Blaine turned around quickly. "Oh! Hi, Duke. Wait…are you okay, man?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," Duke fanned himself, leaning on Blaine's chair. Blaine smirked and went back to practicing. "Anyway, are you ready for tonight?"
"Ready as I'll ever be."
"I heard it's going to be another sold-out show."
Blaine stared at him, his fingers still flying through the keyboard keys. "Yeah. Another reason why I'm kinda nervous, but we just played Madison Square Garden."
Duke stared at his friend, marveling at Blaine's new, positive attitude. He frowned. "Okay, one more question: are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I'm perfectly fine," Blaine scoffed, looking back at the keyboard. Duke rolled his eyes and turned off the keyboard. "Hey!"
"Ever since we deleted and blocked Kurt's number you've been acting really weird. Rather, since David came to visit, you've been acting weirder."
"Are you questioning my happiness? That's a bit weird, isn't it?"
"You're not happy."
"Oh, shut up, Duke," Blaine breathed, turning the keyboard on again. Duke turned it off.
"I think you should call Kurt back," he said suddenly.
Blaine slammed the keys and gave Duke a pained expression. "Stop it, Duke."
"I'm being serious here. You could fix this," Duke snapped. "It's so weird…you're being…fake-happy. I don't know another word for that. You're feigning happiness, that's it. Feigning."
"Just let me practice, Duke," Blaine whispered. Duke rolled his eyes.
"Fine. I'm sorry I even asked," he muttered. He patted Blaine on the shoulder, and walked backstage. "Practice, Blaine, practice!" he shouted behind him.
"I am already!" Blaine snapped back. Duke grumbled to himself and sat down next to Junie again, who snorted at the sight of him.
"Oh. What happened to Blaine?"
"He's pretending to be happy again, June."
"Hasn't he been doing that for ages?" Junie said sadly. "Let him be."
Duke scowled. "It's really getting to me. It's not like him to…you know, do this."
"It was Kurt," Junie responded simply. "You and I and everyone here know it. He knows it. He just won't admit it. Seriously, deleting and blocking Kurt Hummel's number isn't going to do anything. Knowing him, if he really loves Blaine, Mr. Pavarotti is going to do everything in his power to get back with him."
"Well, it's been three goddamn years, Junie, the boy better prove it now or else Blaine's going to go off his rocker."
"Blaine? No, he's a level-minded young man," she scoffed. "He'd never go crazy. He'd just…become a shell, I guess."
"More of a shell than he is now?"
"Probably."
Duke's phone began to ring loudly, and muttering to himself, he held a finger up to Junie and looked at it. Danielle Anderson. Relieved, he answered it. "It's Dani," he mouthed to Junie, whose mouth formed a little 'o' and she grinned slyly.
"Duke."
"Danners."
"Are you around my brother?" she asked with a whisper.
"Why are you whispering? No one can hear you, and no, Blaine's on stage practicing."
"Oh, okay, good," she said, her voice going back to its normal volume. "Alright. I just wanted to let you know that Kurt Hummel is in Chicago. Right now."
Duke's eyes widened, and he stood up, walking deeper backstage where no one was. "Wait, what? Are you serious?"
"No, I'm a magical teapot fairy calling you to grant you three wishes. Yes, I'm being serious," Danielle exclaimed.
Oh, god, this is why I like her so much, Duke thought bemusedly. "Okay…uhm…why?"
"He called me and asked me for a favor…to ask of you."
"If it's to see Blaine right now, I don't think so," Duke mumbled into the receiver. "I mean, I would love for him to—"
"Not now, I mean…he wants to come backstage during the concert."
"Backstage? Are you kidding me?"
"Yes—I mean, no, I'm not kidding you, and yes he wants to go backstage."
"This is going to be the moment, is it?" Duke asked, his face brightening.
"Indeed, Dukey."
"Don't call me that name," Duke groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Derpelle."
"I like that name."
"And I like you," Duke teased. He heard her laugh on the other line, and his smile widened. "Anyway…tell him that I'll let him. Around six, an hour after the concert starts, and forty-five minutes before it ends. Sounds like a good time, because…" Duke rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a set list. "He's performing an Adele cover."
"Alright. I've got to go, last class of the day. I miss you," Danielle said gently.
"I miss you too, Derpelle."
"Oh, fuck you."
"I thought you liked 'Derpelle'?"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Didn't detect it," Duke laughed. "Okay, bye, Dani."
"Bye, Duke."
He hung up his phone and put it in his pocket, grinning like a madman.
The Congress Plaza Hotel, Chicago, Illinois
Kurt grabbed at his phone as soon as it rang. "Hello?" he breathed.
"Operation Concert Break-In is a-go, Kurtsie," she said firmly. "You better not mess this up, okay? At about six o'clock, the guards will let you in the back."
"Thank you Danielle, thank you so much," Kurt said hoarsely, his heart beginning to thump crazily. "I can't thank you enough."
"When you and Blaine are happy, that'll be a sufficient 'thank you'," she said brightly. "Well, I must go. And Kurt, please. For the love of all that is rainbows and all of that fucking jazz, please do not mess this up. Or chicken out. This may be your last chance, okay?"
Kurt took a deep breath. "I won't. Thank you, Danielle."
"Bye, Kurtsie."
"Bye, Dani."
He hung up his cell-phone and gave Jamie a grin.
"It's a-go."
Duke stared at his phone and bit his lip. He looked behind him, hearing Blaine's fingers spin through the keyboard, melodies flowing out rapidly. The crew was running around and around fixing things and sorting out the layout of the stage. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and hurried back to Junie, who was already relaxing and drinking a bottle of Coca-Cola.
"Kurt's coming."
She nearly spit out her soda. "Wait, what?"
"Shhh, don't be so loud!" Duke exclaimed, covering her mouth. Junie gulped down her soda and frowned at him.
"Mr. Pavarotti has arrived," she said quietly. "Is this another one of Danielle's jokes? Because this isn't funny—"
"No. Kurt literally called her up to ask."
"Don't do it. Not tonight," Junie warned, standing up to put her bottle in the miniature fridge by her mixing table.
"But you just said—" Duke said, stumbling through his words. "You just said that 'oh, Hummel should prove it' and all of that stuff—"
"If tonight ends up shitty, then it'll be our fault. Well, you, Dani, and Kurt's fault, but mine too, now, because I know about it!" Junie hissed, looking around to see if anyone was listening in on their conversation. "Can't Kurt just…wait until tomorrow?"
"It's now or never, June," Duke said sternly. "Either he does it or not, because if not, Blaine needs to move the fuck on now."
"Just…be careful. Look at your choices, D," she said carefully, patting his shoulder.
Junie walked further backstage to meet up with the other members of the sound crew. Duke sat there, face buried in his hands, Junie, Dani, and Blaine's voices all floating around in his head. Decisions, decisions, and more decisions – he always had to make them. He had to make them when he decided to move from public school to private school to appease his stepfather when he was in high school, stay in state for college all those years ago, he made the decision to become Blaine's manager when the younger man asked, and so much more. He was the one who decided to have Blaine go on his national tour.
He wanted to make his best friend comfortable, and knowing that he just allowed Kurt Hummel to interrupt Blaine in the middle of the second concert of his national tour made him rethink his decisions.
2016 / summer
Los Angeles, California
Blaine and Duke sat in Starbucks across from each other on the plush couches in the back of the coffee shop, waiting for Danielle to come back with their drinks.
"Blaine, it's good to finally see you come out of the apartment," Duke said tentatively and nervously, looking at Blaine who merely sighed and kept on staring at the floor.
"Yeah."
"You can't do this forever, Blainers," Duke said suddenly. "You can't just mope around your apartment for days on end. He wanted to move forward and go on with his career; you should too. It's only fair."
"It's not fair that he did so by leaving me here," Blaine said pathetically. Duke stared at him.
"You and your sister are so alike," he said bluntly.
"Hell no," Danielle snorted, putting the tray of coffees down on the table. She sat next to her brother and turned to face him. "Blaine."
"What?"
"You're in public. Out of the house. Now is not the time to brood in despair," she snapped. "Let's live a little, alright?"
Blaine grumbled to himself and picked up his medium drip, sipping it delicately. "Thank you, guys," he mumbled to them suddenly.
"I'm your sister, Blaine. I'm obligated to help," she said gently, patting his shoulder.
"I'm your manager and friend," Duke pointed out. Blaine let out a small chuckle.
"You laughed!" Danielle exclaimed. Blaine frowned and stuck his tongue out at her, continuing to drink his coffee.
"No, I cried."
"Whatever."
"I'm going to go the restroom," Blaine sighed, standing up. He put his cup down on the table and walked towards the bathroom area, leaving Danielle and Duke to talk to each other.
"Thanks for getting him out of that damn apartment," Duke said thankfully, giving Danielle a thumbs-up.
"He's my brother. I didn't want to…leave him there like that. Our parents didn't have the courage to come here themselves to comfort him, because they really don't care. Well, at least I know my dad doesn't. My mom's always in the middle of things. Did you know that he and Kurt had color-coded mugs?"
"Yeah, Blaine would always bring the white ones with him to the studio and meetings. When Kurt tagged along, he always had the blue ones."
"I'm so glad I didn't hand Blaine a blue one when I made him some hot chocolate."
"Hot chocolate seems to be his number-one comfort drink."
"Hot chocolate with rainbow marshmallows. This tradition started when we were kids. Some kids were messing with him at school one time, and I was in kindergarten when I gave him that first mug of cocoa to alleviate his stress and anger. Of course, my mom made it and I added the marshmallows and awesomeness."
"The added awesomeness," Duke deadpanned. "Child, you are crazy."
"No," Danielle rolled her eyes. "I'm awesome."
Blaine sat back down next to them, and they finally ceased their conversation about mugs, Kurt, and the Anderson siblings' childhood.
"Blaine," Duke began, "I have a proposition for you, which is why I'm glad you finally got out of your apartment."
"What is it?" Blaine sighed loudly, leaning back on the couch chair.
"Would you like to sign on with Sony or Capitol Records?"
Blaine's eyes widened. "No, you pick!" he said quickly, his face reddening. "Wait, they want to pick me up?"
"Yup!" Duke exclaimed. "Sony or Capitol, you pick!"
"Sony!" Blaine spluttered.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. That would be…that would be amazing."
Danielle smiled at him, winking. Duke smiled back. This would probably be Blaine's first stepping-stone to recovery.
It was the only decision Blaine fervently made himself in Duke's presence. From then on, Duke would always help him.
Present-Day / Chicago
Duke picked up his phone and called the theater security.
"Hello?"
"Desmond Whitely, here. Tighten the security backstage, please. No one but staff is allowed to enter. Spread the news to everyone backstage. No exceptions."
The Congress Theater, before 5PM
Blaine was jumping up and down in his dressing room, trying to warm himself up. He had his laptop propped open next to him, Danielle sitting there, chin on the palm of her hand as she watched her brother get ready via Skype. He was trying his best to forget his conversation with David from earlier in the day.
"You look very dapper," she said, smiling.
"Dani!" a voice shouted in the background. Blaine turned to face the camera, and saw Danielle's roommate, Arielle, waving at him. "Oh my god, hi, Blaine!"
"Hi, Arielle."
"Break a leg tonight! You'll be awesome, I know it!" she squealed. Danielle rolled her eyes and pushed her friend out of the way. The two girls both started laughing.
"Anyway," Danielle began, still giggling. "You okay, Bee?"
"I've been better, but better than yesterday."
"We'll be watching the LiveStream of the concert once it starts. I've got your website open and the stream is loading."
"Thanks, Danners," Blaine grinned, putting his fedora on his head. "Okay, one last outfit check." He backed away from the computer and turned around. Danielle nodded in approval.
"You look amazing, Blaine."
Blaine took a deep breath and smiled at her. "Thanks, sis. By the way, did you see something about Kurt in the news…?" he asked hesitantly.
"Um…Blaine…" Danielle began nervously. "I have to tell you something."
"What is it?" Blaine asked curiously, cocking his head sideways.
"Bye, Dani!" Duke exclaimed walking into the room and pushing down the laptop screen. Blaine's jaw dropped and he stared at Duke angrily. "What?" he asked, shrugging. "You're on in ten minutes."
"I was talking to Dani. I thought you were gonna come in and say hello to her."
"I talked to her earlier and…come on," Duke said. There was something in the tone of his voice that confused Blaine, but he complied and the two walked out of the dressing room and into the hallway leading to the main stage.
"I'm excited. How does it look out there?" Blaine asked excitedly. Duke grinned at him.
"It looks amazing. Full house, dude!" Duke exclaimed, putting his arm over Blaine's shoulders, giving him a half-hug. "I'm proud of you, Blaine."
"Thank you. For everything, Duke," Blaine said quietly as they finally reached the stage door. Blaine could hear the muted sounds of the screaming audience, and his heart fluttered. "Oh my god, I don't think I can do this."
Several security guards and staff members came to wish Blaine 'good luck,' and he smiled and nodded, shaking their hands graciously.
"You can do this," Duke said confidently, putting his hands on Blaine's shoulders, shaking him slightly. "Breathe. Pour all your emotion into your words. They're your words, Blaine, and no one can take them away from you. You were put into this profession for a reason. You fucking sold out MSG, and the Congress Theater. You can do this, Blaine Anderson."
Blaine beamed and Duke pushed open the stage door, and they walked backstage. There was a loud buzz of excitement emitting from the outside, and Junie, who gave him a thumbs-up, handed Blaine his acoustic guitar and a headset. The twenty-five year old jumped up and down again and closed his eyes. He exhaled loudly and hurried with his tech people to the middle of the backstage, where he would enter and start singing behind a paper-thin curtain that only showed his silhouette.
"I'm turning on your microphone in approximately one minute," Junie announced through the headset.
"June…"
"You can do this, Blaine," Duke exclaimed. "Don't think about anything that'll distract you, and you'll do fabulously."
"Blow the candles out…looks like a solo tonight," Blaine whispered. "But I think I'll be alright."
His microphone flicked on, and he strummed his guitar. The beautiful note reverberated across the theater, and the screams and cheers increased tenfold.
The lights beat down on him, like an old friend.
"Good evening, Chicago!"
The Congress Plaza Hotel, 5PM
"Kurt!" Jamie exclaimed, knocking on the bathroom door. Kurt looked up from the sink and saw his reflection in the mirror, slightly shaking. "Are you okay? You've been in there for a while, and we still need to flag down a cab to get to the theater…"
Kurt let out a breath and muttered: I can do this. I can most certainly do this. He clapped his hands together and inhaled and exhaled deeply. "I'm coming! Just…just prepping up, you know! Jitters and all of that!" he said loudly, double-checking his hair and his outfit.
Junie jiggled the doorknob, and unlocked the door. She leaned against the doorway, hair clipped up in a bun, peering at Kurt over the top of her glasses. Kurt sighed and looked at her sheepishly, biting his lower lip.
"Come on, boss," she said gently, grabbing his wrist. He sighed, and then complied as she pulled him out of the bathroom.
Kurt grabbed his bag off the hotel room table and he and Jamie hurried out of the hotel room. Before he closed the door, he hesitated to walk back in, but muttered, "fuck," under his breath, and ran out behind Jamie.
They made it to the elevator, and Jamie was already pressing the button impatiently. "Oh, damn it!" she exclaimed. Finally, the elevator dinged and they hurried in, riding in it with a small family.
"This is a little awkward," Kurt whispered to Jamie, who chortled. The father of the family, a tall, burly man, gave the two of them a glare and Kurt and Jamie's smiles faltered and they looked to the floor.
"Mommy, are those two people boyfriend and girlfriend?" the daughter piped up loudly. Kurt and Jamie attempted to repress their snorts. "'Cause they look pretty together."
"Uhm…I don't know, sweetheart," the mother said gently, patting her daughter's head. She gave Jamie and Kurt an apologetic glance. "Sorry about that."
"She's a precocious little one, isn't she?" Kurt asked uneasily, already getting antsy. The little girl quirked an eyebrow and looked at Kurt blankly.
"What's prekioshus?" she asked.
"'Smart,' honey," the father said, nodding in approval. "Are you two dating?" he asked curiously.
"I play for the other team," Kurt whispered loudly. The two parents nodded, smiling.
And that was when the girl pressed all of the buttons in the elevator.
"Annabelle, no, honey! You don't do that!" her mother scolded, pulling her away from the buttons. Kurt stared at them in horror as the elevator proceeded to stop at every floor—and they had just left the tenth floor.
"I am so sorry!" the mother groaned, chastising her daughter. The father rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"She's a very…hyper child," he explained. Kurt nodded understandingly.
"My…ex's sister was the same when she was little."
Ding. Seventh floor.
"I see."
Ding. Sixth floor.
"Oh my god," Jamie grumbled through her gritted teeth. Kurt nudged her side and they stood up straight. Kurt continued to chat up a storm with the father.
"My younger brother is gay," he said, nodding. Kurt pursed his lips and nodded.
This is awkward.
"Can I get his number?" he joked, laughing nervously. The two parents laughed along with him and Jamie attempted not to make an inappropriate comment.
Ding. Fourth floor.
Blaine's concert was already in full swing, and the entire audience was on their feet, singing along.
Duke kept his walkie-talkie close to his side. It was almost six.
"This is a very slow elevator," Jamie mused, balancing on the balls of her feet.
"It's like we're falling down, down, down, down!" the little girl squealed, clapping her hands excitedly.
Jamie bit back a laugh. "Isn't that a Jay Sean song?"
"Yes," Kurt giggled. "How old is she?"
"She just turned four. We're here visiting her grandma and grandpa," the mother explained.
Ding. Second floor.
"Wait…aren't you Kurt Hummel?" the mother gasped, finally realizing it. Kurt and Jamie's eyes widened and they looked at each other, not knowing what to do.
"Yes…yes, I am," he said uneasily, trying to keep his cool.
"And you're here to see Blaine Anderson."
"Wait, the singer?" the dad asked.
"Yes, please don't tell anyone—" Kurt begged.
Ding. First floor.
"We won't!" the mother exclaimed as Kurt and Jamie dashed out of the elevator, and out of the hotel as quickly as possible. "Go and get your man, Kurt Hummel!"
"I hate people," Jamie gasped as they arrived at the street corner. "HEY, TAXI!" she shouted, waving her arm in the air. A yellow cab halted in front of them and they thrust the door open, sitting inside immediately. "Congress Theater, please."
"They were relatively nice," Kurt reasoned, settling in the backseat as the taxi zoomed down the road.
"Very nosy, though," Jamie grumbled as she pulled out her compact and double-checked her makeup. "You've got Danielle's number, right? The concert started already, shit!"
"I know, but Dani said that Duke told her that we should be there by six."
"What time is it now?" Kurt asked, pulling out his phone. "Five-thirty. Oh my god, that elevator took almost all of our time—"
"Your phone is, like, five minutes behind mine. It says thirty-five on my phone," Jamie groaned. "Cabbie, can you please step on it?"
"Shhh, Jamie, we're not in New York!" Kurt muttered, nudging her on the side. The cabbie muttered something about 'bitchy customers,' and stepped on the gas pedal. Kurt resisted the urge to throw his phone at the back of the cabbie's head, but immediately thought against it. "Thank you," he said with sickening sweetness as the cabbie turned a sharp corner and they slid against the right-hand passenger door.
"Fucking hell, couldn't we have found a nicer driver?" Kurt muttered to Jamie as they adjusted themselves. The cabbie halted in front of the large, beautiful Congress Theater a minute later.
"Could you bring us around the back?" Jamie asked more politely.
The cabbie turned to face them. "Y'know, there's a big concert going on inside there, and whenever a concert goes on, they tighten the security and all of that shit."
"We have access, promise," Kurt said in earnest, giving him a pleading look. The cabbie let out a sigh and started the engine again, driving them close to the backstage door of the Congress. Jamie and Kurt thanked him sincerely, tossing him a twenty-dollar bill, and without waiting for their change, they hurried out of the taxi and towards the backstage door in the cool summer evening.
"This is it," Kurt breathed, gripping Jamie's hand tightly. She squeezed back as they finally arrived at the door, where a security guard in a generic blue uniform stood, quirking an eyebrow at their presence. There was already a small gathering of fans waiting outside the backdoor, and he was obviously making an effort to keep them out.
"Hi," Kurt nodded. The guard stared at them. "Um…we were supposed to be allowed backstage. I'm Kurt Hummel, and this is Jamie Lewis. We're…"
"Friends of Duke, Blaine Anderson, or Danielle Anderson. Yeah, we get that a lot. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to wait along with these young ladies and gentlemen," the man said sternly, gesturing towards the small group, who began to whisper and buzz excitedly when they saw Kurt and Jamie.
"You don't understand," Jamie began. "Duke said we would be allowed backstage around this time—"
"That's what they all say!" the security guard said loudly. "Now, please, go and wait with the rest of the people." Kurt and Jamie gave him dirty looks and turned away.
"What the fuck?" Kurt said through gritted teeth, pulling out his phone. He dialed Danielle immediately.
No answer. No ring-tone. Her phone was off. Kurt shoved his phone back in his cardigan pocket and kicked the nearest trashcan near him and sat down on top of it, burying his face in his hands, his body shaking with sobs.
He didn't give a shit that Jamie was rubbing his back gently. He didn't give a shit that his ex-boyfriend's fans—who obviously knew who he was—were staring at him in awe and wonder. He had to get into the theater. He could hear Blaine's voice blasting from within, echoing against the building concrete. Kurt had to be in there.
"I have to get in there," he blubbered, shaking. Jamie scooted closer and gave him a hug.
"We will. It's not six o'clock yet, so you still have time!" she said, trying to reason with him. A girl in a flannel and denim shorts walked up to them nervously and tapped them both on the shoulder, looking at the guard and then back to them nervously.
"We could help you guys get in," the girl said quietly as Kurt and Jamie looked up to face her. "I mean, we want to get in, too, but we know who you are, Mr. Hummel."
"Call me Kurt. And wait…isn't that flannel from my fall collection?"
The girl blushed. "Yes, I'm a really big fan of you and Blaine. So…my idea…"
"It would be wonderful to hear," Kurt said politely.
"I have a skateboard, and if we get some of us to distract the guard, I could open the door and you could roll in discreetly, or, um, quickly. Whichever word works. Can you ride a skateboard?"
Kurt thought for a moment. Duke had taught him how to ride a surfboard back in California, but then, he hadn't gone surfing in four years. He bit his lip. "I can ride a surfboard, and all it takes is balance, right? I can try."
Jamie smiled at him. "Yeah, sounds good. What's our diversion going to be?"
"Can you feign a faint? It's kind-of humid, so I guess it'll make sense…?" the girl asked. Jamie thought about it and nodded. "I'll get my brother to open the door, then you can roll in. If you run, he might be able to catch you, and wheels are much faster, so…"
"Got it," Kurt said. "What time is it, by the way?"
"Five fifty-five."
"Let's start."
Jamie stood up and walked past the guard a minute later, wobbling in her shoes. She leaned over a bit, holding the wall for support. The guard hurried over to her.
"Are you okay, miss?"
"I…I'm not feeling well," Jamie rasped, swooning a bit, and she fell to the ground, limp. The guard panicked and pulled out his walkie-talkie.
"GO!" the girl shouted. Two of the fans pinned the guard down, and Jamie stood up and ran to the door, pulling it open. Kurt rolled in quickly, and they shut the door behind him. Jamie and the other fans ran away quickly to the front of the building, where a large crowd of paparazzi was gathered, and blended in easily. They saw the guard curse loudly and stomp back, yelling into his walkie-talkie.
Kurt wobbled a little bit on the skateboard and jumped off it, pushing it aside and bounded for the backstage area. He felt a slightly searing pain in his ankle, but he ignored it. Several guards were already on his tail, and after years of being chased around by bullies in high school, and joining the track and field club at UCLA, he was one step ahead of them. He threw a door open, and found he was close to a dead end, and dashed back down the hallway. The guards shouted something and he found two more in front of him.
There were two more hallways to his left and right, and one said Stage Entrance. He breathed heavily, panicking, not knowing what to do. Stage Entrance hallway. Stage Entrance hallway.
"Don't move, sir. Come quietly with us, and we'll let you go. You aren't even supposed to be here—"
Kurt bolted for the Stage Entrance hallway, and pushed himself further, and pushed the doors open.
He found Junie, Blaine's sound person, and Duke, staring at him, eyes wide in shock. Kurt slammed the doors shut in the security guards' faces, heavily panting, locking the door. He fell to his knees.
"Blaine…I…need to see…Blaine…" he grunted.
"Kurt, you're not supposed to b—"
"Danielle told me you were going to let me in by six, and now it's—"
"Now, this little song is by a wonderful woman by the name of Adele. She is my idol, and is perfect and every way. Well, it was originated by Bob Dylan in 1997, but I love her version, so that's the version I'm going to play."
"Shit," Duke muttered. "I forgot to tell her…"
"Tell her what?" Kurt said loudly, eyes slightly bulging. "I'm going out there. I'm going to talk to Blaine—" He stood up and walked towards the stage, but Duke stopped him.
"He's performing!" Duke shouted. "You can't just go out there—you're going to freak him out, Kurt!"
Blaine heard an odd, shout-like buzz coming from his headset, but he started to play the piano softly, the chords of Adele's Make You Feel My Love echoing in the stadium. The audience quieted down a little bit.
"You can't just go out there!" he heard Duke shout. He quirked an eyebrow in confusion, but kept on playing.
When the rain is blowing in your face
And the whole world is on your case
I could offer you a warm embrace
To make you feel my love
"I was told once in theater class back in UCLA to fight for my stage, Desmond Whitely!" Kurt shouted. "In this case, the stage is Blaine and me's relationship, and I need to fix it!"
Duke stared at him quietly. Kurt wasn't dressed like he normally was—he adorned a simple, white v-neck t-shirt, a dark cardigan, and tight jeans, and his hair was stuck up on-end, and his black eye was still shining in the dim light. Dried tear tracks were visible on his face. Plus, he was limping.
"You have got to let me out there," Kurt said, tears forming in his eyes. "This may be my only chance, Duke. I love him. I love him, and this is the only way I'm going to get him to listen."
When the evening shadows
And the stars appear
And there is no - one there
To dry your tears
I could hold you
For a million years
To make you feel my love
He heard one of the backstage headsets shut off, but he disregarded it, pouring his heart and soul into the song.
And, that was when he heard the voice.
"I love him."
Duke stared at Kurt, his gaze becoming softer. He turned on his heel and rummaged through a box. "June, add another microphone to the mixer. Do it. Now!" He pulled out a microphone and handed it to Kurt.
"Don't mess this up, Hummel. The world is watching you. We're on a LiveStream."
"I've messed this up once before, and I don't intend on messing it up ever again," Kurt said quietly.
"Get ready, Kurt, he's about to finish the next verse."
Kurt waited in the wings behind Blaine, and saw him singing smoothly and beautifully on the piano. He took a deep breath and sang.
I know you haven't made your mind up yet
But I would never do you wrong
I've known it from the moment that we met
No doubt in my mind
Where you belong
I'd go hungry,
I'd go black and blue.
I'd go crawling down the avenue
No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do
To make you feel my love
Blaine turned around, and stopped playing as soon as the voice finished the verse. Kurt appeared behind him, slightly limping, and the entire audience gasped and broke out into whispers.
"Blaine," Kurt said loudly into the microphone. Blaine took a deep, shaky breath and stared at him.
"Kurt."
"You're…you're probably wondering why I'm here, and all of that."
Blaine choked back a sob and stood up, looking at him. Kurt walked closer to him, in front of the audience, in front of the world—in front of the judging universe, and his heart beat like a fluttering drum.
"Blaine Anderson, I've been a total dickhead," Kurt breathed into the microphone. "Yeah, world, you heard me. I've been a dickhead, not knowing what to do with myself, not knowing that I had the most perfect person in front of me the entire time."
"Kurt—" Blaine began, not knowing what to do. "What…"
"I love you, Blaine Anderson, and…I was stupid. I wasn't being a man. I let myself be misguided. I…I love you. I came all the way from New York to tell you I love you. You probably didn't remember Tuesday, because you were drunk, but I told you that I love you. I bet I wasn't supposed to say that. You're going to have to get your publicist to cover that," Kurt laughed weakly. "But it's all true. Blaine, I was stupid. I was foolish and indecisive, and too crazy to realize that I should have been with you the whole time. And, if you'll have me, I'd be glad to be a part of an amazing relationship I wouldn't have left in the first place.
"You're probably going to think I'm stark raving mad, and I probably am, judging by my appearance and my slightly injured ankle, but I'm going to ask this one, simple question: Blaine Anderson, will you have me back?"
Kurt took Blaine's hands and pulled him closer.
"You're fucking crazy," Blaine rasped. "All the way to Chicago, just for little old me?"
"I love you," was all Kurt could manage. He turned off his microphone. "And I'm saying this truthfully. Sincerely. With no tequila or fettuccine involved."
"Aw, it would have been nice if you had brought a plate of fettuccine from Savore," Blaine said quietly, joking.
And that was when they kissed.
It was like their first kiss all over again. Their lips melded together, and moved at a steady rhythm—but the only difference was that Kurt turned his head slightly to deepen the kiss.
After what seemed like a lifetime, they parted.
The entire audience erupted into cheers.
Blaine gazed at him, taking in the fact that Kurt was actually here, here in Chicago. With me. Flew all the way here, and burst into my concert…for me.
"He has to prove it, Duke."
And then he felt a quick slap to his face.
"And that, Blaine James Alexander Anderson, was for deleting and blocking my number when I tried to reason with you!" Kurt said, laughing through his tears, his microphone back on. Blaine touched his cheek gingerly, laughing and crying at the same time and threw his arms around Kurt's neck, hugging him tightly. The audience clapped even louder.
Now, there's the Kurt I know.
"I love you, Kurt," Blaine whispered into his ear. "And here I was, thinking that you wouldn't do a crazy thing like this."
"Go and finish your song. We can talk afterwards," Kurt said gently, touching Blaine's cheek. He turned on his heel to walk backstage.
"No," Blaine said suddenly. He held his microphone to his mouth. "Sing with me."
The audience responded positively, squealing and cheering. Kurt hesitated.
"No, this is your concert, Blaine…"
"Come here, Hummel."
Blaine held out his hand and Kurt took it, and they sat next to each other on the grand piano, and after a short intro, they sang together in perfect harmony.
The storms are raging
On the rolling sea
And on the highway of regret
Though winds of change
Are blowing wild and free
You ain't seen nothing
Like me yet
"I could make you happy…" Kurt sang.
"Make your dreams come true," Blaine responded. "Nothing that I wouldn't do…"
"Go to the ends of the Earth for you," Kurt laughed, leaning into Blaine's shoulder gently.
"To make you feel my love," Blaine whispered as he began playing the final chords.
"To make you feel my love," they sang together.
"Oh my god," Duke said, wiping his eyes. Junie patted his shoulder.
"You made a pretty good decision. I think you should call off the guards, though…" she snorted, pointing towards the door, through which the guards were still trying to get through.
Duke felt his phone vibrate in his pocket, and he picked it up.
"DESMOND. DESMOND. DID YOU SEE THAT? I CANNOT UNSEE THAT. MY BROTHER AND KURT KISSED! THANK YOU SO MUCH!" he heard Danielle scream in the background. He held the phone away from his ear for a moment and flushed red.
"Actually…I didn't let him backstage, he snuck in…" he mumbled. Silence.
"You're a dick. But it worked out, anyway," Danielle laughed. "Thank god. Thank god, they both look incredibly happy and sappy and—"
"You're not mad at me?"
"No. You're kind-of a genius."
"Um…"
"Oh, Duke."
"Danielle."
"You are going to have to explain this to me later, or else there will be consequences. And there will be already, because I could tell by Kurt's tousled look and all of that nonsense, you changed the initial plans. Thank you, again. I expect you to visit me before my collegiate graduation," she said happily, and hung up the phone. Duke put it back in his pocket and smiled, resisting the urge to cry happy tears of joy.
"Looks like Mr. Pavarotti proved it," Junie sighed.
Yup, he definitely proved it. Oh, how I love plotting, Duke thought to himself, grinning and applauding.
Kurt and Jamie ended up changing over to the Sheraton Chicago that night. Jamie had her own room, and Kurt bunked in Blaine's, of course. The concert had ended with a bang, and Kurt introduced Blaine to the fans that had helped him get backstage. Jamie and Duke shared a few drinks, and talked like friends down at the hotel bar. The hotel tightened their security, and no one from the press was allowed to enter.
Up in Blaine's suite, Blaine and Kurt ordered Italian room service—Kurt, the spaghetti, and Blaine, the fettuccine. Kurt had his ankle prepped up on a pillow with a compress on it.
"You came all the way to Chicago just to tell me you love me," Blaine said amusedly, looking at Kurt. Kurt flushed furiously. "And injured yourself in the process."
"Hey, I wanted to prove it to you. I knew that a simple phone call wouldn't do," he responded, swatting the air. "You blocked my number."
"You reprimanded me for that already, Mr. Hummel," Blaine sighed. "Really, a phone call and concert invasion? I thought you were the creative one between the two of us."
"Really, an engagement party invasion and various songs?" Kurt raised an eyebrow.
"Touché," Blaine grinned, holding up his glass of water. Kurt did likewise, and they toasted.
"You still have that beautiful voice," Blaine said after a minute's silence.
"You're still handsome and talented as ever," Kurt replied. Blaine scooted closer to him and moved their plates aside.
"Kurt Hummel, I love you."
"I love you too, Blaine Anderson. It just took me three fucking years to tell that to you again, and it feels so good."
"What about the press and all of that nonsense?" Blaine mused, sipping his water.
"As Duke told us a long time ago, and probably repeated to you very recently, 'don't give a shit.' I love you, and it's going to stay that way."
"I was really waiting for you to prove it, and you really did. Running to the Plaza, the airport, the stage..."
"Oh, shut up, Blaine Anderson."
They kissed again, this time, without tequila, without crazy fiancés, without a crazy manager, without an equally crazy sister and assistant, without the press, and without the world around them.
After three long years, it was Kurt and Blaine again—not Kurt and another person. Not Blaine, alone. Kurt and Blaine.
And they both wouldn't have it any other way.
A/N: There are tears. Thoughts? ;~; I'd love reviews from all of you! It would mean so much! THE EPILOGUE IS GOING TO BE UP WITHIN THE NEXT TWO DAYS!
(!)
Bonus disclaimer: I don't own Adele's "Make You Feel My Love." Creys. 'Tis a beautiful song.