Happy Wednesday and, most importantly, happy Klaine day!

Today's a very special day for all of us who love Kurt and Blaine, since on this same day back in 2011, Original Song aired for the first time. It's been a long road, but the fact that some of us are still here, caring about them and remembering them, means that they left a pretty big mark in the world. So happy anniversary, boys.

Thank you all for taking the time to read and comment. I'm so honored that you use a few minutes of your day to read every chapter and tell me what you think.

And lots of love to Christine, for being the best beta I could ask for, and Sofi, for putting up with my overproductivity (is that even a word? It should be, and it applies to me).

Enjoy!

When Blaine got out of the elevator at his floor, he could already see water coming out from under their apartment door. He cursed under his breath and hurried to get the key in the lock and go inside.

He wasn't expecting Sam to be sitting on the coffee table in the living room, wearing what looked like a scuba suit that Blaine hadn't even known he owned and clearly protecting what he thought were their most valuable possessions: their videogame console and half of their comic books.

"What the hell are you doing?" Blaine said, bursting into the apartment. "Why aren't you stopping the flood?"

"I don't know where it's coming from!" Sam exclaimed. "I called our landlord, but he says he won't be here for another hour!"

With a frustrated groan, Blaine went into the kitchen and started inspecting everything. The dishwasher was perfect, but he could hear something when he got to the sink. He opened the cabinet door and saw that everything in there was soaking wet.

"It's coming from the sink!" Blaine said. "Can you please get me the biggest bucket we own?"

"We only have one," Sam said, dropping everything he was holding close safely on the couch before making his way to him. He retrieved the bucket from the small closet where they kept the cleaning supplies and gave it to Blaine, who put it right under the leak.

"We'll have to keep an eye on it and empty it as soon as it gets full. It might give us enough time to clean up this mess, at least," Blaine sighed as he looked around their apartment. "God, the hardwood floors are going to get ruined. We'll never get our deposit back."

"Sorry, Blaine, I panicked," Sam murmured sheepishly. "I should have checked everything. I just got home and saw the water everywhere and I didn't know what to do…"

"That's alright," Blaine said. "At least you got here. It would have been a nightmare if we both returned later tonight and found this…"

They began to clean. Fortunately, nothing important had been ruined. It was hard to be mad at Sam having completely lost it in a crisis when he looked so ridiculous in that scuba suit, which he still hadn't offered a single explanation for.

"Sorry about the cast meeting," Sam said as he emptied the water in the pots and pans from under the sink into the toilet. "Were you having a nice time?"

"I was, yeah," Blaine said. He had mostly talked to Stacy, though. She was clearly overpowering. He had a feeling she would stick to him like glue. But he was too excited about getting started with rehearsals to care about that. "Everyone's really nice, though I didn't get a chance to talk to all of them just yet."

He told Sam a bit about Stacy as he mopped the floor and about the director, who had seemed very charmed by him, and about their upcoming rehearsals. He couldn't wait to actually get to work – he wondered if he would be able to quit the bar any time soon, although he was scared to do it now. If he lost that job, how was he going to make ends meet if the musical didn't succeed? You never knew, with independent shows. They were highly unstable.

He was starting to sound like his father.

As if he had somehow called upon him, his phone started ringing at that precise moment, and Blaine looked at the screen to find that the caller ID showed his parents' home-line.

Blinking in surprise (they never called, unless it was a birthday or the holidays), he accepted the call. "Hello?"

"Blaine, hi," his mother said. She was always warm on the phone, even if she had never been so much so in person. Not because she didn't love her son, but because she was too distracted to show him she did. "How are you doing, are you busy?"

Blaine glanced around their apartment. There was still water pretty much everywhere and he could hear it flowing under the sink and into the bucket. "Uhm, no, I'm not busy," he muttered. "What's up, mom?"

"Well, I have very exciting news," she said with a clear smile on her voice. "Your father has a few meetings in New York, so we thought we'd make a trip out of it. And since we'll be in town, we should meet up, don't you think? Go out for dinner, maybe? Catch up?"

If she had offered him a trip to the moon and back, it wouldn't have sounded to him as weird as it did when she offered to catch up. Didn't they have to know something, anything about his life in order to be able to catch up?

"Sure," he said automatically, because if there was one thing they had taught him, it was to be polite. "That sounds great. When are you going to be here?"

"We're arriving on Friday and staying through the weekend," she explained. "Your dad has his Friday full with meetings, so I booked a spa day for myself, but we'll be seeing you either for dinner that night or maybe brunch on Saturday, if you prefer?"

"Brunch sounds great," he said although brunch didn't sound great at all. Was he sweating? Should he be sweating only for having a conversation on the phone with his mother? "Let me know when and where, okay?"

"Okay! Gotta go, sweetie. Talk to you later!"

She hung up before Blaine could say another word.

He stood frozen, phone still in his hand, as he looked around the apartment. He knew it was impossible, but it suddenly felt like the water was running faster and faster, rising all around him, covering the furniture, covering the windows, until he was drowning, drowning, drowning…

"Hey," Sam said from the bathroom door. "Is everything alright?"

Blaine turned to him like a deer caught in the headlights. "My parents are coming for a visit."

"Okay…" Sam said, watching him carefully. "I know you have like, a really weird relationship with them and you never visit each other and you never even talk, but… you kind of look like they told you they're coming here to eviscerate you."

"Well," Blaine murmured. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. "You never know."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Come on, it can't be that bad…"

"Oh, you'll see," Blaine said with a sad smile, and went back to mopping the floor.

Nothing good was going to come out of this visit.

The pile of magazines fell down on the kitchen table with a thump, almost knocking Kurt's cup of tea. He looked up from the design he had been working on with wide eyes, only to find Santana standing there, looking half determined, half anxious, which was certainly new. She was a steel woman – nothing ever got under her skin.

"What's all this?" Kurt asked, putting his sketch aside and safe from possible tea spills.

"Wedding magazines," Santana replied. "I don't… they're confusing. Shouldn't they be helpful? How am I supposed to know what the right venue is? Why do flowers have meanings? They're just fucking flowers. Are you telling me I could buy Brittany a bouquet and be telling her I despise her depending on what kind of flower it is? That's just stupid. Why are wedding things stupid, Kurt?"

Kurt arched an eyebrow as he regarded her. "Wedding things aren't stupid. It's just a lot of work to plan every detail. Why don't you tell me what's wrong?"

"I can't do this," she said. She was gesticulating wildly. It was pure luck that she didn't punch herself in the face every time she moved. "I promised Britt I would start making decisions so we can finally get married when her tour with Mercedes is over, but I don't know a thing about planning a wedding, and I don't want to make all the wrong decisions. What if she leaves me because I chose an ugly centerpiece for the tables, Kurt?"

He laughed, which wasn't a good idea, because she glared at him. "Santana, she loves you. She's your soulmate. She's not going to dump you just because you…"

"Look," Santana interrupted, impatiently. "I need your help. I know you slept with wedding magazines hidden under your bed during high school, like it was porn. You're really good at this sort of pansy, cutesy, vomit-inducing corny shit…"

"Are you telling me you never fantasized about your own wedding?" Kurt asked.

"Of course not," she scoffed, like that was beneath her. "When I was younger I didn't even know I was gay. I thought I was going to have a traditionally religious ceremony with a puffy dress that would make me look like meringue and marry some guy my family approved of and would bore me to death…"

"Well, that's depressing," Kurt said, as he took a sip of tea.

"I never dreamed I would be this happy, that I would find someone as wonderful as Brittany. I didn't think this kind of luck existed," she admitted, as she let herself fall onto a chair. She looked truly stressed. "And then I met her, and everything fell into place, and I just… this needs to be perfect because she deserves perfect."

"Santana," he said, rather fondly. "She would marry you in a parking lot wearing sweatpants as long as she was marrying you. Do you understand how perfect it is, already, what you two have? Seriously, it is. Everyone on the outside looking in can see it. I've seen you fall in love with each other, I've been there since the start. She doesn't care where you do it, how you do it… she just wants to call you her wife."

He must have said the right thing because he could see her shoulders dropping, relaxing.

"Okay," she whispered, sighing. "Okay. Don't tell anyone I went crazy."

"I won't," he promised with a smile.

"Will you help me, though?" She asked, a lot kinder than usual. "I really do want that day to be beautiful and memorable…"

"Of course," Kurt nodded and reached for the magazine on top. "We should start with the theme. That will make things easier…"

"We need a theme?" Santana looked completely lost.

"Not necessarily, but it'll help you narrow the color palette and find a perfect venue…" Kurt explained, as he flipped through the magazine. "Here's an example, look. This is a sort of country, folky kind of wedding. Lots of wood, lots of hay…"

"Okay… I see what you mean." Santana glanced back up at him as she pointed at one of the pictures in the magazine. "I'm not getting married with a fucking alpaca in the building."

Kurt laughed. "I know, that's a bit too country girl for you, so we'll need a different theme."

They began making a list of everything both Santana and Brittany might like, so they could narrow down their options. When Kurt took a break to go make more tea, Santana stayed at the table, absently going through a wedding dress catalogue.

"You know, you're taking this a lot better than I thought…" she commented.

"What?" Kurt asked, confused.

"The whole near, failed meeting with BA," Santana said. "I thought you'd be freaking out by now."

"It'll happen," Kurt said, and tried to sound sure, because he had to be. It had to happen. "I won't make anything happen by getting even more restless, though. So I'm trying to be cool about it."

"When are you seeing this Blaine guy? So you can confirm if it is him."

Kurt didn't want to think much about it because it made him anxious. "Rehearsals start on Monday and I technically don't need to be there for it, but I'm going anyway. I'll see if I can introduce myself and know for sure."

"Sounds like a good idea," Santana said. "And if it's not him?"

"Then I guess I'll just go back to waiting," Kurt sighed heavily.

But waiting didn't seem like enough now. There was a new eagerness building inside of him, bit by bit, until it filled him. It had been years, some of them the hardest of his life, and he had told himself to be patient even though he needed BA by his side. He told himself that just the mere thought of someone being destined to be with him would suffice, at least for a while, but that thought wasn't filling the void inside of him anymore. He needed something more concrete. He needed something more stable than destiny. He needed more than a promise of someday.

He needed BA.

It was hard to admit it – his father had taught him to never depend on anyone, to know his worth, to know his happiness was only up to him. But despite how beautiful what he'd had with Adam was, he had always felt like there was something missing, something that was just beyond his reach. And he knew exactly what it was.

Adam wasn't his soulmate.

He felt like he was on the brink of something else. Something new. Something right.

He told himself to be patient, just a little longer.

The hotel restaurant that Pam Anderson had picked for brunch wasn't very far away from Blaine's place. He could have easily told them not to bother with a restaurant, that he could perfectly cook for them and welcome them into his home. But he didn't, because he wasn't sure it was a good idea – his parents in his apartment, picking everything apart, judging every piece of furniture, every book on the shelf, the new water mark on the floorboards that they hadn't been able to get rid of after the sink was fixed, Sam sitting on top of the kitchen counter having cereal in his underwear? No. Blaine was fine going out for brunch. It would definitely be easier – and faster – that way.

"Okay, so let me get this straight," Sam said, as he leaned on Blaine's bedroom door, watching him try out the tenth bowtie because none of them seemed right with his outfit. Or maybe the whole outfit was wrong? "You want me to call you and fake an emergency?"

"Yes, if I text you that it's necessary, please call me right away to bail me out, alright?" Blaine said. He groaned in frustration and discarded the green bowtie – too festive, too Christmassy? – before reaching for the maroon one.

"That's a great strategy for a bad date. Are you sure you want to use it on your parents?" Sam asked, eyebrow arched as he regarded him.

Blaine let himself fall and sat down on the edge of his bed, feeling a bit helpless. "I know you don't understand it because your parents are the coolest on the planet, but mine are really not like that, okay? And I think it's better if I have a plan that will get me out of an awkward situation if I need it…"

"Okay, fine, I'm not judging," Sam said, lifting his hands almost defensively. "I just wish things were different for you…"

Blaine smiled up at him sadly. "Well, it is what it is. I got used to it many years ago, Sam. I just… I don't know. I never really understood why they're different with me. It's not even a homophobic thing? They were like that even before I came out, when I was little. I could tell they treated Cooper differently. But when it came to me…" He shrugged, like it didn't matter, even though it did. "It's fine. I'm used to it, like I said. I've made a good life for myself and I don't need them like I once did. So… I just want to make sure I have a plan B in case they get a little too intense."

Sam came over to him and squeezed his shoulder. "I got your back, buddy."

"Thanks, Sam," Blaine said and stood up to resume his search for the right bowtie.

"They're going to be proud of you, though, right?" Sam asked, unsure. "I mean, you got cast as the lead in a new musical. That's pretty impressive."

Blaine laughed bitterly. "They don't even think it's a real job, so… probably not. I mean, it was fine when Cooper left and went to Los Angeles to do awful commercials and play corpses on crime shows, but I say I want to be an actor and they look at me like I'm insane…"

"Well… I think I'm done asking questions about your parents," Sam murmured, and he made Blaine laugh again, more genuinely this time. "But I'll have ice-cream in the freezer and a big bag of potato chips if you need a little pity party later."

"You're the best, Sam, thank you," Blaine said.

At least he wasn't alone – not like he had been. Sam was his family now, a good brother, a partner to get through everything.

He left his apartment ten minutes later, feeling like he was walking to a punishment rather than brunch with the two people who were supposed to love him the most. It had been a long time since he had felt that little stomachache, the one he hadn't had a word for when he was too little, the one he had since recognized as loneliness.

When he got to the restaurant, it didn't take long to find his parents. They were sitting at the best table, his mother in an elegant coral dress, his father in a navy suit and without a tie, which was the most informal he had ever seen him. He was checking his wristwatch just as Blaine walked in – not the best omen. He looked impatient already and Blaine hadn't even arrived yet.

Pam saw him first and she rose from her seat with her arms already open to hold him. "Blaine, sweetie. It's so good to see you."

"Hi mom," he said quietly, holding her back.

She pulled away just enough to be able to take a good look at him. "Your hair looks different!"

He had worn his hair the same way for years.

"You look nice," he said instead, politely.

"Oh thank you, sweetie. I've joined a new gym back at home. The instructor is a goddess," she laughed lightly.

Robert stood up too, and offered his hand to Blaine. "Son."

"Hi dad." He made sure he shook his hand firmly, like a man, as he had taught him.

They ordered and sat in a rather uncomfortable silence for a little while, until Pam, with her bright smile still intact, started talking about all the changes they'd been doing to the house and how Blaine absolutely had to see the new kitchen, and how the new couch they'd bought last month was divine…

Neither of them addressed the fact that Blaine hadn't been home in longer than they could remember. Neither of them addressed the fact that they hadn't made an effort to get him to come home.

And that's when it hit him – it wasn't his home. He wasn't sure it had ever been.

When the food had arrived, Robert took a sip of his coffee and finally said: "So, what have you been up to lately?"

It was a question that seemed to be asked in a way that would mean that whatever answer Blaine gave would sound like the wrong one.

"Well, I happen to have exciting news," Blaine said. He was really happy about Out of Town and, despite every chance his parents had missed to show him their support, he was looking forward to telling them now. It felt like he finally had something worthwhile to tell them. "I actually just got cast in a brand new musical. I got the lead."

Pam grinned at him. "Oh, that's very good, sweetie. When does it open? You need to make sure we get front row tickets…"

"Well, I don't know yet. We're starting rehearsals on Monday," he explained, but her reaction was already better than they expected. "It's a small production, off-Broadway, but the story is so good…"

"You're still working at that bar?" His father interrupted and, when Blaine could only nod numbly, he nodded too, but curtly. "I'd like to say you should be doing something a bit grander with your life, but at this point I'm just relieved you have a job at all…"

The avocado toast that Blaine had started eating suddenly seemed to turn into a brick. "I… dad, I appreciate your concern, but…"

"Oh, come on now, Robert," Pam said, smile still in place. "Don't be so harsh on him. So it's a small production. Doesn't mean it's no good, right?"

"I'm actually very excited about it," Blaine said. "I'm telling you, the story is amazing and I met the rest of the cast the other day and they're all so nice…"

"What I don't understand is why none of my children could choose to do something a bit more serious," Robert said. "Show business, both of them, as if there was any guarantee in it. And it's not like it's very prestigious either. At least Cooper booked jobs right away when he moved to Los Angeles. You made us spend a fortune on a drama school only to end up pouring drinks at a bar…"

"Oh well, you know Cooper," Pam said nonchalantly. "He's very persistent and with that face? Who could say no to him? Of course he got jobs right away…"

Blaine was too busy trying to figure out if his own mother was insulting his appearance to be able to form a response.

"Just saying," Robert said, stabbing at his Eggs Benedict with more force than necessary. "I didn't raise them to be hopeless dreamers with silly aspirations…"

"Well, dad, you hardly raised us at all, really," Blaine said before he could stop himself.

The sudden silence at the table seemed almost tangible.

"Blaine, you don't mean that…" Pam said, perpetual smile on her perfectly painted lips.

"Am I wrong, though?" Blaine asked, looking down at his toast. He couldn't meet their eyes. He just couldn't. "I mean, I can't speak for Cooper, obviously, who had a very much more comfortable childhood, but…"

"Oh, so now you're telling me we didn't give you a comfortable childhood?" Robert said, thunderous.

"He doesn't mean that, dear," Pam said, patting both of their hands as if trying to calm them.

But Robert simply removed his hand from under hers. "I put a roof on your head and food on the table. You wanted a piano? You got a piano. You wanted to change schools? We sent you to Dalton…"

"I didn't want to change schools. I had to change schools because they broke my ribs for going to a dance," Blaine said through clenched teeth.

"With a boy, Blaine," Robert retorted.

"Okay, both of you, stop that right now," Pam said firmly, finally losing her smile and leaning across the table to chastise them. "We're having a nice family moment. There's no need to talk about unpleasant things."

"Unpleasant things," Blaine echoed weakly. So his life, his hardships and his feelings about it were unpleasant things.

She smiled again, like she didn't notice he was upset. "We haven't seen each other in a long time. Let's just enjoy this moment, okay?"

The way she said it, like it was a reminder, told Blaine that maybe his father hadn't exactly been eager for this little brunch date. Maybe his father had just wanted to take care of his business in the city and go back to Ohio. Maybe visiting Blaine hadn't even been in his plans at all.

She held his hand between her own. "So, what else is new with you?"

Blaine looked at their intertwined hands. Her nails were done, matching the color of her dress exactly. It was all so picture perfect. He had never fit into that picture-perfect life.

She must have noticed something, the edge of the Band-Aid against her own fingers, because she was then lifting Blaine's hand to take a better look at his wrist. "Why are you keeping your mark hidden?" She asked with a frown.

Blaine pulled his hand free gently. "I choose to."

"That's silly, Blaine. How do you expect to find the person you belong with if you don't pay attention to it?" She asked.

"Maybe I don't want to find him," he said, stomach churning a bit at the thought.

"I believe that is the first sensible thing you have said since you sat down at this table," Robert said, as he gestured for the waiter to refill his coffee.

Pam turned to her husband, still frowning. "Robert, don't be ridiculous. It's important. There's someone out there for him that he won't be able to recognize because he…"

"A mark on my skin shouldn't tell me who I have to fall in love with," Blaine said stubbornly. But he then turned to his dad. "Though I do recall you had a different opinion when it was Cooper who got his mark."

Robert let his fork fall on his plate rather noisily, looking annoyed. "So, what is this? Attack Your Father Day?"

"I'm sorry if you feel attacked," Blaine said sincerely. "But I'm just being honest. Maybe I should have been honest a long time ago. You were different parents to Cooper. You were better parents. I don't know what the hell happened between having him and having me, but it's not my damn fault that I was born. You had me, and then you didn't want to deal with me."

"Blaine…" Pam started, but Blaine felt like he couldn't stop, not now.

These words had been building in his throat for too long, too many years.

"I'm sorry if I wasn't in your plans. I'm sorry if I wasn't what you wanted me to be. But you've lost every right to have an opinion on my life when you turned your backs on me when I was younger. You didn't want to deal with me. You didn't want to deal with a kid who was bullied, who needed a little bit of extra help. I was alone most of my life. Both you and Cooper were a family, and I was by myself. So don't come here now, don't pretend you're visiting me because you wanted to. You feel obligated to do it because we happen to be in the same city? Well, don't. I release you from the obligation. I don't need this, not now, not when I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere, not when I finally have people in my life who care about me."

"Blaine…" Pam tried again.

"It's alright, mom. Honestly, I prefer it this way. I prefer not to see you guys at all if this is all you have to offer," Blaine said, calmly, because it was the truth. "You were never interested in me, in my life. You were all always so busy with your own. And I'm sick of being an afterthought to my own parents. So don't bother, okay? No hard feelings. It's better this way."

He stood up, and both Robert and Pam were watching him, speechless.

"Hope you have a nice rest of your trip," he said politely, and simply walked out of the restaurant, not looking back.

At home, his real home, Sam was waiting for him. He only took one look at Blaine and made his way to him, wrapping his arms around him, holding him tight.

"Thanks for being my brother," Blaine whispered into his shoulder.

"It's my highest honor," Sam replied, and squeezed a little tighter, because it looked like Blaine needed it.

The bitterness, the anger, the feeling of inadequacy that he couldn't quite shake off followed Blaine for the rest of the day. By the time he arrived at work that evening, he felt as if he had a dark cloud hanging over him.

It didn't help that the bar was so crowded that they needed him behind the counter instead of at the piano. He had been looking forward to it, to feeling the keyboard under his fingertips, to maybe channel some of his frustration into the music. And yet here he was, pouring beer and having to shout over the loud music to speak to the patrons and take their orders.

He just wanted to go home and hide in his bed.

This was exactly why he had been dreading his parents' visit, because nothing good ever came out of spending time with them. It only ever left him feeling like he was never enough, nothing but a disappointment.

"I thought bartenders were all supposed to be friendly," a voice commented and Blaine, who had been drying a glass with what was sure to be a very sour face, glanced aside to find a dark-haired girl sitting at the counter. She looked sharp, all of her, like she could cut him equally as easy with her long red fingernails than with her words. "You know, like underpaid therapists who can give you a glass of wine as well as really random yet sage advice."

"Sorry," he said with a shrug. "Not really in the mood to hear other people's problems."

"Thought it came in the job description," she said, drumming her nails on the counter. "Get me a glass of white wine."

He turned to find a glass and, once it was full, he slid it across the counter towards her. "Here you are."

"Thanks," she said. She took a sip as she regarded him. There was something very intense about her, like her black eyes could see right through him. It was a bit unnerving. "Well, it would certainly help if you spilled whatever is wrong with you, so I don't have to think about what's wrong with me."

Blaine arched an eyebrow at her. "Who says there's something wrong with me?"

"Are you telling me that's your face on a daily basis?" She retorted. She was relentless. "Because if that's the case, that's very unfortunate."

Blaine, who had grabbed another glass to dry, put it down on the counter a little more forcefully than necessary. "What's your problem?"

"Well, my problem right now is that I'm afraid I'll ruin my wedding. I've been planning it mostly alone while my fiancé is on tour – Brittany's a dancer, you see," she explained, and it looked like she had been waiting for her chance to spill this, like it had been lodged somewhere in her throat and choking her. "And so she's away a lot, and we've been engaged forever. What if she comes home at last and she doesn't like the wedding I put together? What if she doesn't want to marry me? I mean, how far does this soulmate thing go anyway? Does that mean that no matter how much I screw up, she will love anyway? What's the limit?"

She seemed truly frantic. It was weird seeing a person who was so obviously composed slowly and surely lose her calm demeanor. She looked at him like she expected him to have all the answers to her questions.

Blaine sighed tiredly. "Look, I don't know, okay? I'm the wrong person to talk to about this."

Her eyes went automatically to his wrist. It was always hot in the bar, so Blaine had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. She frowned when she saw the Band-Aid covering his mark.

"You keep your mark hidden?" She asked, surprised.

"Yes," he said simply.

She sipped her wine. "That's unusual."

He only shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it.

"Doesn't it scare you that your soulmate might be in this room right now and you wouldn't know it because it's covered?" She asked. "Unless… oh," she paused and looked at him with something akin to sadness. "Unless your mark is black."

Blaine had seen black marks, but not in someone his age. The first had been in his grandfather's wrist, when he was very young. He hadn't thought about it in a long time. "No, it's not."

She nodded slowly. "One of my roommates has a black mark. It's been tough on her. On all of us, really. We loved him and he died when he was very, very young. It's been a few years, but it's still… it's still raw, you know?"

"I bet it is," he said sadly. He couldn't imagine seeing his mark turn black at such a young age, with all your life ahead of you. "That's tough."

"Yeah…" She said absently, like she was lost in thought. Or maybe she was lost in a memory. She then looked up at Blaine and offered her hand. "My name's Santana."

He accepted her hand. "Blaine. I'm really sorry about your friend."

"Thanks," she said, before taking another sip of wine. "Honestly, a black mark is the only reason I see for someone wanting to hide it, so… what's your deal?"

"Look, no offense, but we don't know each other and I don't feel like talking about it," he said, as politely as he could.

Santana smirked at him. She was sort of devilish. "Fine, keep your secrets. But as someone who has been lucky enough to find her soulmate in high school… well, let me tell you it's not something you want to miss out on. Give it a shot."

"I'll keep that in mind," Blaine muttered and was glad to have an excuse to move to another customer further down the counter.

Everyone seemed to have an opinion on his life lately, even total strangers at the bar.

Monday morning rolled around and Blaine was so eager for his first rehearsal that he made it to the dance studio way too early. He let his gym bag fall on the floor and looked around, feeling a bit awkward – he wasn't sure if he was allowed to be here before even the director arrived, but the door had been opened and there was a bit of a drizzle, so Blaine hadn't felt like standing outside the building for over half an hour.

There was still a rawness inside of him, a tenderness that he had been carrying around since meeting his parents. He had hoped his first rehearsal would eclipse that, but the truth was that it was still there, in the back of his mind, taunting him – he could hear every word as if his parents were still there, letting him know over and over how much he had screwed up.

He felt restless, like if he didn't move, he would explode, he would collapse. Like he would finally let all those awful feelings swirling inside of him win, if he let them there, quiet, undisturbed.

Blaine had something he wanted, that he really wanted, that he had worked hard for many years, for the first time in his life. He didn't want this experience to be ruined because he couldn't get over some childhood resentments – even though he knew they were more than that. He had every right to still be upset. He had every right to want better from his parents.

He needed a way to blow off some steam so he could be in the best mindset for the start of rehearsal. He didn't want anyone to think he was unprofessional or unfocused, especially after he'd had to run out of the cast meeting because of that silly emergency at his apartment. He needed to prove that he was here because he belonged…

As he took a deep breath, he went to stand in the middle of the room. He closed his eyes to center himself and then simply began to sing. He hadn't even stopped to choose a song, he went with the first one that came to his mind – Teenage Dream, by Katy Perry. It had been one of his favorites when he was in high school, but he hadn't listened to it in years. He had no idea where it came from, but it made him feel young and hopeful all over again.

Blaine belted the song like his life depended on it, so lost in the lyrics, on singing, on getting his frustrations out, that he didn't realize he was no longer alone until he was done and there was the sound of clapping right behind him.

Startled, he turned around and found… what was his name? Kurt? The costume designer who was dating Adam. He was really gorgeous, just as Blaine had already noticed. His blue eyes seemed to sparkle in the light, and he was so elegant, like he spent a long time making sure every single piece of his outfit was exactly right, even his hair, which was swooped away from his face – and, honestly, Blaine thought, if he was that beautiful he wouldn't want his hair hiding his face either…

And he was clapping for him, a really soft smile on his lips as he regarded him. There was something about the way he was standing at the doorway that told Blaine he was nervous, which he didn't understand. What did he have to be nervous about?

"That was truly wonderful," Kurt said softly as he came into the studio.

"I was just… warming up," Blaine said. It wasn't exactly a lie, but it wasn't the pure truth either. "I didn't know there was anyone else here. I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I really liked it," Kurt said. He stopped a few steps away, standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, hands twisting together. "Your voice is outstanding."

"Thank you," Blaine murmured sincerely.

He took a deep breath before he closed the distance between them, as if he was preparing himself to take a leap. "I'm afraid we haven't been introduced yet. I'm… I'm Kurt Hummel."

He was offering his hand to Blaine, who accepted it, looking for a moment in mesmerized admiration the contrast between their skin tones as their fingers intertwined. Kurt was pale and soft, and he was more golden, rough around the edges, callouses on his hands from playing different instruments.

"I know," he nodded slowly. "You're the costume designer, right? I'm Blaine. Anderson."

Kurt's stunning blue eyes were roaming – searching for something on Blaine's face, and if Blaine had known exactly what he was looking for, he would have given it to him…

"It's so nice to meet you, Blaine," Kurt whispered, his voice coming out a little higher, breathless, as he said his name.

"You too," Blaine said. He was strangely reluctant to let go of Kurt's hand, which he knew it was weird, so he forced himself to do so anyway.

Kurt looked down at his own hand, letting out yet another shaky breath. His fingers traced something on the inside of his wrist…

"Oh."

They both said it at the same time. Right there in Kurt's wrist were the initials BA – orange letters a stark contrast to Kurt's pale skin.

Kurt slowly faced him again, blue eyes suddenly too bright, like they were filling with tears. "Blaine…" he murmured, incredulous. His hand was shaking when he reached for Blaine's again. "Can I… can I please see your mark?"

He could feel Kurt's gentle fingers against the side of his hand, waiting for his permission, looking so hopeful that it felt like there was a thorn in Blaine's chest, going in deeper and deeper and deeper…

He tore his hand away, maybe a little too brusquely.

"No," he said.

Kurt looked as if he had been burned. He too pulled his hand away, holding it against his chest as if it hurt. "But…" Kurt gaped at him, and he seemed so hurt that the thorn got in a little deeper still. "I… my mark was yellow. Two minutes ago, I checked it. It was yellow. So… it's you. It has to be you…"

"No," Blaine said again, like it was the only word left in his vocabulary. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" Kurt asked, a bit desperately. "Blaine, come on… I've waited for you for a long…"

"I have to go," Blaine said suddenly. "I'll… I'll come back for rehearsal in a bit. I just… I have to go. Right now."

Kurt looked like he had just punched him in the face. He looked so dejected… "Blaine, please, let's talk about this…" He tried to reach for him, but Blaine pulled his hand away once more, and then Kurt's eyes fell on the Band-Aid that covered his mark. "You… you hid it. You didn't want to find me…"

"I have to go," Blaine said again. There was something stuck in his throat, making it hard to breathe. What was it? It felt like a sob trying to climb its way up. "I'm sorry."

Kurt said his name again, almost pleadingly, and something in Blaine's chest seemed to crack, even as he walked away. He didn't even pick up his bag – he would be back in a few minutes anyway. He just knew he had to get out of there right now.

As he walked out the door, there was another voice screaming at him – but it wasn't Kurt's, not anymore. It was his own voice, a fifteen-year-old Blaine, who had been so desperate to find this boy, who had needed him more than oxygen, who begged him not to leave now.

But Blaine wasn't fifteen anymore – so much had happened since then. He wasn't the same boy. But maybe he was just as broken, he thought, as he ran away from everything he had ever wanted, from the only wish he had ever had, the one that had kept him alive in a hospital bed, the one that had gotten him through the worst of it.

You're too late, he wanted to scream at Kurt. I don't need you anymore.

But it was a lie. And maybe he would realize that soon enough – and then he would be the one who was too late.

Thank you so much for reading! See you next week!

L.-