AN: Happy Saturday! Not much to say about this chapter except the boys are finally together. YAY! I hope you enjoy it. If you do please leave me a comment, they give encouragement to write! xo


"The second principle of magic: things which have once been in contact with each other continue to act on each other at a distance after the contact has been severed."— James Frazer

September, 2018 – Bluespruce, Maine


Blaine pulled his rental pick-up truck up to the front of the house; gravel crunching beneath the wheels and dried leaves drifting through the air. He turned off the engine and just sat for a moment, not ready to get out. He ducked his head and looked out the window at the old house – he'd never seen it in the fall. The autumn colors and drying leaves gave Callaway Place a melancholic feel to it, or maybe that was just Blaine himself feeling wistful at being back here.

Eventually he made himself move, stepping out of the truck and stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep them warm. He tilted his head back and continued to study Callaway Place.

"Here we are again," he thought to himself.

The house looked the same. The paint could probably use a refresher, the porch was covered in un-swept leaves and the windows needed washing, but otherwise it seemed unchanged.

It'd been five years since Blaine had been in Bluespruce, Maine. He'd almost come back on his twenty-first Birthday when the ownership of Callaway Place had been transferred to him, but he'd been busy with finals at UCLA and really couldn't spare the time. He'd always planned on coming back here; it just ended up taking longer than he'd planned.

There was a crisp chill in the air, the trees around the house mostly bare, their orange and brown leaves covering the ground. He should go inside; his thick wool sweater wasn't enough protection against an east coast autumn. He'd come in from California where the weather was still fair, and while he'd packed for cooler temperatures, he didn't really have the clothes for Maine cooler temperatures.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and blew on them, rubbing them together for warmth before taking a deep breath and finally walking forward. The porch steps creaked under him and his feet crunched piles of brittle leaves. Guilt churned, unwelcome in Blaine's stomach; he should have taken better care of the house; up close, it was looking faded and unkempt.

He turned the key in the lock and opened the front door, it squeaked on its hinges. Inside looked exactly as he'd remembered, thick red patterned carpet and gleaming wood paneled walls. A small smile quirked on Blaine's lips as he remembered himself at twelve years old, dripping mud and water on this very carpet. Aunt Helen had gotten it out somehow. She'd always taken such great pride in this house; it'd break her heart to know it had been left abandoned and derelict all these years.

Blaine shut the door behind him. It was his fault the house was neglected; his aunt had left him Callaway Place because he was supposed to be the only other person besides her that really cared about it – he'd let her down.

He flipped on the lights and was glad he'd thought to call ahead and get the electricity turned back on. He took a few minutes to walk around the ground floor; everything was left covered by sheets and untouched. Luckily, no one had disturbed the house or tried to break in; its reputation had probably protected it. No one really wanted to mess with Callaway Place, especially after what happened to Helen Callaway.

Blaine paused in the parlor, his throat feeling tight; how many hours had he spent in this room with his aunt? He couldn't stay in the room long, emotion overtaking him; he kept moving. Happier memories graced him in the kitchen – afternoon snacks, watching Millie cook, delicious smells, watching his aunt make a mess as she pulled things out of the cabinets and tried to put together ingredients for some spell she was working on... Millie quietly cleaning up after her like it wasn't a bother at all.

Aunt Helen had financially provided for both Andrew and Millie if anything were to ever happen to her. When Blaine's mother had become executor of Helen's estate, she found Helen had specified that in her absence the house and funds for its upkeep would go to Blaine; a tidy amount went to the Bluespruce Historical Society, and there were generous gifts for both Andrew and Millie. Blaine had been proud of Helen for that, looking out for the people who had always taken care of her.

Blaine shook himself from his memories and headed back to the front of the house; he needed to get his luggage out of the rental and settle in, there would be plenty of time for reminiscing. He lugged his suitcase up the stairs and without thinking went to his room, the room he always stayed in.

He flipped the light on and stood in the doorway, the rolling suitcase beside him and heavy duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Had this room gotten smaller somehow? The room didn't feel the same; it was dark and dusty. It had the same busy wallpaper, the old desk and wardrobe were covered in sheets, the curtains were drawn over the window seat and the big canopy bed stripped of its sheets.

Blaine glanced at the mirror above the fireplace. It was shattered. A couple of jagged pieces left around the edges and looking like a large gapping snarl – just the way he'd left it.

He remembered picking up a book, the nearest thing at hand, and hurling it towards the glass. He remembered the feeling of vindictiveness that turned into pain when the glass shattered and he realized what he'd done.

Blaine walked further into the room and then froze on the spot, his heart skipping a beat when he noticed the splintered glass that was poured out onto the rug in front of the fireplace. Blaine put his duffle bag down and walked closer, his heart tight in his chest. This wasn't right. He toed a piece of broken glass with his shoe. This wasn't just the way he left it.

Blaine's brow furrowed and he knelt down to examine the glass on the floor, glass that shouldn't be there.

He hadn't told his parents about the broken mirror, they'd had enough on their minds as it was; instead, he'd tried to take the broken mirror off the wall, but it was fixed there in such a way that removing it was impossible. Frustrated Blaine left it there and quietly cleaned up his mess. He'd worn yellow rubber kitchen gloves and picked the glass up piece by piece, vacuuming the rug when he was done; he remembered it clearly because he'd been so mad at himself for breaking the mirror that even at eighteen he'd almost cried while cleaning it up.

Blaine swallowed deeply, feeling uneasy. He had cleared this glass up years ago and yet now the glass was spread out on the carpet just like the day he'd thrown a book at the mirror, breaking it beyond repair.

This damn house, Blaine huffed and stood back up. He should stop being surprised by the things that happened here. He would just clean the glass up again – partly out of stubbornness, and partly to see if the house would do anything about it. Would he wake up the next day with shards of glass on the floor?

There were still supplies in the kitchen – the same yellow gloves he'd worn years ago and big black trash bags; he went upstairs and carefully picked up the glass pieces, tossing the trash bag out back in the bins behind the house when he was done. Then Blaine started unpacking, glancing at the broken mirror every once in a while as if daring it to defy him.

He opened the curtains, letting in the sunlight, pulled the sheets off the furniture, folded his clothes and put them in the wardrobe, found fresh linens for the bed and then stood in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips. It looked more like he remembered from his childhood; besides the shattered mirror, it looked just like it had all those summer he'd spent here.

Instead of feeling accomplished, a feeling of sorrow clouded over him; it looked the same, but things were vastly different.

He needed to keep busy, Blaine decided, to distract himself.

He walked around the house, a pad of paper in his hands, starting a list of repairs that needed to be made and supplies he'd have to buy: almost all the lightbulbs on the first floor needed to be replaced, the sink in the kitchen only ran cold water, the hinge to the back door needed replacing, the front door needed oil.

His parents had been incredulous when he'd told them he was moving to Maine. He had a degree in Music Therapy from UCLA and a good job at a therapy center; what would he do in the small town of Bluespruce?

Blaine wasn't to be deterred; this move wasn't permanent, and he'd put it off for too long. He took an extended leave of absence at work because Helen had trusted him with Callaway Place and it was time he did right by it – and her. He was going to spend at least the next few months here, getting the place back in prime condition.

He had no idea what he was going to do with the old house once it was in better shape. Keep it? Rent it out? Sell it? He couldn't really stomach the idea of selling it, but at the same time, it didn't make sense to leave it empty and unused.

He'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

Blaine was getting hungry and decided to head to town for food and supplies when a thought hit him. He went upstairs and walked down the long southern hallway and then stopped at the door to the third floor, turning to scowl at the portrait of Saffron Callaway. She sat there smugly in her chair, seemingly mocking him with her familiar golden eyes.

"Hello again," Blaine said with a scowl.

He took the portrait down. He'd decide what to do with it later; for now, he just turned it around and left it on the ground leaning up against the wall. He didn't need Saffron Callaway's picture looking out over the southern hallway anymore.

Then, he turned to head back downstairs, not even thinking of the third floor – there was nothing up there to worry about anymore.

Blaine found that Bluespruce had a new little coffee place and so he decided to enjoy a strong cup of coffee before going to the hardware store. Then, he had dinner at a cute little diner he'd been to before with Aunt Helen before doing some grocery shopping—he was so productive that he even called Andrew, who was surprised and glad to hear from him, and who also said he'd be happy to come up to the house to discuss repairs.

The sun had already set by the time Blaine returned to Callaway Place and had unloaded supplies from the truck. He was too antsy to turn in for the night, so instead, he started immediately on the list of small projects that he could do himself. Replacing light bulbs and torn window screens, scrubbing the kitchen and pulling sheets off of the furniture in the few rooms he knew he'd use.

He left the sheets on the furniture in the parlor.

By the time that weariness finally started taking over, the old house was already looking much better. Andrew would come by the next day and then they'd really get to work.

Blaine went to bed tired, both physically and emotionally; this house and its memories were taking a toll on him.

The next morning, the sun was bright in the sky, Blaine had slept through the night, but he felt weary down to his bones, as if he hadn't slept at all. He got dressed and planned on starting on some more chores first thing when he paused by a mirror in the hallway.

"Hello… Kurt?" He whispered tentatively, heart nervously skipping a beat. There was no answer. Blaine hadn't really expected one anyway.

Blaine went outside to sweep leaves off the porch, but as soon as the crisp autumn air hit him, he decided he needed to clear his mind; even though the air was still cool, it was turning out to be a beautiful day. He wanted to see the beach; he loved the beach here, so different from the beach back home. Besides, he'd never seen it this time of year. It would be far too cold to get in the water, but he still longed to walk along the sandy shore and smell the salty air.

He went upstairs to grab a scarf; it would be colder by the water, and he was already a little chilled. He opened the door to his room – it creaked loudly – he'd have to add that to his list of repairs as soon as – Blaine froze, not finishing his thought.

There on the rug, glinting in the light from the window, were shards of glass littering the ground again.

"Damn it," Blaine murmured to himself, crouching down and reaching out for a shard – the largest fragment was about the size of Blaine's hand, jagged and sharp; he was careful not to cut himself as he lifted it and looked at his reflection in the broken glass. "Not again." What was with the mirrors here? Noisy and magical and so very frustrating.

That's when the realization hit him, the mirrors weren't actually noisy. He hadn't heard any tapping from them since he'd arrived. He wasn't sure what that meant, but it made him feel irrationally uneasy. Which was ridiculous – he didn't like magic – shouldn't he be glad that the mirrors were silent?

He stood and grabbed a scarf from the wardrobe, but instead of wearing it, he used it to wrap up the piece of glass and then stuck it in his jacket pocket. He went downstairs and around back where he'd thrown away the bag of glass; he scooped out the bag and opened it, only to find it empty.

"Of course," Blaine ran his hand through his dark curls nervously and considered moving rooms; if that glass was going to stay on the floor, he didn't want to be near it. For now, though, he just needed to get away from the house altogether. It was making him anxious.

He glanced up at the window to his room and then shook himself of the chill rippling down his spine. He stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, hunched his shoulders against the cold air and walked resolutely down to the beach, over sand dunes and across beach grass, until the sea wind whipped through his hair and the scent of the ocean filled his lungs. God, he'd missed this; sure, he didn't live far from the beach in California, and he loved the ocean there too, but this was different. Colder, more rugged, beautiful.

He sat down on the sand and wrapped his jacket more tightly around himself, shivering in the wind, closing his eyes and tilting his head back to let the sun warm his face as the breeze ruffled his curls. What in the world was he going to do about that broken mirror? What was he going to do about Callaway Place itself?

His eyes snapped open, worries coming to a screeching halt, as he heard an all too familiar sound. Tap, tap, tap.

"Shit." Blaine swore and quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out his scarf and quickly unwrapping the piece of broken mirror.

He held the glass, using his scarf to keep his skin from the sharp edges, and watched his reflection as the glass let out an unmistakable tapping sound.

"You have got to be kidding me." Blaine groaned. So much for the mirrors being quiet, maybe they were waking up now that someone was back at Callaway Place. Maybe they were just messing with him. In any case, it seemed when he'd broken this mirror, he'd just created a bunch of smaller, sharper magic mirrors. Like that mythical Greek dragon that grew more heads if you cut one off. He laughed humorlessly, feeling helpless and a little fanatic. He'd made things worse.

Did he really think he could ever sell this house or even rent it out? Callaway Place was cursed top to bottom, and Aunt Helen had unwittingly cursed him as well by leaving him the damned place. The same unmistakable anger that had caused him to throw a book at a magic mirror years ago coursed through him again now. He used to love that house, but now he hated it.

Blaine stood quickly and strode right up to the water line, his shoes sinking a little in the wet sand. "I don't want it!" He shouted to nothing and then raised his arm over his head and tossed the damn piece of tapping glass as far as he could towards the ocean waves.

Just as the piece of glass was arching through the air, Blaine thought he heard another sound from it –not just tapping – but a soft familiar voice he hadn't heard in such a long time.

"Wait!" Blaine shouted, but it was too late; as if in slow motion, the glass fell and hit the water with a light splash. It sunk immediately and Blaine knew he would never find it in the swirling currents that shifted under the surface.

"Kurt." Blaine inhaled, eyes glued to where the glass had sunk beneath the waves.

Blaine had done his best not to think about Kurt over the past few years. He'd been so angry and miserable at first that it had been easy. Eventually, as his anger simmered, he had to admit that he missed his summertime friend. He really missed him. As much as he wanted to put magic behind him, he regretted losing Kurt's friendship more than he could even put into words.

As he looked out to the waves, Blaine's chest ached to talk to Kurt. If he was going to have to deal with magic again, at least he should be able to have something good in his life because of it. And Kurt had always been something good. Something so so good.

Blaine had thought he'd lost the chance to connect with Kurt, but if he had just heard his voice through that piece of glass, maybe it wasn't too late… there were other mirrors in the house he could use to try and reach Kurt, other pieces of that same mirror in fact. His half-hearted try with the hallway mirror didn't prove that Kurt couldn't be reached.

Blaine turned on his heel, feeling excited and hopeful and ready to head back to the house, anticipation starting to pump though him – but instead of moving forward, his foot slipped in the sand. He fell down to his hands and knees with a hiss.

He tried standing again, but slipped on the sand once more; it was wet and cold and Blaine's whole body shivered. He tried standing again, but couldn't – he was being pulled backwards. Back through the wet sand and towards the waves, his feet were already submerged and the cuffs of his pants were soaking up water.

Something unseen was pulling him. Tugging him towards the ocean.

"No! Stop!" Blaine shouted in fear, but it didn't help; in a split second, Blaine's whole body reeled backwards and he was pitched into the sea – as easy to toss around as a shard of glass.

Blaine hit the ice cold water with a splash, and then he was tumbling through the waves, kicking and trying to swim towards the surface, his jacket heavy with water. He kept kicking, but he didn't even know which way was up. It didn't matter, because no matter how much he kicked and struggled, his body was being pulled down, down, down, a stronger force than the current in control.

He knew in the back of his mind that he was being pulled towards the glass he had so thoughtlessly thrown away, but he couldn't think about that, not when his lungs were burning for air and his thoughts were a frenzied panic of, Oh god, oh god. I don't want to drown!

He was spinning now, caught in some kind of underwater whirlwind, being pulled towards the bottom like a bug being sucked down a drain. He caught a glimpse of the piece of mirror he'd tossed away. Larger now, having morphed and grown in size while it was lying on the ocean floor, the mirror was glistening and waiting for him. He kicked and thrashed, trying to get away, his lungs tight and his heart pounding.

Everything went pitch black and Blaine was sure he was about to die.

Then, his head broke through the surface and he took in a long deep gulp of air, his lungs expanding and his head clearing. He felt relief for only a moment before he got a good look around. He was no longer at the beach; he was treading freezing water in some kind of small, closed off, concrete room – a room coursing with roiling water, like the inside of a snow globe being shook.

He sucked in a startled gasp when nearby a person's head popped out of the water; they took a long gulp of air and then dove back under. Blaine kept treading, still catching his breath; the water in the room was splashing and moving, and it seemed to be rising. Blaine was tossed around in the water's current, but he kept waiting for the other person to come up; the more time that went by, the more afraid Blaine became. Worry, a tight hold on his heart – he was he treading water while someone in the room drowned.

Blaine took a breath and dove under the surface. The first thing he saw was a large book laying on the floor of the room, pages open as if ready to be read; then, he saw the other person – a young man –struggling through the current and trying to reach the book, but he wasn't getting any closer and he had to be running out of air. Blaine reached for the book himself and pointed up to the water's surface, hoping the man would follow his lead, and then he kicked his feet to swim back up. He broke through the water and sucked in air before glancing down at the open book in his hands. His mind was swirling, but he quickly saw something about a reversal spell – great more magic. Still a reversal spell might be very useful right now.

The other man in the room broke through the water with a gasp, thank god. He looked tired, as if he wouldn't be able to tread water much longer, and he was struggling against the stream churning in the room. Blaine's feet had found purchase on something beneath him and he felt pretty steady; he reached out for the man, grabbing him and pulling him in, hanging onto him until he could get his footing as well.

Once neither of them seemed about to drown, Blaine shoved the book in the young man's hands. He'd been trying to get to this; hopefully, he'd know what to do with it, and fast, the water level was still rising, "Read this!" Blaine shouted.

The man looked at Blaine in confusion for half a second before grasping the book, and in a voice Blaine immediately recognized, the man started to read.


New York City, New York

Kurt's hands were shaking as he opened the little white plastic first aid kit he kept in his office; he rummaged through, finding gauze and antiseptic and bandages. He glanced back up to see Blaine watching him intently, dark eyebrows drawn together and water still dripping from his thick hair.

Blaine. Blaine was watching him. Here, in New York, right in front of him.

Kurt looked away and cleared his throat, "Do you think it is bad? The cut? Should we go to the hospital?" He would use the little spell he knew for healing minor cuts, but he felt too shaky to perform magic right then.

Blaine lifted a hand to his cheek, "No, it doesn't really hurt," he answered in that rich sweet timbre Kurt remembered so well.

"Still, we should get it bandaged up, you don't want a scar." Kurt's hands were still trembling as he tore open a package of gaze.

"A scar could be dashing."

Kurt looked up again to see Blaine's eyes dancing, and his lips quirked in a small shy smile. They were sitting close to each other, turned to face one another in Kurt's little office sitting area. Kurt's heart thudded against his chest. This was unreal; to be sitting here with the boy he considered his first love, seeing him with his own eyes for the first time. And god, what a sight he was.

"You don't need a scar to look dashing," Kurt answered without thinking and Blaine's smile widened.

Kurt let out a breathy nervous laugh; he needed to find a filter before he said something worse.

They were both still dripping cold salt water on the rug, something that would have horrified Kurt if his mind wasn't already running a mile a minute. He'd focus on that once he took care of Blaine's cut. Kurt scooted closer to Blaine, softly pressing some gauze against his cheek, cleaning the wound.

Kurt tried to determine why he felt so unsteady, a distraction from staring at Blaine's gorgeous eyes. It could be the fact that he almost drowned in the basement. Or the fact that the boy he'd missed for so long was sitting next to him right now. Or it could be apprehension, not knowing where he stood with Blaine – they hadn't talked for years, and as far as Kurt knew, Blaine had wanted it that way.

It was probably the almost drowning in the basement.

Or maybe it was just his cold damp clothes.

Blaine was watching him, his honey-colored eyes intense.

"I don't think it's too deep," Kurt said as he removed the gauze and saw that the cut had already stopped bleeding.

Blaine nodded and then looked nervously down at his lap, and Kurt, who had reached for the antiseptic, paused, diverted by noting how long and dark Blaine's eyelashes were against his tan skin. Kurt shook his head to himself. No, he was not going to get pulled in, not until he understood what was going on.

"I can't believe I'm here, with you," Blaine said and glanced up, his cheeks flushing a pretty rose.

Kurt swallowed deeply, his head feeling a little light, "Yes, well I can't believe a lot of things that just happened."

Kurt applied the antiseptic and finished it off with a bandage. He was still trying to process the fact that, minutes ago, he'd been in a basement storeroom swimming through an ocean that had gushed from an enchanted mirror. Not to mention the fact that a person had come through that mirror. Not just a person, but Blaine, his Blaine. Kurt had been around magic all his life and this was still extreme for him.

"Imagine being on a beach in Maine one moment and then in New York City the next," Blaine said, leaning back a little now that Kurt was done with dressing his wound. "My stomach is still churning from the lurch that was."

"You're okay though, right?"

Blaine looked down at himself, patting his body as if to check that he was still in one piece, "It seems like I survived."

Kurt smiled slightly and nodded, then stood from his chair, feeling jittery and distraught. He started pacing back and forth, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Maine, you were in Maine."

"Yes."

"Is that where you were all those summers we talked?"

"Yes." Blaine was still sitting, leaning forward now, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped, watching Kurt carefully.

"And then you stopped." Kurt said, turning on his heel to look at Blaine. "Then you stopped talking to me. You promised to come back every summer and then you didn't, and I thought maybe you couldn't come that summer, maybe it was out of your control. But then you didn't come back the next summer or the next or the next." Kurt's voice was trembling with emotion, and something like anger ran through his body. Years of resentment and worry coming to the surface. "Anything could have happened to you and I didn't even know!"

"You're angry at me," Blaine said simply, still watching him with intent eyes.

Yes, Kurt was angry and Blaine's calm was only making it worse. Kurt finally stopped pacing and really looked at Blaine: his clothing dripping water onto the floor, his face bandaged, and the hands clasped in his lap clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. Maybe he wasn't as calm as his voice seemed.

"Yes. I'm angry. Or… no. I don't know." Kurt sighed, "I was angry, but I thought I was over it by now. We… we were just kids." We were just kids but you meant the world to me. Kurt added in his mind.

Blaine nodded at that and looked down at his shoes. Kurt waited for an explanation but Blaine remained silent. Kurt felt tense, but he let himself fall back down into the chair next to Blaine. "Did your mirrors stop working?"

"No." Blaine answered softly, still looking down.

"Did you stop visiting your aunt?"

Blaine licked his lips and then exhaled; he looked up at Kurt, shoulders slumped and eyes weary. "I… It's complicated."

Kurt's stomach twisted, "Did you choose to stop talking to me or was it out of your hands?"

Blaine glanced away, not making eye contact with him. "I just traveled five hundred miles through a magic mirror and we both almost drowned in a basement and this is what you want to ask me?"

"Yes," Kurt said, his heart pounding. In fact, he had a million questions for Blaine, half of them about what had just happened, but this was where he wanted to start. He needed to know how a person who he'd thought he'd been so close to could just stop talking to him with no explanation. He needed to know if their friendship had meant to Blaine what it had meant to Kurt. He needed to know if Blaine had wanted to remove Kurt from his life or if he had had no choice. Kurt wanted an explanation for why he'd been carrying around a broken heart all this time. These were questions he'd had for years, so yes, everything else could wait.

"My aunt got sick," Blaine said, finally looking back at him, "You knew about that, but that last summer we spoke, she was sicker than I let on and after that she… she just…" Blaine stopped, shaking his head, obviously not ready to talk about this.

Kurt's throat tightened, worry for Blaine's aunt heavy in his chest. And as much as he wanted to know why things had happened the way they did, as he looked at Blaine's miserable expression, he knew he couldn't press for more information. Not when they were both wet and cold and reeling from what had just happened. And Blaine was shivering.

"What is your last name?" Kurt asked softly, his voice calmer. It was a question he'd had since he met Blaine, and it seemed like an easy place to start.

Blaine straightened up in his chair in surprise before a small smile tipped up the corners of his mouth and he unclasped his hands to reach one out to Kurt, "Hi, I'm Blaine Anderson."

Kurt smiled back and shook his hand, his skin tingly as it pressed against Blaine's, "Kurt Hummel," he said, hating the way Blaine's touch made his heart race, "Pleased to meet you."

They both let out shy chuckles as they held each other's hands. It was strange to know someone so well and yet not really know them at all.

"Well, Blaine Anderson, I for one am freezing and would love to take my clothes off," Kurt said, letting go of Blaine's hand and blushing profusely – god he hadn't stumbled over his words like this because of a boy since… well since Blaine. "I mean get out of these and into something warm and dry."

Blaine shot him a smirk, "I'm afraid my dry clothes are back in Maine."

Kurt stood, a plan already forming, "Come back to my place with me. We have a lotto talk about and you can borrow some dry clothes."

Blaine ran a hand through his wet hair, then stood to follow Kurt's lead, a small sweet smile still playing at his lips. "I still can't believe I'm here." He rubbed the back of his neck and looked so incredibly adorable that Kurt's stomach swooped the way it used to back when he was just a silly teenager with a crush. If younger Kurt had known then what Blaine had looked like, he probably would have melted.

"Come on." Kurt nodded; he had to bite back the questions that wanted to fall from his tongue, but there would be time for that. Blaine looked so tired that Kurt was actually worried he'd pass out if he didn't get him out of there. "We'll catch a cab."

Kurt stood in his kitchen with his thoughts a jumble and his stomach flipping over. He stared blankly at his pristine, marble counter until he shook himself out of his daze and reminded himself what he was doing. Coffee. He'd offered to make coffee for Blaine. Blaine, his childhood friend who was now in his guest bathroom changing into Kurt's clothes.

Kurt chuckled nervously to himself. For years, he used to fantasize about meeting Blaine, but even as a lovelorn teenager, he'd never imagined a meeting this dramatic. He grabbed two coffee mugs from the cupboard, and two pods for his Keurig and started the coffee. He watched the dark steamy liquid fill up a mug, distracted by thoughts of water rushing through mirrors, and magic charms, and the dark eyelashes of one Blaine Anderson.

Blaine had been mostly silent on the taxi ride to Kurt's apartment, leaning his head against the window and watching the city rush by. Kurt had watched him, hand itching to reach out and touch him, make sure he was real. Blaine, his mirror friend, grown up and sitting beside him. It felt indescribable and fragile, as if Kurt could breathe the wrong way and Blaine would disappear. Again.

"That smells good."

Kurt startled in surprise and then turned to see Blaine behind him wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt that he'd borrowed. Kurt had changed into similarly comfortable clothing, but as he looked at Blaine – and how soft and homey and attractive he was – Kurt wished he'd taken a little more time to spruce up his own appearance.

"Cream and sugar?" Kurt asked, hoping his voice came out steady as he walked to the refrigerator and pulled out both his regular cream and the hazelnut that he often liked to use.

"Just cream," Blaine answered, and they both stood silently as Kurt readied their drinks. They sat down together at Kurt's kitchen table, Kurt wrapping his hands around his warm mug. Even with his dry clothes on, he was still fighting off the chill that being doused with literally tons of cold water had given him. Blaine trembled a little and took a sip of his coffee; he must still be getting over it as well. That and the shock of traveling five hundred miles in an instant.

Considering everything, Blaine was actually taking this all very calmly.

"You aren't in shock are you?" Kurt asked, and Blaine raised his eyebrows at him over his mug.

"Shock?"

"You're just taking what happened really well."

Blaine smiled softly, cupping his mug, "So are you."

"Yeah, I guess. Maybe we're both in shock." Kurt said jokingly, "Though I wasn't pulled off of a beach in Maine and deposited into a basement in New York."

"Yeah, I'm still catching up with that I think," Blaine said with a grin, and for a brief moment as he looked at Kurt, the tiredness fell from his features and Kurt was struck again by how lovely he was.

"So where do we start?" Kurt asked a little nervously, "With how in the world you got here?" With why you abandoned me years ago? The unspoken words stuck in Kurt's throat.

"I don't have a good answer for you there," Blaine said, placing his mug down on the table. "I can tell you what happened, but not why or how."

"That's a start."

Blaine told Kurt about what happened back in Maine. About the mirror he broke years ago and the pieces that kept reappearing. About tossing one into the waves before being pulled into the ocean himself and sucked through the glass.

Kurt sat, enthralled, his heart hammering at Blaine's story. He momentarily forgot his resentment, lost in Blaine's tale. "That's amazing. I've never heard of magic like this, it's so strong."

"Amazing and dangerous," Blaine added, his eyebrows bunching up.

Kurt nodded, "Yes, but we're both alright."

"We both almost drowned."

Kurt nodded again and took a sip of coffee. Every summer when they used to talk, it was like their conversation had never stopped. They'd go months without hearing from each other and then just fall back in tune.

It wasn't like that now; things were halted between them and Kurt hated that. He tried to think of what he would say to Blaine if they were just talking through the mirror again like they used to.

"Tell me more about your aunt's house; I was always fascinated by it, and your aunt. I really like her." He hoped that wasn't pressing for too much information, but they had so much they needed to figure out and Kurt needed to get the ball rolling somehow.

Blaine bit his lip and looked down at his mug, "Helen liked you too. She thought you were smart and funny. You know she left me Callaway Place after she…" He cleared his throat and took another sip of coffee.

Kurt's heart plummeted. Aunt Helen had passed away then. How awful. He watched Blaine closely, his eyes downcast towards his mug, foot nervously tapping the kitchen floor, thick brows furrowed together.

Kurt realized he was staring so much because it was odd to actually see Blaine as they spoke to each other. Kurt was so familiar with all the inflections of Blaine's voice, and he could tell right now that there was a lot that he wasn't saying; but he could see it in his eyes now too, the reluctance to talk about this. Kurt wasn't sure what to do about that, because they had to talk about it.

"Callaway Place?" Kurt asked, trying for an easy question.

Blaine chuckled, "That's right. I forgot you could never hear the name of my Aunt's house before. Callaway Place. My mother's family, the Callaways, have lived there for generations. And now, for better or worse, Callaway Place is mine."

"How long have you lived there?"

"A day." Blaine said animatedly, his eyebrows raised, "This was my first trip back in five years. When Aunt Helen couldn't take care of the place anymore, it was entrusted to my mom until ownership was transferred to me when I turned twenty-one."

"But you haven't been back until now?"

"Right."

"And look how that went!" Kurt joked, trying to break the tension.

Blaine gave him a coy glance, "Not so bad seeing as I'm finally able to talk face-to-face with my mirror friend."

Kurt's heart skipped a beat; he knew his emotions were running high with everything that had happened, but he needed to rein it in. He wasn't sure he could completely trust his feelings with Blaine –as much as he wanted to – Blaine had let him down before.

Besides, there was a current of sadness in everything Blaine said and Kurt didn't want to sit there and grin at him like a fool just because every time Blaine said something Kurt's heart did somersaults. "And your aunt… She passed away?" Kurt asked, hoping to help if Blaine couldn't find the words.

"No." Blaine met his eyes with a steely look, as if he was determined to get this out, but not quite able yet.

"No?" Kurt lifted an eyebrow, "She didn't die?" Oh thank god.

"She just…" Blaine waved a hand before his words poured out of him in a heated rush, "Magic hurt her. It might as well have killed her… No. I don't mean that." He shook his head, looking pained, "I was back at her house the summer after I graduated high school and I could have talked to you then but – I was so angry, Kurt. Magic took her from us and I just… I…" He trailed off, his hands clasped tightly around his mug and his brows knitted in discomfort. "I didn't know what to say to you then, just like I don't know how to talk about this now."

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat; he didn't understand what Blaine was saying, but he also couldn't stand to see him hurting, despite the pain Blaine had caused him. He reached out to place a hand over Blaine's. Blaine looked up in surprise and Kurt smiled. This was new, the ability to comfort one another with touch. Kurt had wanted to do it so many times in years past.

"I'm sorry, Blaine. You don't have to talk about it right now."

"I never talk about it at all," Blaine answered. His eyes met Kurt's and Kurt was stunned by the intensity in them; for a moment, Kurt felt a connection with Blaine that he hadn't felt since he was nineteen and lying on his bed talking to the boy he'd so hopelessly fallen for. He wondered if Blaine felt something too because his breathing sped up slightly. Kurt glanced away and the moment was broken.

Blaine coughed to clear his throat and his hands relaxed as Kurt continued to rub his thumb across them.

"I was always sorry I didn't reach out to you," Blaine's voice was soft, "I've been sorry for years, but I couldn't make myself go back until now. Helen was placed in… um, a home, when I was nineteen. I was there the summer my parents made that decision, but I was so upset that I didn't want to use magic. I took my anger out on the house the only way I knew how… I had my parents sell off some of Aunt Helen's things."

"Nothing magical though," Kurt said, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach.

Blaine sighed and rubbed his forehead, "Of course magical. I hated magic for what it did to her. I broke the mirror I used to talk to you and I had my parents sell off items from the third floor."

Kurt pulled his hand back in shock as Blaine's words sunk in; he didn't understand what had happened to Helen because Blaine wasn't making sense – but if they sold items from the third floor

"Blaine!" Kurt gasped in disbelief, "What about the third floor mirror? You sold that? It could be anywhere, with anyone. It could be dangerous!" Kurt's heart was pounding and Blaine just sat there calmly and looked at him like he was overreacting. Which was infuriating.

"Kurt," Blaine said, tilting his head, his brows bunched, "Have you not figured it out yet? I know where the third floor mirror is, so do you."

"I…" Kurt's eyes grew round. Of course! Of course he knew where the mirror was; his brain was just moving slowly—probably from the craziness of the recent ordeal. "Oh my god the mirror at Britton's."

"Yeah."

"You came here through your own mirror?"

"It seems like getting rid of the cursed thing did me very little good."

"Blaine," Kurt gasped, thinking back to why he'd been at Britton's in the first place and the initials carved on the frame, "That mirror, I'm sure it has dark magic in it. Like, really dark magic."

"Of course it's dark, I've always known that." Blaine's face was earnest, his lips tight, his jaw was set and his shoulders tense. He looked ready for a fight and Kurt knew he was serious, this was serious, but he also noticed how Blaine's dark hair was drying into little curly rings around his face and he was trying not to be preoccupied by that discovery, not when Blaine was so solemn.

"There is an evil mirror in the basement of my place of work." Kurt groaned and held his head in his hands. What were they going to do? They couldn't let something so powerful be auctioned off to some unsuspecting bidder, nor could he just leave it in the basement of Britton's.

"We have to destroy it, Kurt," Blaine said, reaching out and getting Kurt's attention by pressing his fingers to Kurt's arm, "Once and for all, we have to destroy it."

Kurt looked up and sighed, "I know."

He watched as Blaine relaxed, shoulders loosening and brows unfurrowing, as if he was surprised Kurt so readily agreed with him. "Good." A real, true smile grew on his lips, "Good. Thank you Kurt."

It had been a while since a smile from a cute guy left Kurt flustered, but Blaine seemed to have that effect on him. He glanced down to his coffee, hoping his cheeks weren't giving him away. Stop it Kurt! You're being ridiculous, you don't even know Blaine anymore.

"We have to find a way to get it away from Britton's first though." Kurt said, focusing on the matter at hand, and his heart sunk as he realized what he was going to have to do. He glanced back up at Blaine who seemed to be studying him. "I have to call Nathan."

Blaine raised an eyebrow quizzically, and Kurt just sighed, wondering how awkward that conversation would be.