2018
Kurt tried to sleep on the plane, but he couldn't settle his brain. He just kept running the past six years over and over, like one of those plastic viewfinders he'd had as a kid: Dave at PFLAG; the two of them drinking coffee together; the night he'd helped Kurt with his math and stayed over; Christmas night in New York; all the time they hadn't had together because Dave was . . . wherever Dave had been. He ended up staring out the window for so long at the dark sky that his eyes started to water, and he swapped out his contact lenses for glasses while the woman beside him snoozed away peacefully.
Blaine's last series of texts before the plane took off hadn't been particularly patient or loving, but Kurt couldn't exactly blame him for that, not when he'd basically dumped pet care and managing the apartment solely into Blaine's grad-school weary lap. He hadn't yelled or blamed him or said Kurt owed him anything; they'd been partners for too long now for that to happen. Blaine's anger was all about Dave.
How can you trust that he'll even be there when you get to Paris? Blaine had asked. And Kurt didn't know how to explain that it didn't matter, that it was that Dave had asked, and of course Kurt would respond to that request. Of course he would.
I just don't understand the way things are between you, Blaine had sent while Kurt waited at the gate for the plane to board. It doesn't seem to me like you're getting anything much from whatever this is. It's just you, always giving to him. It's not healthy, Kurt.
It was an old argument, but one that hadn't come up in years. As far as Blaine was concerned, Dave Karofsky had dropped out of Kurt's life, and that had been it. It wasn't surprising that Blaine was confused and worried. But Kurt had no patience for either of those at the moment, not in the middle of the night.
I don't know what to tell you, Blaine, he'd typed, jabbing the tiny buttons on his phone angrily. I don't understand the boys you like to pick up when you go out, that doesn't seem healthy to me, but you still do it and I don't say anything as long as you're safe. It was the lowest of blows, but Kurt was exhausted and frustrated and more than a little bitchy.
Didn't we have this fight three years ago?
Yeah. But clearly it's still a thing. Sorry, Blaine. I can't talk about any of this right now. I'll let you know when I land.
It was bad timing, he had to admit. Not that it would have been easy at any time, but in a moment when their own relationship was being called into question, it didn't help to have this added reminder of all the ways in which he and Blaine were different. Blaine wasn't worried or scared about moving to Austin for his Ph.D., he was thrilled at the idea. Kurt, on the other hand, had been thrown into an anxiety attack more than once when their neighbors moved away. Change unsettled him.
Except when it came to Dave. Somehow Blaine couldn't understand that it was because Dave didn't change. He always had been brilliant and good-hearted, and unexpectedly broken in ways that Kurt recognized with his own heart. Blaine, on the other hand, was socially competent and adaptable in ways that had always felt foreign to Kurt. In ways more subtle than appearance or behavior, Blaine was able to convince the rest of the world that he was just like everybody else - which was something Kurt had never and would never be able to do.
And Dave... well, Dave had spent so many years trying to be the boy everyone expected, trying and failing to live up to an ideal he had no way of reaching. Even though it had been three years since they'd talked, Kurt suspected that there was still a part of Dave that was afraid of who he was and what that meant for any dreams he had. Dave didn't keep many people close to him, which meant that he needed Kurt in a way that Blaine never would.
Kurt chuckled softly to himself. He supposed that was one more way he and Dave were alike; he didn't keep people close, either, and no matter how much he and Blaine loved each other there would always be parts of Kurt that Blaine would never know - and this, this thing he had with Dave, was one of them.
Deplaning in Paris was definitely surreal, especially considering it was ten o'clock at night there and felt like mid-afternoon. Kurt was too exhausted to appreciate the view of the city at night, and too worried to relax.
He stared at his phone, realizing suddenly he wouldn't be able to text Blaine at all while he was there. He'd have to figure out the wifi situation before they could have contact again. It was a little embarrassing how much of a relief that was, to have some enforced space from Blaine.
"Où allez-vous?" the taxi driver asked.
"Hotel Brittanique, s'il vous plaît," he replied. He rested his head against the glass of the window and scrolled through pictures on his phone, wondering how much Dave had changed in the last three years.
When the driver quoted him the fare, he just handed him his credit card and scribbled his name on the receipt.
"Merci beaucoup," he said, handing the receipt and pen back to the driver. He couldn't even worry about being overcharged.
"Avec plaisir. Bon nuit, monsieur."
Kurt tugged his carry-on through the front doors, hesitating whether to check in at the grand lobby desk before inquiring about Dave. But then he saw him, hunched over a drink at the bar across the room, and all other thoughts fled.
Kurt crossed the lobby, set his bag on the floor, and climbed onto the bar stool next to Dave. When Dave glanced over at him with bleary, startled eyes, Kurt just smiled at him. "I feel like I should ask you how's life at your new school? Even if this place is head and shoulders above Scandals."
Dave almost smiled back. "Do I still need to tell you to watch your boyfriend?"
Kurt laughed. "Kind of always. But he seldom tries to take me with him when he goes dancing anymore."
"That's good, I guess." Dave knocked back the rest of his drink, set the glass on the bar with a thud, and motioned to the bartender. The man poured Dave another drink, dark amber liquid over a pile of ice.
"Un verre de vin blanc, s'il vous plaît," Kurt said to the bartender. His eyes narrowed at the stack of empty shot glasses beside the bar sink. "Combien de verres a eu il?"
"Assez," the bartender said. Kurt nodded.
"This is your last one."
"I'm not going anywhere," Dave asserted.
"You're right, you're not, but losing yourself in the bottom of that glass isn't going to fix what happened. It's not going to make you feel better."
"It makes me not feel anything at all." He rustled the ice in his glass. "That's kind of the point, Kurt."
"I need you sober enough to tell me what happened. Because if you think I'm flying all the way across the Atlantic and getting no answers, you're sorely mistaken."
Dave stared at his hands. "You didn't have to come," he said, his words dripping with bitterness and anger.
"Yes," said Kurt impatiently. "I did. Why are you here?"
He shrugged. "I've never been to Paris."
"That's not an answer."
Dave's fingers curled into fists. Kurt eyed them warily, but Dave just sat there, his breathing uneven. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse. "I'm here because my boyfriend couldn't fucking leave well enough alone. He wasn't supposed to be there. He was supposed to be at a wedding, but he loved his damn job too much and just had to chase the adrenaline. It was a car bomb, in Gaza. In fucking Gaza."
Kurt swallowed. "Oh."
Dave swirled the remaining alcohol and downed it in one swallow. "I wanted to go with him to Israel, but he told me no. We were going to meet in Paris, but he never showed. That was three weeks ago. I didn't find out until two days ago that he'd written me a letter." He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a crumpled envelope, and set it on the bar. "His cameraman, Ari, brought it to me; he found it with Eitan's things, after. We were . . . well. Not exactly a secret, but it's not safe in a lot of the places we've been, and it's kind of hard to form attachments when you're gone a lot." He shrugged. "I guess Ari knew."
"You've been with him in a lot of places?" said Kurt. He wasn't sure what else to say. All of his questions felt like accusations, and Dave didn't need that from him right now.
"The first time was in Cairo. The last time was Istanbul. In between, maybe six or eight times." Dave closed his eyes. "No. I know exactly how many. It was eight times. We were together ten times total in two years."
"That doesn't sound like nearly enough."
"It wasn't. It isn't." Dave laughed bitterly. "But it's what we get, men like us. That's what he said."
Kurt wanted to tell him no, that's not true - you can have anything you want. But the words stuck in his throat, and he had to change the subject. "I read your blog, until you stopped writing. It was wonderful. And awful."
"It was an awful time."
"And this isn't?"
"This is different. That time was shocking and upsetting. I've seen so much since then, and this?" Dave gestured to himself. "This is worse, because that was my innocence and this is my fucking heart. I loved him. I loved him and I never told him, and he . . ." He tapped his finger on the envelope. "He was married, Kurt. He had three kids. Two boys and a girl. My Chava is my past, he told me the first time. Bullshit. She wasn't his past, she was his wife. I loved him and I didn't even know him."
It was breaking Kurt's heart just listening to him, but the way Dave was slurring his words, he didn't think he was going to last much longer. "I think you should tell me what floor you're on, and let me pay your tab."
"It's covered," Dave muttered, waving his hand at the bar. He staggered to his feet, clutching the bar for support while he waited for Kurt to pick up his bag. When Kurt tried to take his arm, he snapped, "I can fucking walk."
Kurt backed away, hands up. "Fine. I'll just be back here." He followed Dave's slow, lumbering form to the elevator and watched him weave in front of the buttons. "Making sure you don't fall on your ass."
Dave tried to reach out and press one, but finally let his arm fall back to his side.
"What floor?" Kurt asked gently.
"Third."
Kurt pressed the lighted 3 and moved a little closer to Dave. They didn't talk, but just before the doors opened on the third floor Dave reached over and squeezed Kurt's hand. Kurt squeezed back, letting go of some of his fear and worry with that brief contact.
When it took Dave three tries to get the key into the lock, Kurt shook his head, steadying his hand. "I'm guessing you drink about as often as I do."
"Prob'ly," he agreed.
Dave was shivering, and Kurt was sure it wasn't from cold. He surveyed the room, ignoring the perfectly styled Louis XVI drapes on the windows, and hustled Dave into the bathroom.
"Okay." Kurt took a deep breath, then began unbuttoning Dave's shirt as efficiently and impersonally as he could. "I think a shower, and then you need some sleep. And then we can talk some more." He estimated the distance to the door, Dave's current weight, and the likelihood Dave would deck him for what he was about to do. In the end, though, Dave was too off-balance to fight him very hard, and Kurt was an expert in getting too much alcohol out of someone who'd put too much into themselves too quickly. Dave barely had time to make a noise of surprise before Kurt had him over the commode, two long fingers down his throat. He grimaced as Dave emptied the contents of his stomach, and switched on the fan.
"You'll thank me in the morning," he promised Dave, rubbing his back.
Dave gripped the counter with one hand and glared reproachfully over his shoulder at Kurt, wiping his mouth, but Kurt just moved to the shower, figuring out the controls and letting the water run until it was almost scalding. Then he stared at Dave, one eyebrow raised in a question.
"What?" Dave snarled.
"I want to make sure you're not going to fall over and hit your head while you're getting undressed."
"You don't need to watch me strip. Jesus, Kurt, I'm not a fucking invalid."
"Get on with it, then. If you're not out of the shower in half an hour, I'm coming in after you."
Kurt waited long enough that Dave started muttering and struggling with his zipper. He edged backward out of the bathroom, adding, "Don't forget to brush your teeth," before shutting the door. If he didn't figure out the wifi soon, Blaine was really going to have a fit.
Dave emerged from the bathroom 25 minutes later, a towel around his waist. He looked tired, but his eyes were clearer than they'd been in the elevator. When Kurt tried to set his computer down and rise from the bed to help him, Dave waved him off.
"I'm fine." He rummaged in his suitcase, coming up with a handful of clothes, and vanished back into the bathroom long enough to change into a t-shirt and boxers.
Kurt sent a quick goodbye to Blaine and closed his laptop. He held the heavy brocade covers up and motioned for Dave to join him. "I won't bite."
Dave sat carefully on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped around himself. "You don't have to get your own room," he said.
"I didn't even think about it," Kurt assured him. He had, but he hadn't figured out how to bring it up without it being awkward.
"I . . ." Dave began, then paused. He swallowed hard, and Kurt watched his back spasm. "I don't want to be alone tonight."
"What, you think I'm going to fly to Paris and hide out in my own room, after you've been traveling the world for the last three years? Not likely." He patted the bed again, and this time Dave reluctantly crawled under the covers. Kurt felt a little silly, tucking him in like this, but it seemed to be what Dave needed. Dave's skin was warm through his t-shirt. "I'm just going to sit here and watch you sleep, and then I'll turn off the light and join you."
"Okay." Dave tugged the blankets up to his chin and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again, shifting his gaze from Kurt to the expanse of bed between them. He coughed, and added gruffly, "You don't have to be so far away."
Kurt scooted over until he was close enough to touch Dave's leg with his own under the covers. The words were conveniently familiar. He tried to pretend he hadn't been waiting to hear them since Dave had joined him on the bed. He tried to imagine that this encounter was as perfectly platonic as he'd assumed it would be when he'd booked the ticket to Paris in the middle of the night. He tried, but he couldn't make things feel like all the other times they'd shared a bed. There was just too much history between them, and too many feelings still too close to the surface.
Dave's eyes were nearly closed again, collapsed on the bed on his back, but when Kurt put a tentative hand on his chest, he reached for it, holding it close against him, his breathing thick.
"I can't believe you actually came," he whispered. "That you're actually here."
"I can never say no to you, you know that." He wanted to say something about not wanting Dave to be left a second time in Paris, but he had no idea how to frame that without making it sound hurtful, and that was the last thing he wanted to do. And, really, that was exactly what he was going to have to do tomorrow, and he didn't want to bring that up either. He just sat there, leaning in awkwardly and letting Dave clutch his hand, until Dave's grip loosened and he began to snore.
Kurt had no idea what time it was, only that the light coming in through the cracks in the curtains was from street lamps, not sunshine. Dave was talking in his sleep, moving restlessly under the blankets.
No, not talking. He was crying in his sleep.
Kurt didn't want to touch Dave; he knew, from the nights that Blaine got trapped in bad dreams, that sometimes touch was exactly the wrong thing to do. Instead, he set his voice hard and commanding. "Dave. Dave!"
Dave's eyes opened, skittered around the room before catching Kurt. He didn't say anything, just blinked.
"You're okay," Kurt soothed. "You were having a nightmare.
"Kurt?" Dave blinked again, like he didn't know where he was. "What are you - wait. Oooohhhhhh," he groaned. "Oh, fuck. How much did I have to drink last night?"
Kurt couldn't help it, he laughed. "I think the fact that you can't remember should answer that question for you, tough guy."
"Shut up," Dave mumbled. He ran a hand over his face, squinting out the window at the street. Kurt watched Dave's face, noticing the ways in which he'd changed, the ways in which he was exactly the same. Eventually he looked back at Kurt, and Kurt looked away quickly, realizing just how close together they were.
"Sorry," Kurt whispered, and scooted backward against the wall a bit. "Do you remember any of last night?"
"Too much," Dave said. His voice was rough and his eyes were wet. "I think that's what I was dreaming about. Except, I was there, and I couldn't save him."
"You couldn't have saved him anyway." Kurt didn't want to think too hard about Dave being in all those terrifying places, surrounded by unfamiliar dangers.
Dave shook his head. "I know. I don't really think I could have. I just can't stop thinking about him. You'd think that sleep, at least, could be a time that was just for me, but I guess I don't get to have that."
"You will. It'll just take time." Kurt remembered nights after his mother died when he'd wake up to wet cheeks and his dad's soothing hand on his back. He tried putting his own hand there, on Dave's back, and realized Dave's t-shirt was soaked through with sweat. "I had nightmares for over a year after my mom. Is it cliché for me to tell you that it gets better?"
Dave snorted. "Fuck you. I always hated that sentiment."
"Why? Didn't it get any better for you?"
"Parts of it did." Dave twisted the edge of the sheet in his hands. "Parts of it... stayed the same. I just learned to deal better. What I hated was the idea that growing up and getting away were the only ways to make things better. What if I hadn't wanted to leave Ohio? What if I hadn't been able to leave Ohio, or to come out, or any of that? You always told me there was no right way to be gay, but that idea of everything getting better once you're free or some shit like that? That sure made me feel like there was a right way."
"You think I have a license to tell you the right way to do anything? Don't you remember? I was the weird kid. You were the one who knew how to blend in, how to make things work. How to be -" He stopped, closing the words into his mouth.
"What?" Dave pressed.
"I don't want to fight with you."
"Fuck, Kurt, you think I want you to start censoring yourself now? Eitan's dead. There's nothing you can say that's going to make me feel worse."
Kurt looked at his hands and sighed. "You knew how to be normal in a way I'll never be able to do."
"And it almost killed me, Kurt." The words came out furious, but there was anguish beneath the anger that made Kurt ache inside. "So don't hold me up like I'm some shining example of how to pass or be the perfect Midwestern jock or whatever. It almost killed me, and I hurt you, and no matter how much time has passed, I still can't forgive myself for what I did, not to myself and not to you. And I just keep running and running and waiting and hoping that I'll stop feeling like a fucking monster. The closest I got, besides you, was Eitan, and now he's gone and I'm alone again and I'm so tired, Kurt." It was like he ran out of fuel by the end of his sentence. It took him five seconds to breathe afterward, and the exhale was almost a sob. "I'm just so tired."
Kurt slid his hand across the expanse of bed and twined his fingers with Dave's. Dave squeezed back even though his own hands were shaking. "I know. Maybe it's time to stop."
"Stop what?"
"Holding on to all that anger and hate. You're not the same guy I kissed at prom. You're not even the same guy who left a stack of library books on my kitchen counter, the last time you disappeared. Your work and your life have changed you. I forgave you a long time ago, David. It's time you forgave yourself."
Dave shook his head slowly, laughing to himself. "Kurt... nobody calls me that. I'm DJ now." His eyes were luminous in the dark. "Except Eitan. He called me my David. And you know what? It doesn't feel bad from you. I think you see me clearly."
Kurt hummed and nodded. "Yeah. I was thinking about that, on the plane. Blaine - he doesn't really understand this." He waved his hand between them. "He doesn't understand this because he just sort of moves through his life, slipping into the places he can fit and making himself fit the places he can't. You and I aren't like that. You see me clearly, too."
"Yeah. I think I do." Dave squeezed Kurt's hand again. "And I would forgive myself, if I knew how, but I can't seem to figure that out. I don't even know what I'm running from anymore. I guess I feel like when I left Lima, the places I went were just places. There wasn't anything that belonged to me. I was a visitor, nothing more. I needed to figure out how I could make a difference." He sighed. "I still don't know how to do that."
"Blaine's moving to Texas for his PhD."
Dave snorted. "That's a non sequitur if I've ever heard one. What the hell, Kurt."
"It's a thematic comment. Blaine is moving to Texas for a PhD in psychology. He's going out into the world to make a difference and I'm like vogue dot com's all-in-one Queer Eye. I make no difference, unless you're a middle-aged socialite with bad Botox. Which, neither of us are, so."
Now Dave was laughing outright. "I know there's going to be a point here somewhere, if I just keep listening..."
"Making a difference, Dave. There are lots of ways to do that, even if it's only for socialites. Well. Still maybe not then. But what you do does matter." He considered what Dave had said about not censoring himself, and he added, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "You make a difference to me."
"Talk about pithy sentiments." Dave sounded amused. That just made Kurt more determined to say what needed to be said. He needed Dave to understand.
"Look, just shut up." He tugged Dave around to face him, even though he could only see shadows of his face in the early morning light. "I have a pretty good life, I admit it. I'm living in a city I love, and I'm doing a job I like, and I have Blaine and my friends and my family. I'm not going to complain about that. But you do make a difference. Do you get it? When you left, you took a part of me with you. I'm not blaming you for that, but you have to know that affected me." He searched Dave's face, as if he could find the answers he needed just by looking. "I miss you, every single day. Why did you leave?"
"You really don't know?"
"Why would I know? I came home one day and you were just gone."
"That was it, Kurt. That was why. What we were doing, the way I just showed up and made a place in your home, it felt way too good. But it wasn't ever going to be my home."
He wasn't making an accusation. He didn't even sound particularly hurt. It was like Dave thought what he was saying was just a fact. Like there was no way he could have that. Kurt shook his head irritably. "You don't think it didn't feel good to me, too? You, being in that apartment, it felt more comfortable and easy than I ever expected."
"I know it did. I could just tell, and I was okay with that. And then your dad called and I answered. I didn't even think about it, Kurt. I answered your fucking phone like it was my home, and I talked to your dad like we were old friends, and I could almost see what that life would be like, if it were you and me instead of you and Blaine. But it's never going to be you and me, Kurt, because you're meant to be with Blaine. He's your boyfriend, and I can't give you the perfect gay life you always wanted because I'm not that fucking guy. I'm never going to be that guy, and I'm okay with that. I accepted that about myself a long time ago. The question, Kurt, is if you accept that about me?"
Everything Dave said, in that tired, reasonable voice, took away all of Kurt's responses. It was the same questions they were asking each other six years ago, and he still only had one answer. He leaned in and kissed Dave.
Dave immediately tried to pull away, but Kurt was prepared for that. He brought both hands up to touch his face, keeping him close.
"You're my best friend," Kurt said. "Still. After all this time." They were both already trembling. "Don't lie and tell me you don't want this."
Dave let out a sound that could have been a laugh and could have been an embarrassed groan before dropping his forehead to Kurt's shoulder.
"I spent years thinking you were going to be my first," he mumbled into Kurt's shirt.
"Was it Eitan?" Kurt asked, carefully.
"No. It was the bartender at my favorite local dive, when I was on assignment in Chile." Dave caught Kurt's eye. "I know you and Blaine have that . . . agreement. Have you ever? With anyone else beside him?"
Kurt shook his head. "No. I think . . ." he paused, wanting the words to be just right. "I think I've always been waiting for you."
Dave groaned again, this time with a clear note of desperation. His hands moved to clasp Kurt's biceps. "You'll always be a romantic, won't you?"
"I think I came out of the womb a romantic, so most likely, yeah. Sorry. But you know you love me anyway."
He meant it to be teasing, just another thing Dave could laugh off. But when Kurt looked at him again, he looked like a deer in headlights.
"Oh, shit."
"What?"
Dave swallowed hard. "I - I do."
"I know," Kurt said softly. He brushed his fingers through Dave's hair. "I love you, too."
Dave clutched at him. "Kiss me again. Please."
"No running this time? Because . . ."
Dave's hand was warm and firm against his cheek. "I can't promise what tomorrow is going to look like. But right here? Right now? I'm not going anywhere."
It wasn't really enough, but Kurt was through waiting. What he had, right here, was real. This time when he kissed Dave, he let him feel every bit of his pent-up desire, every frustration and abandonment and desperate aching worry he'd carried with him since they were boys. He needed Dave to feel all of it, needed to let it go once and for all. When the kiss concluded, he was sobbing against Dave's lips.
Dave held him close, after, one strong arm across Kurt's chest, his body warm and solid against Kurt's back.
"It's okay," Dave soothed him while he shook with unspent emotion. "I'm here."
Kurt was warm. He was warm and sated and a little sore, and when he opened his eyes, sun was streaming through the windows. He stretched, initially content until he realized that his limbs weren't touching Dave, but the empty expanse of the bed. He looked around the room, but Dave's suitcase, all his things, were gone.
His breath caught in his chest, and he fought against tears. "Damn you, Dave."
"Oh, you're awake."
Kurt's head jerked around at the entirely normal sound of Dave's voice. He was standing in the door to the bathroom, a toothbrush sticking out of his mouth while he buttoned his pants. Kurt felt all the blood drain from his face.
"I thought you were gone," he said in a whisper. "I thought you'd left, and okay, you didn't, but - where's your bag?" He blinked at Dave's troubled expression, realizing the truth of it. "You are leaving."
Dave held up a finger and returned to the bathroom. Kurt listened to the water running, waiting while Dave took care of his mouthful of paste and his toothbrush. When he came back into the room, he was drying his hands on a plush-looking towel.
"Kurt, we're in Paris. I live in London, when I live anywhere at all. I have a place there, anyway. You live in New York. We're both leaving." He shook his head. "I don't know what else you expected."
Kurt ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing. But I thought we'd at least have a chance to figure out what this all means, now that we stopped being stubborn idiots about it."
"I don't think it means any more than it did before we did everything we did last night." Dave smiled, a little wistfully. "Or any less. I'm not saying it was wrong. I'm just saying... I don't know what I'm saying."
"I'm glad you don't think it was wrong. I guess . . ." Kurt hedged while he tried to find the right words. "I just assumed things would be a little easier once all the feelings were out in the open."
"I think it just got more complicated, and... that's okay? I mean, things have never been simple for us, have they?"
The glance Dave gave Kurt was loaded with fondness and longing. It made Kurt want to ask him to take his pants off and come back to bed. Instead, Kurt took a deep breath, trying to reconcile his irrational disappointment. "No. They never have."
Dave went to the closet and took a clean shirt off the hanger, digging in the front pocket of his suitcase for a tie. "So you're going to Texas?"
"Blaine's going to Texas. I haven't decided yet, whether I'm going with him or staying in New York."
They'd been fighting about it all winter, really, Blaine trying to convince Kurt that he could easily keep working for from Austin, or find something new entirely. Kurt was hesitant, mostly because New York fit him like a second skin and he didn't want to leave.
Dave nodded. "Yeah. If I give you my two cents will you hate me?"
"I'll never hate you, David."
"Okay, then... I think you should give it a try. Go for half a year, sublet your place. If you hate it, you have someplace to go back to. But you might like it. It might be what you guys need."
"What we need for what?" Kurt stared quizzically at Dave, head tipped to the side.
"To help you figure out if you're in it for the long haul or not. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere," Dave sang.
"Not in Texas," Kurt said, but he was laughing.
"I think Texas isn't the point, but you might decide New York is where you want to be. You used to tell me that it was."
Kurt leaned his head on his knees as he watched Dave put on his tie. "I'm the romantic, remember? I'm trying not to make stupid decisions, no matter what my heart is telling me."
Dave paused, letting the ends of the tie drape against his chest. "Are you going to tell me what that is?"
Kurt sighed. "My heart is telling me to follow you to London."
Dave shook his head, coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. He touched Kurt's bare knee. "Do you remember when I told you once that it wasn't the right time?"
"When I wanted to kiss you, senior year. I was so mad at you about that."
"This is the same thing. It's not time for us yet, Kurt. Not for what you want, what you deserve. If we're going to have that, we have to do it right. And right isn't following me to London."
Kurt made a face that made Dave laugh, but he could tell neither of them were feeling particularly okay about any of this. He let Dave pull him into an embrace.
"If you have to know," Dave told him, brushing Kurt's ear with his lips, "last night was amazing."
"I love you, David," Kurt said through suppressed tears.
"Yeah, I love you too." Dave's eyes were dry. He sat back and tied a neat half-windsor around his collar. Kurt tried not to feel self-conscious, but he'd never enjoyed being the only one not wearing clothes.
"If I go into the bathroom, will you be here when I come out?"
"Yes," Dave said seriously. "I promise."
He took his time showering, not because he was trying to avoid Dave, but because he wanted a clear head before he had to say goodbye again. When he came out, teeth clean and hair reasonably tidy, Dave was indeed still there.
This time, Dave let Kurt wind his arms around him and hold him close. He felt particularly attuned to the details of Dave's body, all the unique sensations and smells and sounds of him.
"I'm having this irrational feeling that I'll never see you again," he admitted. "Which is stupid, I guess."
Dave's face was solemn. "Maybe not given the circumstances. I guess you never really know. But I'll just tell you that I'm not planning on disappearing."
Kurt sighed. "Did you ever actually plan to do that?"
"Pretty much every time," he said. "But I'm willing to try to do things right, which would include not disappearing this time. I'll also say that scares the crap out of me."
"Yeah." Kurt smiled. "I suspected that was the case. Thank you for admitting it."
"Don't tell me you're not scared, too," Dave said, holding Kurt's gaze.
"I am. But I've been scared about us, about you, for a long time. I'm almost used to it by now."
Dave shifted from foot to foot, and Kurt could tell he was trying not to look at his watch.
"You have to go," Kurt said softly.
"I don't have to go." Dave sounded agonized. "But I think I should, because it's just going to get harder from here."
Kurt nodded. "Yeah." He held Dave's face in his hands. "Be safe. I love you."
That led them into another long kiss. It made Kurt's heart pound, Dave's touch, his close contact, knowing that both would be gone within minutes. He tried not to grasp for him, to let him go gracefully, but he couldn't help blurting, "Do you really think we can make this work?"
"Honestly? I don't know. But I think we owe it to ourselves to try."
That gave Kurt enough space to nod, step back, and let Dave go. He turned away, putting his hand on the wainscotting, trying to keep himself engaged in something that wasn't oh, my god, what am I doing.
There was a click, and when he turned back, the room was empty.
Only then did he allow himself to cry.
The plane ride home was completely awful, mostly because Kurt ended up sitting next to someone who'd clearly been smoking just before boarding the plane. He tried to keep his scarf over his nose, but the smell made him feel sick to his stomach, so he buried himself in constant music on his earbuds and kept his eyes on the clouds until it got too dark to see anymore.
Blaine had been remarkably gentle and understanding about Kurt's emotional state when they'd talked. Of course you're going to have a crisis, he'd said. Dave has always been an emotional trigger for you. He represents so many things about your past.
Kurt wanted to snap at him, to say, no, he's just Dave, and I'm hurting because I'm in love with him and I don't know when I'm going to see him again, but he knew Blaine tended to hide in his psychobabble when he was feeling vulnerable. Kurt wasn't going to put him on the defensive when he was just trying to be helpful.
By the time he reached JFK, Kurt was exhausted and grumpy and had the worst headache of his life. He was rude to the woman in customs and broke the strap on his favorite teal suitcase, and he couldn't even feel bad for giving everyone attitude. It felt completely justified, because - well, because it did, and he didn't need to explain his mood to anyone.
Finally he had his checked bag. All he had to do was get home, and he could collapse for a few hours before he had to get up for work. If he tried, he would probably be able to get a direct cab from that one company that gave discounts after midnight.
But when he made it out to the curb, intent on scanning the parked cabs for the right one, he saw Blaine waiting for him. He was holding a little neatly typed sign that said Need a ride, Kurt? and exactly the kind of loving, sympathetic expression that made Kurt drop his bag and burst into tears, right on the sidewalk.
Blaine crossed the space between them and wrapped Kurt in his arms. "Oh, honey. It's okay."
Blaine's body felt familiar and comforting and wrong all at the same time. Still, Kurt clung harder than was maybe appropriate in public, burying his face into Blaine's neck and trying not to hate him for being too small and compact and wearing the wrong cologne.
"You didn't have to come," he blubbered.
"Yes," Blaine said, touching his hair and holding him close, "yes, of course I did."
That set Kurt off again, hearing his own words to Dave echoed back at him, but Blaine didn't seem to mind. He never had objected to Kurt's irrational emotional states.
Blaine gathered up Kurt's things and took his hand, leading him across the street to where a town car was waiting. Kurt didn't even bother to complain about the cost. He just sank into the back seat, gloriously smell-free, and closed his eyes while Blaine and the driver put his bags into the trunk.
Blaine didn't say anything for a little while, and Kurt breathed in the darkness until his head wasn't pounding quite so hard. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Blaine.
"Thanks," he said. "For coming to get me, and for this." He gestured at the car interior.
Blaine shrugged, resting a hand on his knee. "Sometimes I do the right thing. I'll keep trying to figure out what that might be, okay?" He paused, then added, a little too casually, "I wasn't sure if you would actually come home this time, but I thought it was worth taking a chance to be here to meet you."
"Of course I came home. Where else would I go?" London, Kurt's heart sang out. London and Dave. Don't lie to Blaine about this.
"Wherever Dave was headed next, I figured. I mean, now that you guys have been together."
Kurt stilled his movements, not making eye contact with Blaine. Eventually Blaine sighed.
"I didn't think you would even know you were going to do it. But I knew. I mean, I knew you would eventually. If it didn't happen this time, it would have the next." He snuggled in closer to Kurt. "Was it... are you okay?"
Kurt leaned into Blaine's body. It felt like he was learning it all over again, even though it had only been a couple of days since they'd been together. "I don't know, honestly. I think I'll be okay, I just . . . don't know where I am right now."
He felt Blaine's nod, his curls brushing Kurt's cheek. "Is he okay? I mean, no, of course he's not okay, his boyfriend just died. But is he okay with this?"
"Better than he was with things in high school, at least. Which, I know that's not saying much, but..." He shook his head, feeling muddled and miserable and completely uncertain about what to do next. "He promised he wouldn't run this time, so I have to take him at his word on that."
"You always did take him at his word," said Blaine. He didn't sound angry, just a little sad.
That was apparently enough to inspire a fresh bout of tears. Blaine held him close while he cried, not asking any more questions, and although he put a few kisses on Kurt's cheek, Kurt could tell Blaine was trying to let him set the pace in regards to intimacy. When they got home, he let Kurt walk alone up to their loft, carrying all his bags and walking ahead of him up the stairs. Their home was filled with the scent of good coffee.
"I set the timer to brew about when I thought we'd be home," Blaine called from the other room, "but don't feel obligated if you'd rather just sleep. It's that Ethiopian light roast I picked up yesterday."
He sank down to sit at the table, resting his head on his arms. "Yeah, I think at this point, I doubt I'll be getting any sleep tonight. Three hours, I don't know if it's worth it."
"It's worth it, Kurt." Blaine sat down across from him, holding his own empty mug. "I can wake you up in three hours."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" Kurt demanded. Blaine flinched a little, but Kurt thought it was more at his tone than the question.
"Because you've flown thousands of miles in the last three days, and you've been through the emotional wringer, and you're my boyfriend."
"Even though you weren't even sure if I was going to come home to you?" Kurt closed his eyes, wishing Blaine would look anywhere but at him. "What kind of an asshole do you think I am?"
He gave him a reproachful look. "Kurt. You've been in love with Dave for years, we all know it. I've accepted that."
Kurt nodded. "I guess... maybe I hadn't accepted it, until now. And I don't know what to do about it. I don't know what I want to do about it."
Blaine was silent for several long minutes. He walked to the counter, restlessly moving things around, and poured himself a cup of coffee. Kurt listened to the familiar sounds of Blaine, working things out in his head, and felt a rush of love for him.
"I know you don't want to move to Austin with me. Have you decided what you are going to do? Because I'm not going to make you come with me, but I also don't think that walking away from each other is the way to solve this, either."
Kurt opened his mouth, and what came out was: "I think I want to move to Paris."
Blaine laughed, blinking. "Wow. That's a choice C I wasn't expecting. 'None of the above.' So is that where Dave is?"
"No. He's in London, but I don't think he's planning to stay there long." He could feel his thoughts lengthening like a bolt of cloth under his hands as he spoke. "It felt good to be there. I could stay with vogue dot com, work from there just as easily. I think it could be good for me. For us, maybe. You and me."
Blaine looked like he was having trouble getting words out. He opened and closed his mouth several times before he finally spoke. "I've already made the commitment to go to Austin. I can't just walk away from that, Kurt. It's my future."
"No, I get that. I'm not trying to say you shouldn't do that. But I think... I think I need to make a decision that's for me right now, in order to figure this out." He watched Blaine's face, trying to find something to hold on to. "I could go for the summer. See how it is, while you're getting settled in Austin. And if it's awful there by yourself, I can join you."
"I really think you might like Austin. I mean, I'm sure it'll feel provincial after Paris." Blaine twisted his hands in his lap. "Just . . ." He sighed, and for the first time Kurt could see fear in his expression. "Just don't decide not to come home, please. God, Kurt, I don't think I could handle that."
He wanted Blaine to tell him it was okay, that he wasn't hurting, but it was obvious that he was. He couldn't even feel relieved at Blaine's unspoken permission. He just nodded. "I promise. I'll come home."
Just as soon as I figure out where that is.