Chapter Text
As the night grew weary, the sky darkened into a pitch black. Inside, partygoers had flocked to tables, or the plush benches lining the edge of the room by the bay windows. Despite resting their feet, chatter remained gregarious, and the catering staff were hovering like birds looking for prey, keeping glasses filled to the brim. Others had caught a second wind and took advantage of the slightly dimmed lights, slow-dancing in pairs to the calming piano music. Blaine caught sight of his parents in this group.
He had managed to make the rounds, greeting each guest with a firm handshake and kind word. It was his duty as the son of the host. Unfortunately, that meant he was occasionally caught in a net of draining conversation that was difficult to climb out of.
“I remember back when this part of town was the center of culture and art! Of course, your generation can’t look up from your mobile phones long enough–” Gary McMillan, a former colleague of his father’s, said.
Whenever Gary stopped by the house, usually to watch a Buckeyes game and enjoy his father’s most expensive whiskey, Blaine made a concerted effort to not be there as Gary loved to trap him in conversation about the good old days.
“Excuse me, Mr McMillan,” Blaine interrupted, attempting to gracefully side-step around him.
Gary moved right back into his path in what appeared to be a practiced maneuver. “The cheek of you, boy! Interrupting me! If I had done that, my father would have given me a good old walloping… I would have deserved it too!”
“Sorry,” Blaine apologised automatically before he could consider if he really meant it.
“Very good,” Gary said, then continued like Blaine had not spoken. “This part of town was the center of art! Prior to that, it was considered a bit of a dodgy area… drunkenness and such.”
“Gary! Where have you been all night?” Blaine’s father appeared and gently guided Gary away from Blaine, with an arm slung around his shoulders. He could hear Gary muttering away to his father, but took the opportunity to hastily move to the opposite end of the room.
Despite noise and activity normally fuelling him, an unexpected exhaustion had settled upon Blaine. His mouth felt dry, his lips were chapped, and his mind was a blank canvas. Mostly blank. Where usual small-talk was failing him, his thoughts drifted back to a certain Broadway star. As expected, their paths had not crossed again that night.
Blaine was not even sure if he wanted them to.
“Blaine, darling?” Pam’s voice and the click clock of her heels against the floorboards emerged from the background chatter.
She reached him, and despite his lethargy, he found a smile for her, hoping it did not falter around the edges.
“Yes?” He replied, injecting purposeful cheeriness into his tone.
“Could I trouble you for a favor?”
He nodded eagerly, perhaps a bit too eagerly, as she furrowed her brow slightly. “Of course,” he said.
Beside them, a rather dignified couple in matching costumes whisked by with a wave to Pam, and Blaine could hear muttered words of needing to get home to relieve the babysitter.
“Would you be able to retrieve the spare champagne bottles?” she asked, returning her attention back to him. “I did ask one of the catering staff—” she pointed (with remarkable resemblance to Cooper) to a slightly flustered employee, who seemed to be fending off requests from guests from multiple directions. “But, I’m not sure they had the chance. They are downstairs, in the cellar I pointed out earlier.”
“Yes, absolutely,” he said, determination returning to his achy feet at the prospect of a task. “I’ll be right back.”
Just as Blaine took a step towards the door, Pam’s voice stopped him in his tracks again.
“Perhaps Kurt here might accompany you?” She said, and he swung around to see a slightly dishevelled Kurt had approached them. “Have you met yet? Oh, you simply must! Blaine, Kurt’s on Broadway.”
Blaine gave his mother what he hoped was a warning look and wished in that moment he was capable of telepathic communication. “We’ve met,” he replied, keeping his tone perfectly neutral and avoiding Kurt’s gaze, but there was that familiar swooping in his stomach.
Why did Kurt keep having that effect? Classical conditioning of some kind? Yes, Blaine reasoned to himself, he was obviously associating Kurt with his anxiety surrounding the car accident. That clearly was the most simple explanation, and Blaine was pleased he had taken the time to delve into Psychology for the Perpetually Perplexed last month.
Despite not looking at him, it was unmistakably Kurt. The pleasant odor of hair product, combined with a gentle, earthy, likely costly, cologne, and the rush in Blaine’s heart rate — it could be no one but Kurt.
“Many times,” Kurt answered quickly.
“Twice. Not that many,” Blaine replied, finally risking a glance at him.
Pam looked between them, a sly smile beginning to form. “Excellent. Then I’m sure you’ll have no problem working together to make sure we stay stocked with champagne.”
“Mom, I’m sure I can handle it on my own—” Blaine protested, and simultaneously, Kurt softly said, “Pam, perhaps it would be better—”
Her smile widened, as they both trailed off, each sporting a sheepish look. “The cellar door is rather hefty, so you’ll need one person to hold the door, while the other carries the boxes,” she said, then added with a wink, “Besides, it will give you the chance to quiz Kurt about life in New York!”
Blaine opened his mouth, expecting to be armed with a perfectly formed argument as to why he could not possibly work with Kurt, but no words followed. Pam took his silence as the opportunity to float away to another group of guests — this time, it was a group of giggly women wearing plaid skirts in different colors. Blaine recognised Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez among the group, dancer influencers gaining prominence among the younger generations. Once again, Blaine was impressed by his mother’s wide and ever-expanding social circle.
Blaine and Kurt stood side by side stiffly, each staring anywhere but at the man next to them. Blaine imagined they must look fairly ridiculous to an onlooker in their semi-matching costumes. Risking a sideways glance, he noticed Kurt developing an unusual interest in the tassel on his coat that had become tangled. There was a light smattering of freckles across his nose and green specks in his eyes, mixed in with the backdrop of blue…
He cleared his throat, and Kurt peered over, dropping the tassel like it had burned him.
“Shall we?” Blaine asked, gesturing to the door.
They moved together towards the door, matching each other’s steps. Kurt had a way of clearing a pathway through crowds, a certain presence, and beside him, Blaine felt strangely like he could scale mountain ranges or tell the Dalton board where to shove it. The silence that held between them was prolonged; Blaine desperately wanted to break it. Words were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken, but not quite reaching the outside world.
The party noise gradually faded as the two made their way down the staircase, until there was nothing but an eerie stillness. Even the conscientious woman at the ticket desk was gone, sending a shiver down Blaine’s spine. Had it been this cold here earlier?
“It’s this way,” Blaine said, his voice reverberating across the space like thunder. He charged toward the hallway he had seen earlier, seeking any action to ease the discomfort that was beginning to crawl across his skin.
Kurt mimicked him, and, imperceptibly, the light disappeared, and they were standing in complete darkness that engulfed them. They both switched their phone lights on, resulting in two identical beams of light upon the cellar door. The door handle had an almost medieval appearance; designed to be pulled out and turned. Before Blaine could even reach out, Kurt’s hand was on the handle, and while Blaine could not see it, he could feel the smirk spreading across Kurt’s face. Blaine held his phone light to the door handle; the need to be helpful outweighed his mild irritation at Kurt’s competitiveness.
For a moment, Kurt seemed to be struggling, and Blaine had lined up a playful jab, ready to turn the tables in his favor, but then the door swung open with a creak. It felt like a freezer door had just been opened, and Blaine felt chilled right down to his bones. His hand twitched slightly, and he had to force it to his side, preventing it from reaching out and grabbing Kurt’s hand.
It was just an old cellar. Why was he so apprehensive?
He stepped forward and nothing happened. He reached out to the wall, smoothing his hand over the concrete, cringing at the layer of grime and dust that attached to his fingers. As if reading his mind, Kurt held his phone to the wall, shining a spotlight on a light switch. Blaine switched the light on, and there was audible relief from them both as the room flooded with light from glass pendant lights that hung from flimsy wires attached to the ceiling.
They found themselves standing in a smaller room than Blaine had anticipated, considering the size of the theater floors. Several coolers were lined up on the floor, and both Kurt and Blaine reached down and scooped up as many chilled bottles as they could balance in their arms. Just as Blaine was standing up, a bottle in each hand and one tucked under each arm, the door closed with a thud, and any remaining party ambience vanished at once.
For a split second, the two of them stared at one another before panic settled in. They both threw the champagne bottles down with a clatter and ran to the door, Blaine grasping the handle desperately and Kurt leaning on the door to push it open.
“Why isn’t it opening?” Blaine said, frustration gnawing at his temples.
Kurt kicked the door, rather enthusiastically, and winced in pain as his lace-up boot provided little protection against the solid concrete. “I don’t know! Why didn’t you prop it open?” Kurt replied, equally angry.
“You were the last one in!” Blaine shot back, determined the blame would not fall at his feet.
“It’s your Mom’s event!”
They glared at each other furiously, breathing heavily, but also at a stalemate. Whoever acted next would lose, and Blaine was determined that would not be him. He could not help but remember Pam’s words about needing to be the bigger person. Every fight with Cooper, despite being ten years younger, it was always Blaine’s responsibility. But not this time.
***
After the initial panic had subsided, Kurt suggested calling one of the upstairs guests, as though he had been calm this entire time and it was only Blaine who was unreasonably panicking. However, they had apparently found the one place in the city without cell phone reception. Blaine shouldn’t have been surprised with how completely quiet it was.
“Thick layers of concrete can block radio waves, particularly if there is moisture or layers of mesh,” Blaine said in a very factual tone, like he was reciting from a textbook.
“Thanks, Blaine. I absolutely needed to know that right now,” Kurt said, rolling his eyes.
After banging on the door till their knuckles bruised and yelling to their voices turned hoarse, they gave up. Well, Kurt had. While he had found an old stool to sit on, Blaine continued to pace around the cellar, hoping to relieve some of the nervous energy that had built up inside him. Kurt watched him, like he was a particularly peculiar animal.
“Maybe it is cursed,” Blaine eventually said, more to himself than Kurt.
“I know I joked about that curse, but you can’t seriously believe that,” Kurt said. “It was probably made up to sell tickets. Adding a bit of mystery to the venue… It’s ingenious really.”
The way Kurt said that made Blaine wonder if he was taking mental notes of this strategy.
“You don’t think this is strange?” Blaine said, motioning to the heavy cellar door. “That we just happen to get locked in here together?”
Kurt glanced at Blaine, his forehead creased. “Why would it be strange?” He said, voice full of confusion. “It’s an old building with a heavy cellar door.”
Blaine shook his head. “I can’t explain it… It just feels too orchestrated.”
A silence settled between them after that, much like a thick layer of fog settling over the noise congestion of a bustling city. Throwing one last, hopeless look at the door, pleading with it to open, Blaine finally refocused his attention on the rest of the room.
“Can I ask you something?” Kurt said softly.
“Sure,” Blaine said distractedly.
“Why are you so freaked out?” Kurt asked, and just as Blaine was about to open his mouth to indignantly remind Kurt of their situation, he added: “I know we’re stuck down here. But someone will notice we are missing eventually… Is it that terrible to be around me?”
At that, Blaine glanced at Kurt and saw something new behind his eyes. A vulnerability he was letting Blaine see.
“Well, apart from when you are shouting at me about my driving or insulting me… I suppose you aren’t that bad,” Blaine said playfully, but Kurt’s mouth barely twitched in response. His eyes, full of suspicion, narrowed at Blaine, as though he could see right through him.
Blaine began to more closely survey their surroundings, holding up his phone light to shadowy corners where the ceiling light did not quite reach. Perhaps there was an alternative way out. Or perhaps it was to avoid Kurt’s intense gaze, following him, making his skin prickle and the air tense. Despite Kurt being slightly hunched on the barstool, Blaine could not help but admire the breadth of his shoulders in his riding jacket. Or how his neat appearance contrasted against the grimy wall. Blaine suddenly held his phone light up to the wall and stepped back a few paces.
“Ok… what–” Kurt began, but Blaine shushed him with a wide-eyed look.
He went to Kurt and gently pushed at his shoulder. Kurt’s head turned to look at Blaine’s hand, then his eyes roamed to meet Blaine’s. Blaine quickly removed his hand, bringing it to his side awkwardly.
“Um… Can you get up? Please?” Blaine asked, voice pleading.
Kurt raised an eyebrow, but still got to his feet. Blaine brushed off the stool, which still radiated warmth from when Kurt sat there. The stool was leather, wrinkled, with tears, but leather nonetheless. He stared at the far wall for a moment. There was something about it that felt wrong. Blaine could not quite put his finger on what, but it was like trying to repackage something, but it could never quite look as new, as fresh, as what it once was.
“Were you wanting to steal my seat?” Kurt said, questioningly, eyebrows raised.
“You don’t think there is anything odd about this room?”
Kurt sighed, as if he thought Blaine were being ridiculous. “I don’t really care honestly. I’m more interested in why you still haven’t answered my question.”
Blaine went to the far wall and pressed his hands against it. When that did nothing, he roamed his hands over the entire wall, desperate to find something. It was only slight, perhaps it was just wishful thinking, but he was certain a draft just hit his bare ankles, uncovered by his cropped pants (his own addition to the Fiyero costume, of course).
“I just don’t get you,” Kurt continued, shaking his head. “Two seconds ago, you wanted to get out of here. Now, suddenly, you want to solve the mystery of the theater cellar?”
Blaine gave Kurt a look, as though he was being deliberately obtuse. “Kurt, this could be the origin of the curse.”
“The origin of the curse… Or, is it just another way to avoid actually talking to me?” Kurt said.
Blaine scoffed and shook his head. “And, why would I do that?”
“And now there’s no longer the option of avoidance, you move to deflection,” Kurt said. “Believe me, it’s a tactic I’m familiar with. I have media training.”
“Because, I… I’m me and you’re you,” Blaine snapped.
“Very astute—”
“Look, you don’t get it. You… you’re famous. People notice you,” Blaine confessed, and it was like a weight was lifted; his shoulders could finally rest easy. “I blend in. I excel at it. So well that… No one will come looking for me. They won’t even notice I’m gone.”
“Blaine—” Kurt began, but then changed tone, like he decided to go in a different direction. “I’m sure your friends and family love you. Pam kept talking to me about you–”
“Probably because she was trying to set you up with me,” Blaine said with a tinge of resentment, then recognising his tone and not wanting Kurt to think he was a negative person, he added, “I know I have people in my life who care… and I know I’m lucky. I just wish sometimes they would care of their own accord, not because I’m no longer providing what I normally provide. Does that make any sense?”
“More than you know,” Kurt replied, a hint of sadness in his reply. “But, Blaine, you shouldn’t have to earn anyone’s love.”
There was a fleeting moment where Blaine wanted, so desperately, to run away with the romance of Kurt’s words.
“Ok, stop the therapy talk. You hardly know me. Why are you so invested in my life?” Blaine asked, frustration evident in his tone. “I can assure you that yours is more interesting.”
Kurt laughed. “Blaine, my life isn’t that interesting. I’m not an A-List Hollywood actor. I live in a shoebox apartment; most days, I’m performing, not attending parties. I’m too tired for that. Yes, I get to walk out of my apartment and be in New York, but really… it isn’t how you are imagining.”
“It’s still miles more interesting and accomplished than anything in my life,” Blaine said, his soul suddenly being regurgitated and bared for Kurt to see. “I was supposed to move to New York with my boyfriend, teach at an elite arts academy or something… Instead, I’m teaching at my old high school and everyone thinks I’ve failed or I’m too scared to leave.”
Kurt nodded, as though this story was familiar to him. “So why didn’t you? If that’s what you wanted?”
“He broke up with me and I guess I was too scared to go on my own,” Blaine said, shrugging his shoulders, the casual movement out of place against his sombre words.
Kurt moved to stand closer to him. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Blaine knew it was genuine.
“Thanks. Maybe I should just accept what I have,” Blaine said, even if the words stung slightly.
“Honestly, Blaine, how old are you?” Kurt asked, not viciously, but Blaine knew there was a slight scolding underneath. “You talk as if your life is half over. It isn’t. If you are unhappy, you can change things.”
Blaine wondered if those words were meant for more than just him. There was a faraway look in his eye, as though his thoughts were slightly elsewhere. Was Kurt unhappy too? Before Blaine could second-guess his actions, he reached out to gently grab Kurt’s hand. They both stared at Blaine’s hand, grasping Kurt’s, for a moment, then very quickly, anxiety crept up on Blaine.
He shook his head and released Kurt’s hand, cheeks burning. “I’m sorry… I just met you, I shouldn’t be saying all this or grabbing your hand—”
Kurt laughed warmly, and it sent pleasant shivers all through Blaine’s body. “Yeah, wow. Maybe I don’t see you that way.”
Blaine took a step back, hoping he could just evaporate from embarrassment. “I’m sorry… I thought… I misread—”
This time, it was Kurt’s hand on Blaine that caused surprise. He nearly leapt into the air in shock as Kurt placed his hand on his shoulder, his touch creating an electric reaction in Blaine. “Blaine, no. You didn’t misread anything. I like you. I want to know who you are,” then he added in a quieter tone, with traces of something, almost guilt, “I want you to know who I am.”
“I want that too,” Blaine said, feeling emboldened enough to take a step forward. He was close enough for Blaine to see the flecks of green in his eyes, the smattering of freckles on his nose.
There was that energy again, the charge between them, like the tingling between two magnets. There was a pause, the longest second Blaine had ever experienced. Kurt’s face was so close, it was blurred. He could smell his minty breath, his earthy yet sweet cologne. Then, Blaine gently pressed his lips against Kurt’s. Blaine was about to pull back when Kurt’s arms found his shoulders, embracing him. Blaine was relieved to be steadied as he felt almost dizzy in the moment. He relaxed and moved to cup Kurt’s jaw.
He felt himself being slowly walked backwards, towards the far wall — at least he thought they were heading that way — then the back of his thighs made contact with a table. Just as Kurt’s arms were moving towards his waist, Blaine sidestepped around the table, leading to their brief separation. Blaine felt cold with the loss of Kurt’s warm embrace.
“I thought…we were moving… the table was in the way,” Blaine said, in response to Kurt’s questioning gaze.
“Well, I was going to lift you onto it… You know, so I didn’t have to crane my neck as much to reach your lips… really, it’s not good for my posture—”
Blaine rolled his eyes. “—Oh, shut up, I’m like an inch shorter than you.”
There was a silence, and Blaine could not help but admire how Kurt looked, with his hair disheveled and clothes ruffled. He felt a slight twinge of pride that it was him who had made Kurt look like that. It was a stark contrast to the firmly in control Kurt he had met this afternoon.
“Ok,” Blaine said, with another surge of confidence. Where was this coming from? “If I sit on the table, can we go back to where we were?”
Kurt nodded with a wry smile. “Yes,” he said firmly.
Blaine had never moved so fast in his life. He put his weight onto the palms of his hands and lifted himself into a sitting position on the desk. Kurt stepped toward him, and Blaine moved his legs so he could pull Kurt closer. He ran his hands down Kurt’s back, as Kurt did the same. Suddenly, it was like Kurt was just too far away. He needed him closer. He shifted slightly further back toward the solid, far wall. It did not feel as supportive as he imagined, though that did not really matter right now. Kurt moved in also, leaning one hand against the wall for balance, and just as the intensity was at a peak, it all shattered as beams of wood dislodged from the wall and clattered to the ground.
Kurt gasped theatrically, and Blaine swung his legs around at the sound. Before them, where Blaine had been expecting a wall of clutter and taped-up cardboard boxes, was a room. A hidden room. While it had been worn down by time and lack of care, the space was clearly intentionally designed. The walls were decorated with black and white portraits, full of people in three-piece suits and fedoras, or feathered, sequin dresses.
Kurt knocked on another piece of wood until it also dislodged, creating a person-sized gap. He held a hand out to Blaine, pulling him off the table and they stepped through into the mysterious room. It was an L-shaped room, which served as an extra layer of protection to whatever was being concealed. With a glance at Kurt, Blaine stepped forward. He had barely noticed his hand was still in Kurt’s, the feeling had become so comfortable, like it was an extension of himself. The room was revealed and for a moment, Blaine felt puzzled.
“It’s a bar,” he said, questioningly, wrinkling his nose. “Why would they have a bar in a cellar?”
Blaine expected to exchange a look with an equally confused Kurt, but Kurt’s eyes were lit up with glee and knowing.
“A speakeasy!” Kurt exclaimed. “I can’t believe it’s been here the whole time and no one knew! Well, I suppose… That was probably the point.”
The high bench, which was the centerpiece of the room, took the shape of a hollow square. Blaine could picture barstools lined up all around. He ran a finger along the wood, and a layer of dust cropped up. Despite being a shell of itself, there was a lingering hint of luxury. Inside was what might have been the bartender’s station. To the far edge of the wall, there was cushioned seating with walls in between. Blaine cringed to think of what now lived inside those cushions. Tables were still lined up around the bar, though there was an array of knocked-over chairs scattered across the place at various angles.
Blaine picked up one of the fallen chairs, putting it back beside a table. It was an urge he could not resist, but it did little in the grand scheme of things to reinstate the place to its former glory. As he focused on the room, a light bulb in his mind switched on.
“What if… Kurt, the curse!” Blaine said, his eyes so wide they felt as though they might pop out of their sockets. “What if they spread the curse to keep people away? That way they could avoid detection!”
Kurt’s eyes were equally wide, like saucers. “That’s it!” He said, clapping his hands together.
For a moment, there was a rush of adrenaline flowing around them. Blaine wondered if this was how the protagonists felt in the mystery books he loved to read growing up. He could understand why they chased the mystery again and again.
But those were stories. In reality, the weight of responsibility always settled over excitement.
“What do we do now?” Blaine asked, more to the universe than Kurt directly. “Should we tell people? I know the owner of this theater is struggling. Maybe this could help.”
Kurt frowned briefly, but quickly and decisively, he straightened up and faced Blaine again. “I think we should leave it,” he said firmly. “It’s not hurting anyone leaving it here. It isn’t exactly a priceless historical artefact. People should discover it on their own. What’s life without a little magic? Truly, what the owner needs is some better marketing; they really aren’t making the most of the cursed theater narrative—”
There was something so reassuring, so romantic about Kurt’s words, and so absolutely the Kurt he was learning to know, that Blaine could not help himself. He leaned in to kiss Kurt again, briefly and chastely, settling his hands gently on Kurt’s hips.
“What was that for?” Kurt murmured in response, a little dreamily.
“I don’t know,” Blaine said, a wide smile ghosting his lips. “I just… I don’t know how to explain it. You’re so adorable—”
Kurt smirked and raised his eyebrows in a teasing manner. “Adorable am I?”
Blaine smacked a hand against his own face, alight with shame, mentally plotting his relocation to another state after this humiliation. “I don’t know why I said that… I’m sorry, I’m coming on way too strong. We just met, but I just feel like… I want to get to know you. I know you could date anyone you wanted but—”
“Blaine,” Kurt said, but Blaine could not stop himself; the words were tumbling out of his mouth like the opening of Pandora’s box.
“—I’m not usually like this. I normally keep my dramatic declarations till at least the third date but—”
“Blaine!” Kurt repeated, louder this time, and he placed both hands firmly on Blaine’s shoulders. “It’s ok. I want that too. So much. It’s just been a long time since I’ve even thought about dating… or really had the opportunity. My hours are long.”
“Wait, but I thought… You always seem to be dating someone new,” Blaine said, then his eyes widened in horror as it dawned on him what he revealed. Leaving the state was not enough. He needed to leave the country to recover from this.
“You googled me!”
Blaine sighed in acceptance, knowing there was no point in denying it at this point. “I was just curious.”
“Well, I did quiz Pam about you earlier in the night. So I guess that makes us even,” Kurt replied, a light blush tinging his cheeks.
Blaine covered his face with his hand. “Oh no… What did she say?”
That familiar sly smirk emerged on Kurt’s face again. “Nothing too embarrassing… though there was one story about you and your friend dressing up as superheroes and running round the neighbourhood. Nightbird was it?”
Blaine briefly felt as if his brain was short-circuiting, wires crackling with electricity and eventually giving out with a final spark. He was frozen in time, unable to comprehend moving beyond this point, as mortification seeped into every crack in his armour.
“Relax,” Kurt laughed at Blaine’s blushing. “It was cute. When you meet my Dad, he will surely have millions of tales to regale you with, including the time I dressed up in flannel and sang Mellencamp. By the way, if that story ever reaches the press, justice will be swift and savage.”
Blaine felt autonomy of his limbs again, though he still struggled to make eye contact. Instead, he chose to take a keen interest in Kurt’s footwear. “I promise,” he said. “They will never hear it from me.”
“Blaine, please look at me. I need you to know something,” Kurt said, and Blaine was startled to see Kurt’s face had been zapped of its earlier warmth. “If you’ve googled me, you’ll know… I have a bit of a reputation as being a player or something like that. But it’s not… it’s not real.”
At Blaine’s questioning gaze, he continued: “My agent thinks if I present myself in a certain way, I will get more leading roles. I don’t know, apparently it makes me seem more masculine or desirable or some crap like that.” He rolled his eyes. “Truthfully, I haven’t had a non-press-conceived relationship in a long time. So I need you to know, I want to see where this goes. I’m tired of pretending. But I might make mistakes. We live in two different cities, we have vastly different schedules… everything is against us, but somehow it feels right.”
Blaine was quiet as he absorbed Kurt’s words, and the pieces began to finally slot in place. He leaned a hand against the bar as he realised the soles of his feet were burning. But there was absolutely no way he was going to sit on any of the chairs in here. Not even if he was on the verge of passing out.
“Please say something,” Kurt said, with a tinge of desperation that was out of place in Kurt’s usual manner of speaking. “I’m kind of dying here.”
“Sorry, I was just thinking… it’s like the curse,” Blaine replied apologetically. “A front.”
“Like the curse,” Kurt repeated, with a smile.
“And it’s ok to make mistakes, Kurt. We will both make mistakes… especially starting long distance,” he said. “But I agree… it feels right. And I’m not glued to Ohio you know… I can move. But maybe we should go on a proper date first?”
“Oh you mean this doesn’t count? Blaine, I’m wounded.”
Eventually, Blaine was not sure how many hours passed, there was a faint scraping noise at the cellar door. They looked at each other and ran to the door, almost tripping over each other in their haste. This time, they both banged on the door and shouted to the maximum capacity of their lungs, and as singers, this was large. The noise grew louder, until the door was pushed open and blue light spilled into the cellar. Both Kurt and Blaine held their arms up, protecting their eyes from the sudden light.
Standing there were both of Blaine’s parents, Cooper, Sam, and Mercedes, all holding up their phones. Sam held a crowbar.
“You… you came for me,” Blaine said, and he felt pressure on his hand as Kurt stepped beside him, taking his hand, right when Blaine needed it.
“Course we did,” Cooper said and for a moment Blaine was truly touched, but then Cooper spoke again. “I had to do the Duran Duran performance on my own. I have to say, while I was excellent in the number, there was something lacking.”
Cooper was the only one who spoke and Blaine very soon realised all their eyes were focused on where he and Kurt’s hands were intertwined, all except for Pam. There was a knowing look in her eye, as if she always knew this was how the night was to end.