Disclaimer:I do not own 'glee' though if I did I probably wouldn't do a whole lot different (Canon slash, wheeee!) Nor do I own the P!nk song that inspired it.

A/N: Well as you can see this is not chapter 18 of 'From the Ashes'. It contains neither Draco nor Harry, (though one of the characters does bear a striking resemblance to the latter.) That story will be finished, I promise, but right now I'm stuck and have developed something of a mental block with regards to it. This is the equivalent of drain un-blocker. Something I'm running through the system in the hope of freeing up everything else.

It's been inspired by many things, obviously it's come from an unreasonable addiction to Glee and the inspiring awesomeness that is Chris Colfer. In addition I have drawn inspiration from Sara's Girl's Nick/Greg story 'A Certain Sunset'. There's nothing specific that's taken from it but I was inspired so I thought I'd mention it. In addition she has edited it for me because she's a very well behaved girlfriend. –ruffles-

Dedication goes out to Groolover as a huge thank you for my lovely Birthday gift. (I was going to say thank you sooner but I wanted to do it like this so...). Anyway, on with the show.

Act Two

'Huh... is it morning already?' the man slumped on the floor exclaims with a melodramatic flair that would put even Rachel Berry-Hudson to shame. It's completely out of place in the scene they are trying to perform, though, and this guy doesn't seem to have a clue.

'You alright, honey? You look a little peaky.' The line comes automatically and immediately Kurt knows he could have done better; he hasn't even bothered to flatten his accent, let alone reach for the harsh Mancunian tones which are almost second nature to him now. Admittedly, this idiot wouldn't realise if he'd delivered it perfectly but still, he has his own standards to live up to.

Not that they are really necessary here and now. This is a part he already has. A part he has been playing to rave reviews for the last six months in London's West End. If someone is going to pick him up on a flat line it isn't going to be in an empty theatre whilst the company tries desperately to replace Jacob, who had decided that Broadway called more strongly to him than a brief stint in the North of England and quit the show.

Maybe he would care more if this guy had even the slightest chance of becoming his Romeo, but he doesn't.

'Is that an angel? It looks like an angel; it's all soft and glowing. Does he know how beautiful he is?'

Kurt feels himself physically wince at the guy's attempt to play stoned and pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to prevent the threatening headache. He knows that he is only moments away from throwing a full-on diva fit if this continues, and he will not be held responsible for the consequences.

He almost stumbles with the rush of relief when Kaiden yells his thanks from his seat in the second row and tells this travesty of an actor that someone will let him know. He gives the other man a tight smile before turning to retrieve his water bottle from the side of the stage, and can't help wondering whether he managed the look of sympathy he was going for or if he simply appeared to be suppressing the urge to gag.

He waits until he feels the flap of the door before he turns back to Kaiden and, in an unprecedented move that betrays his weariness, lowers himself to sit on the edge of the dusty stage, not caring an ounce for the cleaning bill on his YSL pants.

'How are these guys getting through the door, Kaiden?' he asks the director, realising that he isn't as angry as he thought he was, merely weary. 'I mean, these are supposed to be the call-backs, not the X-Factor auditions. Half of them can't string together a coherent sentence.' Kurt watches as Kaiden scrubs vigorously at his overly-gelled spiky blond hair before slumping forward to rest his chin on the back of the seat in front, looking as frustrated as Kurt feels.

'I don' know what t'tell you, mate. I think the castin' director's jonesin' for a pretty boy at the moment.'

Kurt offers him a genuinely sympathetic smile. His voice is rough with exhaustion and even harsher than it usually is.

The company's transition to this beautiful old red brick theatre in Manchester has not been a smooth one and, though things are finally starting to fall into place, replacing Jacob is turning into something of an ordeal. The couple of guys who have actually managed to grasp the concept of acting haven't got any passion about them. They have been stiff and staccato, interpreting the closeted Romeo as more of a bloodthirsty Republican than a scared rich kid.

'Well, I'm going home,' Kurt asserts, sliding from the stage and brushing the worst of the dust from his clothing. 'I think today calls for a bubble bath and a glass of wine, otherwise I'm going to be a complete bitch tomorrow.'

'So, how'll that be any different to any other day?' Kaiden jests as Kurt makes his way through the theatre to the exit.

Kurt turns on his heel and offers his most dramatic 'Who, Moi?' pose. 'You'd better apologise, Mr Weir, or I won't just be a bitch tomorrow; I'll pull a full on Whitney. Those call-backs will be leaving this theatre in tears.'

Kaiden chuckles amiably and shakes his head. 'Yeah, of course you will, Kurt. I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night.'

Kurt steps out into the warm grey afternoon and takes a deep breath. The weather over the last few weeks has been getting more and more humid and the storm has been brewing since the beginning of the week. In a move that surprises even himself, Kurt turns away from the taxi rank that he know is only blocks away and, straightening his cherry red bowler hat, decides that he really wants to risk the walk home today.

As he heads towards the nearest coffee shop, the towering red brick buildings pull his gaze upwards. The loom over him imposingly and he finds himself feeling comforted at the sight. He knows that a lot of people would find that strange; after all, he's from Ohio, where everything is wide open spaces, and by rights he should feel claustrophobic, but there is something about the attitude here that inspires the opposite reaction.

In Ohio, the spaces may be open but the minds are narrow; here, the streets are narrow but, on the whole, the minds are a lot more open and Kurt knows without a doubt which one he prefers, which one makes him feel safer. It's not universal of course, and he still draws the odd look as he leaves the red brick behind and makes his way into the white stone and glass that make up Spinningfields. Still, he thinks that has more to do with his penchant for outrageously fabulous fashion choices than him being gay.

Despite the thumping in his head, he can't help but smile a little as he thinks about how quickly he has settled in England. London had surprised him when he had first arrived there as an innocent eighteen-year-old and the acceptance he'd found at Italia Conti had surpassed even the welcome he'd been offered at Dalton. Of course, there were certain aspects that weren't as good but he had thrown himself into his course and exploring every inch of Camden and Soho in an attempt not to dwell on the huge hole that coming to England had left in his life.

When he finally left school and landed his starring role in the West End, he'd thought he would never find a friendlier place, except maybe San Francisco. When Kaiden had announced that they were going to take their musical to its natural home in Manchester, Kurt had been a little worried. He'd tried his best since he'd arrived to immerse himself in British culture, to learn as much as he could, and the impression he had gleaned of the North was that it was full of men's men who liked to sit in pubs and drink strong beer, whilst eating meat pies and petting their whippets.

What he had actually found was that the grey buildings were traded for red and the London 'attitude' was traded for a camaraderie that he had never expected.

A tap on the shoulder draws Kurt from his musings and he removes his earbuds, instantly replacing the voice of Ms Shirley Bassey with the myriad sounds of the city and the enthusiastic gushing of a young dark haired man who is flashing him the most beatific smile he's seen since... well.

'You're Julian, aren't you?' he asks, not waiting for an answer before rushing on. 'I saw you in the West End last year—you were amazing, mate.'

'Thanks, I'm really glad you enjoyed the show.' Kurt grins. He still hasn't gotten used to being recognised, not that it happens an awful lot as a stage actor, but still it baffles him on the rare occasion that it does. He watches as the young guy reaches into his messenger bag and extracts a beat-up programme of 'Romeo and Julian' from the pages of his address book.

'Would you sign this?' the fan asks, and Kurt can feel a blush creeping up his cheeks as he takes the pen and programme and leans on the crossbar of a large stone 'H'.

'Who's it for?' Kurt interrupts. The guy has just launched into a monologue about the genius of having a version of 'Romeo and Juliet' set in the Manchester clubland of the early nineties.

'Oh, Blake,' the guy offers and Kurt swallows hard. He's been trying desperately to overlook the resemblance this guy bears to a sixteen-year-old Blaine but the name as well forces him to take a deep breath in the hope of composing himself. It's been six years now, and there's an ocean and several other boyfriends between them, but memories of his first true love still make him go a little weak at the knees.

Thinking that he needs that mocha more than ever now, he quickly writes 'To Blake, thanks for saying hi, love Kurt Hummel' and, in a moment of impulse, adds a large kiss.

'Thanks.' Blake smiles, taking the programme and holding out his hand for Kurt to shake. He obliges and when Blake bounds off to rejoin his friends, Kurt realises that he has left a small scrap of paper with a phone number and a quickly scrawled 'Call me.'

Kurt smiles and rolls his eyes as he turns back in search of coffee. If that guy had been a day over sixteen Kurt would never drink another mocha again!

The coffee shop is loud and smells delicious and Kurt idly watches the patrons as he waits patiently for the barista to prepare his drink. His iPod sits uselessly in his pocket, having run out of charge and abandoning Kurt to the fate of being forced to listen to the inane drivel that spews from the mouths of the general populous. On the table nearest where he stands, a couple of teenage girls are discussing the ramifications of the most recent episode of Hollyoaks and Kurt tries desperately not to listen for fear of his brain dribbling out of his ears. He may be a little stereotypical occasionally but he draws the line at teen soap operas.

He casts around for something, anything, to pull his focus when it's caught suddenly by something he hasn't heard in a long time.

'Oh, simple thing, where have you gone; I'm getting old and I need something to rely on; so tell me when you're going to let me in; I'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin.'

For the second time in twenty minutes, golden hazel eyes and a warm, bright smile flash their way into Kurt's mind as he is transported back to an early spring day on the steps of McKinley High as Blaine serenades him with tears in his eyes. He remembers his promise and his stomach lurches.

For some reason, the universe is against him today, poking and prodding him into thinking about something he has no interest in giving head space to, but he's not willing to give up easily. Forcing himself to remember his manners, he just about avoids snatching his coffee from the barista before stalking from the cafe. He's not going to let the radio force any more memories from him.

Once outside, he stands on the sidewalk and gasps air into his lungs. He feels like he's suffocating all of a sudden, like the memories are crowding round, threatening to surge up and cover him until he fucking drowns in them.

The first warm splash of rain on his face snaps him back to the here and now. At the second heavy drop, Kurt feels the steel band around his chest loosen slightly and a small smile escapes onto his lips. Pulling off his hat, he brushes away the few drops of water that sit glistening on the surface of the fabric before sliding it into his tote to protect it from water stains.

With that, he turns for home, not worrying one bit when, moments later, the heavens open. As the warm summer rain soaks through his clothing and sluices down his face, he tries to allow the rain to wash away the memories that have been creeping upon him all day.

Standing in the hallway of his apartment building, Kurt looks at the glossy green paint of his front door and thinks about dripping all over the beautiful Laura Ashley rug in his hallway. He really doesn't to drip all over it and wishes he had thought of that before he'd decided to take an outdoor shower. Glancing up and down the hall for a moment, he considers his options before bending to slide off his shoes and socks. He pulls the waterlogged sweater-vest over his head and stands shivering in the pale blue polo shirt which has turned transparent and pasted itself to him like a second skin. He tries to slip his key into the lock but water keeps dripping into his eyes, making it hard to see, and in frustration he shakes his head vigorously, sending a spray of water up the wall.

Blinking water from his eyes, he finally gets the key in the lock and lets himself in. He deadlocks the door and leans against it as he inhales the homely scents of coffee and the jasmine on the windowsill with eyes-closed satisfaction. The rain somehow sounds even worse in here as it pounds against the French doors and the skylight in the bedroom but Kurt finds the sound comforting, especially now that he's no longer out in it. He opens his eyes and notices that the flat looks abnormally dark for late afternoon in May, the slate grey clouds outside making it look more like dusk.

He flicks the light switch by his head and his large open-plan living room is suddenly bathed in a soft light that causes the exposed brickwork from the original factory building to glow warmly. With the care and balance borne of ballet lessons since the age of three, he makes his way around the outside of the rug, being careful not to step on it as he edges his way towards the bathroom.

He strips quickly out of his sodden clothes and drops them into the laundry basket. Wrapped in a clean white robe, he turns the taps and pours bubbles into the steaming hot water.

Satisfied that he will no longer ruin any of his furnishings, he pads back out into the main living space and into the kitchen. He pours a large glass of wine and perches on a stool at the counter to check his phone whist the bath runs. There are several messages from his friends in the company suggesting that they go and watch the Duran Duran tribute act playing at Vanilla that night.

With a rather inelegant snort, Kurt types out a polite refusal and then, in an impulsive moment, switches his phone off and drops it into the fruit bowl. He's resigned now; Blaine is going to be on his mind for the rest of the night and he might as well wallow in it.

The bath does wonders to chase away the rain induced chill and even manages to soothe his headache back down to a dull throb, but it isn't gone and it's this as much as anything that makes him decide that he isn't going to give Blaine Anderson more than a couple of hours of moping tonight. He's done a couple of all-night pining marathons in the past, and had at one time devoted entire weekends to it, but as time moves on, his head and libido seem less and less inclined to let him sit around and obsess over his first true love. In fact, this is the first time he's felt the need to relive the past this year.

No matter how rarely it happens now, though, there is ritual to be observed when it does. It's the only thing that allows Kurt to deal with these messy feelings, pack them all away again and move on with his life the next day.

The rain is still pounding on the skylight as Kurt heads into his bedroom and pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a navy blue sweatshirt with red piping and Anderson embroidered on the breast. Deep down, he knows that the spicy smell that surrounds him when he pulls on this jumper is imagined but that doesn't stop him inhaling deeply before heading back to the front room and pouring a glass of wine. He flops on to the sofa and eyes the antique packing case that serves as his coffee table.

He can still turn back at the moment; he can still squash all of these memories back down. He could take a couple of aspirin, change into something sinfully tight and head to Canal Street, where he's certain he could find another distraction from Blaine's ever-present spectre. Unfortunately, that would only buy him a couple of months at best and when it hits, Kurt knows from experience that the repercussions will be worse. The last time he'd tried to ignore, it he'd ended up at Heathrow airport with a ticket to Ohio in his hand before Kaiden had turned up to rescue his star.

No, he has to do this, has to allow Blaine this little piece of himself or he will go mad and, with that in mind, he opens the case.

When he'd left for England, Kurt had been forced to leave so many of his things, his memories, behind. He still hasn't retrieved them; they are currently sitting in his step-brother's attic gathering dust, which he supposes is better than being in the garage gathering mildew. The packing case had been Blaine's idea. He'd turned up one Saturday, two weeks before Kurt was due to fly out, and they had spent the entire day sorting through the things that Kurt would need to keep him from running from the enormous opportunity he'd been offered.

How he'd come by his current position was something of a mystery to him. He had a vague idea that it had something to do with Miss Holliday and the Time Warp, but beyond that, he'd thought it better not to ask. He never planned to accept the scholarship to Italia Conti, anyway, even though he had always felt that his talent didn't get the attention it deserved.

Blaine was going to Yale Drama School and Kurt had managed to secure himself a place at Central Connecticut State. It wasn't the most prestigious school but he'd get himself an education and would be near Blaine and that was all that really mattered.

When Mr Schue had first told him about the scholarship, he had refused point blank. The idea of going to another country, leaving his family, his friends and his boyfriend behind was too terrifying to even comprehend. The New Directions, however, had quite the track record in interventions. Everyone from Puck to Santana informed him that he was an absolute moron if he didn't grab at this opportunity.

He had remained unmoved, however, and was determined to take up his place at Central Connecticut State until his father and Blaine had gotten involved. His father had become rather emotional, insisting that it was his job to make sure that Kurt didn't end up living in Lima, running the auto-shop with Finn and singing show tunes in some cabaret act on the weekends. This was enough to make Kurt reconsider his resolution and then Blaine had added his own pressure, telling Kurt he couldn't be responsible for him not taking up this opportunity. After promises, not-so-subtle manipulation and lots of tears on both sides, eventually Kurt had relented.

Rummaging through the case, he retrieves his Senior Year Book and flicks through the glossy pages, looking at each and every photo, trying to delay getting to the end where the messages are written, where his message is written. All the Glee clubbers are represented; there are messages from Mr Schue and Coach Sylvester, who despite all her talk about bullying, still called him Porcelain until the day he left that school; there's even a short, awkwardly-worded message from Karofsky. In the middle of the page, however, written in his distinctive loopy script, is the message that always causes Kurt's heart to ache.

'Courage! You will take London by storm and I'll be waiting here when you come back to star on Broadway xxx.'

Kurt feels the tears prick his eyes as he strokes the words, as if doing so will make them true, but they aren't. They are a complete lie. He remembers when they weren't; he remembers a trip up to Yale a week before term started. Blaine had to register and get everything sorted but rather than staying in the dorm, he had booked a hotel room, and on Kurt's final day before he drove back to Ohio, they hadn't left the room. If he closes his eyes and tries really hard he can remember the urgent kisses, the shared breaths and desperate fingers pulling at clothing. He remembers needing to feel of Blaine's skin against his. To feel Blaine inside him and all around him, reassuring him that it wasn't the end.

With hindsight he should have realised that the urgency itself was a warning sign. If it wasn't the end then why was it so important to show right there and then how much they loved each other? If it wasn't the end, there would have been time; there would have been a tomorrow.

They'd tried, they really had, and for the first year Kurt thought they might make it. Placing the Yearbook aside, he takes out a beautiful photo album and flicks to the front page. He and Blaine smile out of the page, arms wrapped around each other as they pose in front of Buckingham Palace, the photograph holding onto a moment when they believed everything was going to be alright.

Blaine couldn't have tried harder. Kurt knows this. He must have flown across the Atlantic three times in that first year apart and they spoke over Skype every day, but in the end it wasn't enough. Blaine needed his boyfriend close, needed the tender touches and intimacy. Kurt could tell how lonely he was and it broke his heart every time he had to hang up.

By the time they reached their second Christmas apart, things had become strained between them. Kurt had hoped to go back to Ohio for Christmas, hoped that they would be able to sort things out, but he'd been offered his first prominent role as Bob Cratchit in 'An Alternative Christmas Carol' and his father had insisted that he stay, and Kurt knew that refusing such an important part could mean that the sacrifices that he and Blaine had made would be for nothing.

It had been six thirty in the morning on New Year's Day when the moment had finally arrived. He'd been tempted for a moment to ignore the buzzing phone. He'd only gone to bed three hours earlier and he was exhausted. Something about the tone, though, sounded urgent and reluctantly he had stretched out a hand and flipped open his phone.


'Kurt?' Blaine's voice sounds horrible, like he's been crying, and Kurt immediately snaps fully awake.

'Blaine? Are you okay? What's the matter, baby?' A hundred horrible scenarios run through Kurt's mind and he holds his breath.

'Kurt, I'm so sorry,' Blaine whispers and immediately Kurt feels sick.

'Tell me,' he sighs, falling back into the pillows and closing his eyes.

'Nothing happened, Kurt, I couldn't do it,' Blaine explains, still sniffling.

Kurt wants to smack himself up the side of his head when he hears the next words come out of his mouth. 'Who was it?' he hears himself ask and he can't help but wonder which morbid part of his mind wants to know the answer to this question.

'His name's Jason; we've been friends for a while and tonight he just wanted it to go further.'

'Why are you telling me this?' Kurt asks, starting to feel angry now. So, Blaine considered cheating on him, why tell him?

'I can't lie to you, Kurt. I love you. I never wanted to hurt you.' The line goes quiet and Kurt knows Blaine is waiting for him to say something, to rage at him, probably, but the anger is slowly seeping out of him and he's left feeling nothing at all.

'It's okay, Blaine, I guess it was inevitable, wasn't it?' Kurt sighs and he hears Blaine's sharp intake of breath.

'You're not upset?' It's Blaine's turn to sound angry now.

'I wouldn't say that, Blaine,' Kurt says and, for a moment, it feels like he's explaining this whole thing to a child. 'I'm extremely upset and hurt, and I wish you'd talked to me about how unhappy you were but I can't pretend I didn't know you were lonely and that you were miserable. I should have let you go a long time ago but I've been selfish. I love you so much and I wanted to keep you forever but it isn't fair to make you wait'.

'If you're saying what I think you're saying, then it won't happen again, Kurt, I promise I...'

'No more promises, Blaine, I don't think I can take it.'

'So, what happens now?' Blaine asks and sounds so hurt that it takes all the self control Kurt has not to back down, not to get on the next plane to Ohio. He know that will solve nothing, however, and so he tries his hardest to be strong, for both of them, no matter how much it fucking hurts.

'Now we say goodbye.'

Kurt snaps the photo album shut and scrubs furiously at the tears tracking their way down his face. Enough is enough. Kurt has had enough of this now; it's quite ridiculous. He's got another handful of Romeo call-backs for tomorrow and he doesn't want their first impression to be that he's some kind of unreliable party animal. He's going to bed and he is absolutely not taking the memory of Blaine Anderson with him.


Kurt has no idea why he's awake but he has to admit, he's glad he is. He has carefully packed all his memories back into their case and neatly folded Blaine's lacrosse sweatshirt back into its own special drawer. That should have been the end of it. Unfortunately, the moment he'd closed his eyes, Blaine had been back, ready to haunt his dreams.

They'd both been swimming in the ocean when the swell had started to pick up, and Blaine had begun struggling to keep his head above water. He would reappear on the surface and another wave would appear to dunk him back down again. The dream was terrifying but the worst part was that Kurt was doing nothing at all to help. He simply bobbed gently in the water and watched as Blaine fought for his life.

Kurt stares out of the skylight at the starless night. He doesn't need a trip to the psychologist to help him figure out what that dream was all about. The guilt he felt over deciding that he and Blaine should go their separate ways has never really subsided. He still feels like he abandoned him and not just the once.

Suddenly a flash of blue light rends the night sky in two, momentarily illuminating Kurt's bedroom, and in his head he begins the slow count. He'd been terrified of storms as a kid and they still unnerve him somewhat. Even now, he immediately turns to the well-worn coping mechanisms his father had taught him.

Throwing back the duvet, he pulls on his robe and makes a beeline for the kitchen just as an enormous rumble of thunder rolls through the apartment, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end.

For a few moments, Kurt loses himself in the familiar process of making his tea, continuing to count with each new flash of light. Tea made, he heads to the French doors and flings them open, allowing the scent of rain and ozone to come rushing into the flat, along with the rain-chilled air which forces a small shiver from him before he steps out onto the balcony. It's loud outside tonight. The thunder, the trains rolling by on the other side of the canal, the sounds of the city, all merge with the incessant tap-tap-tap of the rain against the balcony cover, but Kurt loves it. It's so different to Ohio in every single way.

He remembers a time when he thought he'd never want to leave Ohio, but that when he was small, when his mother was still alive, when he didn't fancy anyone, let alone boys, and when he thought his father was invincible.

He had still been in grade school when all that had changed, and these days he's loathe to return at all. He misses his family, of course he does, but they bring in enough money these days to make the cross-Atlantic trip a couple of times a year and he earns enough to help out if that were ever to change.

Beside, being back in Ohio invariably brings complications he'd rather avoid. It had last time. Kurt scowls and shivers both at the memory and the large drop of water that sneaks its way onto the underside of the covering, splats down heavily on the back of his neck and trickles down the length of his back.

He grips the cup in his hands tighter until the ceramic threatens to burn his fingers, and stares down into the inky blackness of the canal. His last trip home had been the hardest of all, though he can't remember who he's blaming for it at the moment. In the past he's blamed most of his family and friends for what happened on that trip. He's blamed his father for getting into that stupid car accident in the first place. He hadn't been badly hurt but he certainly wasn't up to an eight hour flight from Cleveland to London for the Christmas holiday. He blamed Finn for suggesting that he might like to come home for a change and making him feel so guilty that he couldn't refuse; he also blamed Finn for marrying Rachel Berry.

He's blamed Rachel most of all which, he thinks, is fair considering it really is her fault. If only she hadn't kept in touch with Blaine. If only she wasn't such a fucking know-it-all busybody. Oddly, he doesn't blame Blaine at all, but then, as Rachel pointed out, you forgive your first love anything.

It had just been the two of them in the house that night. Carole and Finn had arranged to take Burt to see a hockey game. They'd invited Kurt to come along but he'd declined, choosing instead to stay at home with a heavily pregnant Rachel, who had insisted that the violent atmosphere of a hockey game wasn't good for the baby. Kaiden had e-mailed him a couple of revised scenes the day before and he knew the neurotic phone call was a day away at most, so it only made sense to familiarise himself with the changes before he was called upon to reassure.

Rachel had needed something; he can't even remember what it was. A last minute Christmas gift for Carole, he thinks. Whatever it was, Rachel apparently just couldn't do without it and a trip to the mall was on the cards. Kurt had taken one look out of the darkened window at the icy roads with the fresh dusting of snow and, like the gentleman his father taught him to be, volunteered to go and pick it up.

On reflection, he was still a little bitter at just how easily she had manipulated him. He feels that four years of High School and six years of having her as a sister-in-law would have better prepared him, but apparently not, and for some reason, being gay didn't save him from the chivalrous duty of coming to the aid of a pregnant lady in distress

Lima, three days before Christmas, is bitter cold and Kurt tucks the ends of his scarf into his woollen overcoat to retain as much warmth as he can whilst simultaneously stomping towards the Navigator. As he scrapes at the thick layer of ice and snow which covers the windshield, he thinks affectionately of his friends back in London, bemoaning the mild, wet Christmases that they have grown up with.

They always complain, always insist they want snow for Christmas, but Kurt thinks that the way they stand shivering at the edge of the stage wrapped in scarves and thick jumpers the moment the temperature drops below forty reveals the truth. They'd be horrified by a proper Ohio winter.

He takes the drive to the mall at about twenty miles an hour, aware that the roads are treacherous, and all of a sudden he feels like he's driving on the wrong side of the road. The mall is packed and the garish decorations only make it seem even more crowded. Taking a deep breath, he decides that he needs caffeine before he even thinks of tackling the stores and makes his way to the small cart that he remembers being by the escalators, hoping it's still there.

That's when he sees him. Just a flash of dark curls and a bright smile that causes Kurt to double take, and there he is, just standing there like he's waiting for Kurt to spot him. Which, of course, he is. It's no coincidence that he happens to be here in this mall, one that's at least fifty miles from his home, on a night that's fit for neither man nor beast.

It takes Kurt a couple of seconds longer than he should to catch on but he blames that on the lack of caffeine and the fact that Blaine is just standing there, smiling at him... until he's not. He's walking towards him and Kurt can't control himself; he feels his feet move, feels his arms reach out, then he's embracing Blaine and Blaine is embracing him and they both still fit together so perfectly and the past, everything that has happened, flies out of Kurt's head as he revels in a scent that is as familiar as his own.

Eventually, they break apart and everything seems like it's moving in slow motion around him as Blaine buys him coffee and leads him back outside to his car so they can sit and drink it in peace. The world has taken on a strange somnambular feel and Kurt can't tell what's real and what's not any more as they sit there, the car windows rapidly steaming up as they talk about everything and nothing and sip their coffee.

There are apologies from both of them. Now that Kurt is faced with him, he realises how much Blaine has been hurting since they split and, far from feeling responsible, Kurt can't help that feel he was cruel in the way he said goodbye. He must say so, must express regret; he may even tell Blaine how much he misses him, but all of a sudden Blaine is leaning across and their lips are pressed together in an excitingly familiar way.

Kurt doesn't think; he just reacts. His hands come up, threading their way into curls that are impossibly soft when free of gel; his lips part, allowing Blaine to deepen the kiss as he pushes Kurt back against the door. It takes maybe two seconds for the condensation on the window to register as freezing water against Kurt's scalp but, when it does, the world comes back into focus so fast it makes his head spin, and, just like that, the spell is broken.

As gently as he can, he pushes Blaine away. Hazel eyes hold his in confusion and Kurt knows that he can't do it; he can't say goodbye again, so he doesn't. He can feel the tears welling in his eyes as he offers a little shake of his head as the only explanation he can manage before he pushes open the door, climbs out into the night, and heads back towards the Navigator.

He hears Blaine get out of the car, hears the door slam behind him, but he doesn't stop walking, doesn't stop when Blaine calls his name. The 'please' gets him, though, and he stops, turning his face to the sky as if he can somehow use the earth's gravitational pull to stop the tears that are now sliding down his face. He doesn't turn around; he just listens as Blaine jogs up behind him and stands there, taking short, sharp breaths.

'Why?' he asks, and Kurt knows that he's on the verge of crying, too. Resentment surges through him. Why does he have to do this again? Why is always him that has to be strong, that has to do what's best for them both? Why, just once, can't Blaine look beyond the here and now to the repercussions? Resentment turns to anger and by the time he spins round to answer Blaine's question, he can no longer prevent himself from yelling.

'Because nothing has changed, Blaine! I'm here for five more days and then I'm going home, to England! Where I live! And you will be staying here. Things are exactly the same as they were the last time. Actually, no, this time they're worse. This time you're in a relationship with someone else.'

Blaine looks devastated, like his whole world has just come crashing down, and a part of Kurt's brain, the part that will always be willing to walk into traffic if it means not hurting Blaine, is begging him to stop, but the other part is just too angry. He's furious that once again he can't have the love that he wants, the relationship that he needs.

'I...' Blaine begins, but Kurt isn't ready to let him talk yet; he needs to drive this home, needs to make sure that Blaine understands just how difficult it is

'I can't lose you again,' Kurt asserts and Blaine takes a step forward as if to reassure him but Kurt won't allow it; he can't. 'It almost killed me last time, Blaine, and I'm still not over you. I don't think I ever will be, but that doesn't mean that I'm going allow myself to believe that things will be different this time when there's nothing to support it. There's still an ocean between us, and what were you going to do about Marc? Were you just going to go and break up with him three days before Christmas for a man that will be gone before the New Year?' Kurt's voice cracks and he feels all the anger drain away, leaving him feeling empty and sore.

'I love you, Blaine, I've loved you from the moment I saw you and I always will, but right now, I'm trying with all that I am to be strong for both of us, so, please, if you love me at all, let me go.' He waits for a moment before turning and heading to his car once again and he can't decide if he's relieved or disappointed when Blaine doesn't try to stop him again.

Kurt wipes away the tears and sips his tea, managing to count fifteen before the answering rumble of thunder. The storm is finally receding and in its wake the clouds are breaking apart, and Kurt can just make out a couple of stars in the light-polluted sky. Just for a moment, a line from an old kids' movie springs into his head as he imagines Blaine sitting at his front room window, somewhere in Ohio, and looking at the same star.

He snorts at his ridiculous sentimentality and glances at the clock. Two in the morning; it's probably not even dark in Ohio yet. Placing his cup in the sink, he heads back to bed; he needs to try and get another couple of hours sleep if he's going to pass for human in the morning.


'Oh, Christ, the Hepburn shades,' Kaiden says, the moment he lays eyes on Kurt the following morning. Grabbing the mic for the intercom, he grins stupidly at Kurt before pressing the button that will sent his voice into every dressing room. 'This is a public health announcement: we have a diva in the house, I repeat, diva in the house.'

'Oh, you really are hilarious,' Kurt snaps and sips at his coffee as he takes his position on stage. 'Right, let's get this over with.'

By eleven thirty, Kurt has made two of the potentials cry and has almost gotten into a first fight with a third. He's being such a bitch that he thinks even Santana would impressed, but he wishes he could stop. He hates being this way; he can't help but think of the look of disappointment that Blaine would shoot his way were he to hear the cutting remarks he's been throwing at these guys. He really wants a break but he knows there is only one more to go, and he can go home and sleep, which will be much better than the cup of coffee he'd been planning.

It will probably be a short one, too; this guy can sing, apparently, but Kaiden says that his Mancunian accent leaves a lot to be desired. Kurt's phone chimes and he goes to retrieve it from his coat. He's the star of this show and he doesn't want to be here; this soon-to-be failure can wait for him.

His eyebrow arches when his phone announces a message from Rachel.

'Anything interesting going on?'

Kurt can't help but think that it's a weird thing to ask, especially since he and Rachel aren't all that chatty. He imagines the message was meant for someone else. He hears the new hopeful head onto the stage, footsteps echoing in the large empty space as he shoots off a quick reply and asks after his nephew.

'Kurt, if you don't mind,' Kaiden snaps slightly and Kurt knows that the fruitless search is beginning to stress him out, too. With an apologetic smile, he slips his phone back into the pocket of his coat before turning, resignedly, back to centre stage.

That's as far as he gets. He has to reach blindly for something to support him as his knees threaten to buckle. There, in the centre of the stage, smiling hopefully at him, is Blaine. The smile on his face falters as his eyes scan Kurt's and a moment later he is by his side, a hand under Kurt's elbow, supporting him in a display of intuition that speaks volumes about the depth of feeling that has passed between them.

'Kurt? Are you okay?'

He hears Kaidan calling from the second row and scrambling over seats to get to the stage. As Blaine guides him to the edge of the stage, one hand placed comforting in the small of his back, Kurt can't help but lean longingly into the touch.

Kaiden is in front of him now, peering into Kurt's face with concern, and Kurt is certain that he is only seconds away from placing the back of his hand against Kurt's forehead.

'It's just shock,' Kurt hears Blaine whisper from somewhere near his ear. 'He just needs some water.' Kaiden ignores him, and continues asking Kurt what's wrong.

'Can I just get a bottle of water?' Kurt manages, and immediately Kaiden hurries of to find an aide.

Kurt can't look around, He won't, for the fear that when he meets the eyes of the man next to him he will disappear or turn into someone else. Kaiden is back and pressing a plastic bottle into his hand and Kurt is flooding his mouth with the ice cold liquid, trying desperately to get a hold on the situation.

'Kurt, what's wrong?' Kaiden asks, his voice sounding slightly desperate now. Kurt flicks his head towards Blaine slightly to indicate the other man.

'Kaiden, meet Heathcliffe.'

Kaiden's mouth drops open in surprise and Kurt watches as he eyes Blaine distrustfully. Kurt doesn't really blame him. Kaiden knows all the messy details of his and Blaine's relationship, knows that there are times that Kurt has considered giving up his promising career for the man now rubbing soothing circles on his back. Right now, Kaiden's probably wondering the best way to get Blaine back onto the next plane to the States so as not to risk losing his leading man.

Quickly, he manages to refocus and he bends to peer into Kurt's eyes. 'What do you want to do, Mariah?' he asks, voice full of concern, and Kurt smiles at the nickname. 'We can call it a day if you want? Pick it up again tomorrow?' He doesn't miss the warning look that Kaiden shoots in Blaine's direction, one that clearly states that if Blaine so much as looks disgruntled about the suggestion, Kaiden will bodily remove him from the theatre.

He's tempted, he really is; he wants to get out of here, wants to drag Blaine back to his apartment and to demand an explanation, or fall into bed with him, or pummel him to within an inch of his life. He hasn't quite decided yet. Still, if he does that now they will only have to come back and run this audition tomorrow and as Kurt isn't quite sure how he feels about Blaine's sudden appearance yet, that could end up being all kinds of awkward.

'No,' he asserts, locating his professionalism and shrugging Blaine off as gets to his feet. When he speaks, his tone is cold, impersonal and he can see both Kaiden and Blaine flinching at it. 'You came here to read, so...' He indicates centre stage and pushes down all those messy feelings, 'Let's read.'

Kurt watches as hurt flashes across Blaine's face at his harsh tone and he has to really try to prevent himself from reaching out and comforting him. Blaine pulls himself together quickly, though, with the 'show must go on' resilience of the consummate professional.

Blaine is fantastic. This is the most difficult piece that Kurt has ever worked on because the dialogue has a tendency to sound corny if it is delivered with anything other than perfection but Blaine Anderson has always had a talent for perfection, and he delivers the angel line with a beautifully subtle mixture of confusion and adoration.

It moves Kurt and as he recites his own line he finds himself reaching for all of it, not just the affection and concern; he allows the words to rasp across his tongue in harsh Mancunian tones. He knows in that moment that he is showing off for Blaine, showing him everything that he can do, and with that realisation comes another: he's completely lost to this man.


Kurt squints at the bright sunlight after the relative dark of the theatre and slips his shades back onto his face. It's a beautiful late spring day, warm and sunny with a freshness left by the previous night's storm that would normally have Kurt walking home. He doesn't have time for that today, though, and after only a moments indecision he turns towards the taxi rank, relieved when Blaine follows him.

They haven't discussed this, after all, haven't said a word to each other since Kaiden called the audition to a close. He hadn't even waited for Blaine to receive his feedback; he'd just headed for the door and stood silently, waiting for Blaine to emerge.

He sits quietly in the cab, allowing Blaine to field questions about home and the mildly racist observations about the differences between Brits and Yanks. He watches the city slide quietly past and tries not to think about what might happen when they finally return to his apartment.

He closes the apartment door and leans back against it, eyes closed. He's not ready for this, not ready to accept the reality that Blaine is standing there in front of him, in his home, looking as beautiful as ever. He doesn't trust himself. Doesn't trust himself not to leap on Blaine the moment he opens his eyes, to kiss him until they are both breathless and begging for more. He wants, wants so much, but he knows that if this is to be anything other than a repeat of the last time they saw each other, then he needs answers, needs an explanation, and it's this knowledge that gives him the strength to open his eyes, to look into Blaine's and, in a voice that shakes more than he would like, to make his demand.

'Start talking.'

For a moment, Blaine looks surprised. Looks like he was expecting something else but, ever adaptable, he quickly catches up. He watches as Kurt walks past him and makes his way into the kitchen to fill the kettle, then he finally finds his voice.

'What do you want me to say?' he asks, holding his hands out plaintively.

Kurt looks at him then, emotions rushing through him. Exasperation, absolute love and Frustration. Frustration wins and Kurt can't suppress the slightly hysterical laugh.

'What do I want you to say?' he repeats, hoping that Blaine will realise just how ridiculous that question is. 'How about we start with what the fuck you're doing here? You show up with no warning and walk right into my place of work? What the hell is that? Of all the theatres, in all the towns, in all the world, you just happen to walk into mine? This isn't fucking Casablanca, Blaine. I am not Humphrey Bogart and you sure as hell are no Ingrid Bergman.'

Blaine just stares at him for a moment, shock written all over his face, and Kurt just stares right back, panting slightly with the exertion of the outburst. Then, all of a sudden, Blaine's face cracks into a broad smile and he's laughing, really laughing; his hands clutch at his stomach and tears pour down his face.

Kurt's immediate indignation at being laughed at quickly dissolves until he, too, is laughing, leaning against the counter top to stop himself from sliding to the floor. Slowly, they both catch their breath, but things are different now; the tension that had crackled in the room is gone, washed away, and a warm familiarity has rushed in to fill the space.

'Still my little drama queen,' Blaine says affectionately, and Kurt can't help but blush slightly at the casual way Blaine uses the possessive word. Kurt knows it's true, both parts; he's always been a drama queen and, despite years of fighting it, he's always been Blaine's.

'I'm sorry I surprised you at work,' Blaine continues, his face turning serious again as he slides onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter. He's going to talk about this and Kurt has to fight with everything he has to let him. To resist the urge to silence him with a kiss and tell him it doesn't matter, because it does matter; he's just screamed at the top of his voice about how much it matters, so instead he busies himself making tea, trying to stop his rebellious hands from reaching out and brushing a loose curl out of Blaine's face.

'I did try to get in contact with you. I tried to facebook you but, understandably, you've blocked me; I begged Rachel to give me your number but apparently she's still scarred from the dressing down you gave her the last time she tried to help. I even called radio stations with dedications in the hope you'd hear them. In the end auditioning for the play was the only way I could think of.'

'You tried radio dedications?' Kurt asks, surprised that Blaine had even thought of this rather unconventional method.

'Yeah... once I figured out which company you were with and found out you were here, I called a bunch of local stations and requested...'

'Somewhere only we know,' Kurt finishes, a piece of the puzzle finally sliding into place. 'I heard it,' he admits. 'I didn't hear the beginning, though, or the end for that matter. I was just surprised to hear it; it's not exactly current.'

'Well, it wasn't the most foolproof part of my plan, I admit,' Blaine concedes with a grin.

'You always did favour the gesture over practicality.'

'Says the man who wore his Gaga heels to the prom, as if I needed any help looking short,' Blaine shoots back and Kurt shrugs, conceding the point.

'That still doesn't explain what you're doing here, though,' Kurt points out as he pushes a mug of tea across the table towards Blaine. His voice is softer now, all the anger and frustration gone.

'I'm here to find you,' Blaine says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Kurt gapes slightly, unsure what to say to that.

'I was an idiot that last time; you were right in everything you said and I'm sorry, Kurt, so sorry that I put you in that position. Sorry for being so weak.'

Kurt's eyes start to sting and he blinks rapidly, trying desperately to hold back the tears. He's spent years now wishing that Blaine would realise what went wrong, wishing that Blaine would apologise, maybe offer a solution, but now that it's here in front of him and being offered, Kurt isn't sure if he can bear to hear it.

Blaine isn't stopping, though, and he just ploughs on. In his mind's eye Kurt can see him as he flies across the Atlantic, practicing what he wants to say, muttering under his breath so as not to disturb the other passengers as the cabin lights are dimmed. Kurt can't help but wonder if this is coming out just like he planned or if he's ended up ad-libbing. Knowing Blaine as he does, Kurt imagines it's probably the latter.

'That last time, those things you said, I couldn't stop thinking about them. They just kept coming back, echoing around my head and I knew you were right. I'd behaved like an idiot. I was always so scared, so terrified of being alone that anything was better than nothing. And then it hit me. If I couldn't be comfortable with myself then how could I ever expect anyone else to be?' Blaine sighs, taking a deep breath and a swig of tea, and all the while Kurt just stares at him. Not quite believing that his hastily-chosen angry words had such an impact on this man.

'I waited until after Christmas, and then, on the day before New Years, I broke it off with Marc. I've watched 'Friends' too many times to wait any longer than that. I knew that I would never be really happy with anyone but you, but in order to get you, I needed to become better, become stronger. I needed to be worthy of you. It's taken eighteen months for me to finally get to the point where I'd rather be alone than with just anybody and it's been hard.'

Blaine's voice cracks at this, his head dropping like it's just too heavy for him to hold up and Kurt can't hold back anymore. He rounds the counter and wraps his arms around Blaine, marvelling at just how perfect it feels and wondering how he has lived without this man for the last six years.

'I saw an article in the Dalton Alumni newsletter about you and your show, and as soon as I saw it I just knew I had to find you.'

Kurt really can't handle any more; he can hear the fear creeping into Blaine's voice, the desperation for acceptance and he needs to reassure, needs to let him know that everything is going to be okay now.

A finger under the chin and Kurt lifts Blaine's head to meet his eyes and he smiles before kissing him, gently wanting to show him just how much he loves him. Blaine has gone through hell, has changed his entire way of being for Kurt, to make Kurt happy, and Kurt thinks that has to be the most romantic thing he has heard in his life.

He thinks about saying something, about telling Blaine how glad he is to have him here but he knows that whatever words he might offer will be inadequate, will never be able to express the joy and relief he feels at having this man back in his life. Instead he simply swipes his tongue across Blaine's full bottom lip and, when Blaine lets out a small moan of pleasure, he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, licking into the warm familiarity of Blaine's mouth.

The need builds inside him; he loves this man so much and he has no idea how he has gone so long without being able to touch him, to taste him. Eagerly, he threads his fingers into Blaine's hair fisting his hands into the curls as Blaine grabs his ass and pulls him forwards until they are both balanced precariously on the stoo,l Kurt straddling Blaine's lap as that delicious hardness presses against his inner thigh.

Neither of them want to break the kiss and it's only when stars begin to pop behind Kurt's eyelids because of the lack of oxygen that he finally forces himself to pull away. Kurt stares down into those lust-blown pupils as he gasps to catch his breath. Blaine's chest meets the rise and fall of his own as they hold tight to each other, both trying to convince themselves that the other is really there, that this is really happening.

They stare into each other's eyes for what seems like an eternity, until the stool gives an ominous creak and Kurt is forced to slip off of Blaine's lap before it decides to deposit them both on the floor.

Reaching out, he takes Blaine's hand and tugs gently, leading him towards the bedroom. They stand there beneath the skylight as the late afternoon sun streams into the room, turning everything it touches to gold. Kurt knows that Blaine's look of awe is reflected on his own face as he slowly raises his hands and begins to unbutton Blaine's shirt, revealing his beautifully tanned skin.

Kurt strokes his fingers gently up the gorgeous chest in front of him and draws a shiver from Blaine which has nothing to do with the temperature of the room. He smiles softly as he remembers just how responsive Blaine is to every little touch, remembers how enjoyable it is to watch this man, who is so together ninety nine percent of the time, lose control at something as simple as Kurt scratching his fingernails lightly down his back.

He is completely unable to resist the urge once the thought enters his head and he ghosts his fingers up Blaine's arms and across his shoulders before scraping his nails lightly down his spine. The reaction is even better than he hoped for, as Blaine's head falls back with eyes-closed pleasure and he moans at the contact, a long, deep moan that goes straight to Kurt's cock.

Then Blaine's hands are at his waist, tugging at the fabric of his shirt to release it from his pants and slipping underneath to splay against his skin. His hands slide upwards, gathering the material of Kurt's shirt as they go until it's bunched up under his arms. Blaine's pulls Kurt against him, holding firmly as he ducks his head to swipe his tongue across a peaked nipple, and it's Kurt's turn to gasp.

That impossibly hot mouth is kissing its way across Kurt's chest, leaving him breathless again, and he struggles to gather enough awareness to drag his shirt over his head and drop it carelessly to the floor so that he can thread his fingers into Blaine's curls once more.

Kurt actually squeals slightly when Blaine lifts him into the air and drops him onto the bed. He's surprised he managed it. Blaine might be stronger than him, but he's tiny and the height difference should preclude Kurt from being thrown around like a girl. But then, he thinks as Blaine begins to attack the buttons on his jeans, if you want something bad enough, anything is possible.

Reaching up, Kurt pulls Blaine on top of him, crashing their mouths together once more as hands and fingers work frantically to clear away all barriers between their bodies. At the first brush of Blaine's cock against his own, his brain ceases to function properly, supplying him with nothing more coherent than 'more, inside, now'. He reaches above his head to hook his finger through the handle of his bedside drawer and rummage inside, feeling for that familiar package and trying desperately not to lose himself completely as Blaine licks and nibbles at a spot on his neck that is guaranteed to turn him to Jell-o.

With his last moment of coherence, Kurt presses the small packet and accompanying bottle into Blaine's hand and throws back his head as Blaine immediately moves to trail wet, open-mouthed kisses down the centre of his chest as his fingers begin to stroke gently back and forth across the inside of his thighs. The first swipe of Blaine's tongue over the head of his cock and the first brush of a slick finger against his entrance come almost simultaneously and Kurt's hips buck violently.

He thinks he hears Blaine laugh softly as he places a hand firmly against Kurt's hip, holding him in place as the finger slides inside and that sinfully hot mouth envelops Kurt's cock entirely, and oh, fuck, he'd forgotten about Blaine's ability to multi-task during sex, and then all thought becomes slow and uncooperative as a second slick finger joins the first and Blaine hums softly. He is nothing but a cluster of over-sensitive nerve endings and he wants so badly that he thinks if Blaine isn't inside him soon he may just burst into tears.

Thankfully, he doesn't find out as in the next moment Blaine's mouth is on his own again and those fingers are gone and something larger is nudging against him in their place, pressing forward instantly until it slides inside, filling him deliciously. He grasps at Blaine, pulling him deeper and his eyes snap open as he hears Blaine groan pleasurably above him.

They gaze into each others eyes for a long moment, neither of them moving until Blaine's cock twitches of its own accord and Kurt's hips thrust up and they can't stop. They move haphazardly together, Kurt meeting each of Blaine's thrusts with one of his own and there's no way either one of them is going to last, so he pulls Blaine close, pressing their lips together as they sprint towards the precipice.

They fall together, gasping a shared breath as Kurt's release spreads warm and wet between them and they hold each other tight, riding out the waves of their climax.

They lie there for long moments, Kurt revelling in the heavy press of Blaine's body against his own and coming to the conclusion that he will be happy if they stay like this forever. Blaine, however, always the gentleman, rolls off Kurt before his weight can get too much and snatches at a couple of the face wipes from the bedside table, cleaning them both up and dragging back the sheets. Kurt slides beneath them gratefully and pulls Blaine to him, wrapping himself around him as if he thinks that any moment he'll run for the door. Blaine just smiles and presses a kiss to the top of Kurt's head as he holds him close.

Sleep is coming up to claim him quickly now; the unsettled night followed by the emotional day followed by the mind blowing sex are all working together to pull Kurt under, but in his half-awake state he is still able to voice the question that crowds into his mind.

'Are you really here?' he mutters sleepily into the warm skin of Blaine's shoulder.

It takes a moment for Blaine to respond, and when his does, his voice, too, is thick with sleep as he whispers into Kurt's hair, 'Yes, and I always will be.'

You took my hand
You showed me how
You promised me you'd be around
Uh huh
That's right
I took your words
And I believed
In everything
You said to me
Yeah huh
That's right

If someone said three years from now
You'd be long gone
I'd stand up and punch them up
Cause they're all wrong
I know better
Cause you said forever
And ever
Who knew

Remember when we were such fools
And so convinced and just too cool
Oh no
No no
I wish I could touch you again
I wish I could still call you friend
I'd give anything

When someone said count your blessings now
For they're long gone
I guess I just didn't know how
I was all wrong
They knew better
Still you said forever
And ever
Who knew

Yeah yeah
I'll keep you locked in my head
Until we meet again
Until we
Until we meet again
And I won't forget you my friend
What happened

If someone said three years from now
You'd be long gone
I'd stand up and punch them out
Cause they're all wrong and
That last kiss
I'll cherish
Until we meet again
And time makes
It harder
I wish I could remember
But I keep
Your memory
You visit me in my sleep
My darling
Who knew
My darling
My darling
Who knew
My darling
I miss you
My darling
Who knew
Who knew