A/N: For the past week this has sort of been a big project of mine, in light of re-discovering my Mamas and the Papas CD and basically falling in love with their music and style and I was struck by this thought that it would be pretty fucking cool if I could write a fic where Blaine was in an indie band. So I did.

Special thanks to my beautiful beta Brittany (purestblood on tumblr), without whom I would be utterly lost.

The night air was cool and fresh, minus the smoky scent rising from the makeshift bong in Santana's hands. She took a delicate inhale, exhaling in rings. Across from her, Sam and Puck gave her appreciative smiles and Puck reached for the bong himself.

Sitting on the grass under a tree, still within sight of their little camp, Blaine plucked at his guitar aimlessly, watching them with a wistful expression. That stuff did nothing for him anymore. A lot of his best songs were written under the influence, but now every time he so much as put a pen in his hand, his mind went completely blank.

He just couldn't write anymore.

It was a musician's nightmare. The others wrote the odd little tune, but Blaine had always been their chief song writer. Santana had written them a few things for their latest album, but their singles had just scraped the charts.

They needed Blaine to write again.

Blaine needed to write again. He hated this feeling of… blankness. He had no spark, no special light in his life to inspire to create.

"You know what you need," Puck crowed loudly, half spluttering over his smoke. Blaine lifted an eyebrow at him. "You need to get laid."

Santana and Sam barked out a chorus of unrestrained laughter. Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Seriously, dude," Sam agreed, "when was the last time you got any?"

"Blaine doesn't need sex," Santana interrupted quietly. Blaine looked up hopefully. "Although," she added, "he could probably do with some…" Blaine glared at her.

"What Blaine needs," she decided, "is a muse."

As Blaine set up for his small town gig the next day, her words echoed in his mind.

"Love can't be forced," he had counteracted. "I can't just go out and find a muse…"

But it was clear he needed some inspiration. Hence, why he had taken the gig for today and was working on finding more work. He needed to get out more. He spent too much time cooped up with his band mates, smoking and drinking, trying to lose himself in the music. He needed to write something real, something people could relate to. Not some drug conjured fantasy.

"Hey," Blaine spoke a little nervously into the microphone stand, his voice attracting the attention of the coffee shop patrons. "I'm Blaine, and I'll be your entertainment this morning."

As the crowd stared expectantly back at him, he blushed, fumbling with his guitar before striking up the tune he had committed to memory. One of his favourites, by the band that had practically inspired him to become an artist.

All the leaves are brown and the sky is grey

I've been for a walk on a winters day

I'd be safe and warm if I was in LA

California dreamin' on such a winters day

The performance went better than expected and Blaine can't help but grin as he collected his tips. He didn't care much about the money, but he liked being able to afford gas every now and again. His friends would be thrilled.

"I'm impressed," an unfamiliar voice said lightly behind him, "you're much better than the usual singers."

Blaine turned around to face the voice, a thank you ready on his lips, but he stopped in stunned silence.

Because the possessor of the voice was the single most beautiful thing Blaine has ever beheld.

He's tall, lean and pale, his light brown hair soft and silky looking. Blaine had the odd urge to reach out and touch, but he managed to restrain himself, instead meeting the boy's eyes which needed a whole song dedicated to them and even that wouldn't be adequately descriptive. They were a crazy blue, grey, green colour; nothing like Blaine had ever seen.

"T-t-thank you," Blaine stuttered out at last, blushing at his embarrassing awkwardness. "Do you-do you come here much?"

The boy gave him a half amused smile. "I'm working here."

"Oh," was all Blaine could see. He saw now that the boy was wearing a uniform and cursed himself for not noticing.

"Yeah," His upper lip twitched as if he was supressing a grin, "oh." He held out a long fingered hand that felt soft as Blaine shook it. "I'm Kurt."


Things were silent between them for a moment, Blaine completely unsure of what to say next. It had been so long since he'd had contact with people outside his bandmates and whatever audience he was playing for. And it had been much, much longer since he'd ever had contact with anybody so…


Honestly, Blaine was doubting his humanity. Such a creature couldn't be real.

"I like them," Kurt said finally. "The Mamas and the Papas."

"Oh, yeah," Blaine said a little too quickly, "I like them too."

"Obviously," Kurt teased, a mischievous twinkle in his brilliant eyes. "I like that one…" he frowned to himself, searching his mind for a moment, "you didn't play it… it's sung by that girl – not the fat one-"

"Ah," Blaine said, understanding, "Dedicated to the One I Love."

Kurt smiled and nodded. "That's the one."

"It's a good one," Blaine agreed. He began to hum the tune quietly under his breath.

Kurt's smile broadened and he shocked Blaine by chiming in, his voice startlingly light and enchanting as it caressed the lyrics.

While I am far away from you, my baby

I know it's hard for you, my baby

Because it's hard for me, my baby

Blaine joined him for the last line, their voices meshing together in a way that was so beautiful, Blaine could barely believe his ears.

And the darkest hour is just before dawn

Kurt met his gaze with a bright eyed stare that sent a shiver down his spine.

"We sound good together," Kurt noted quietly. Blaine let out a little hum of agreement.

"You have a beautiful voice," Blaine said.

Kurt ducked his head modestly. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"We should sing together more often," Blaine blurted out, feeling shocked at his own boldness. Kurt looked surprised too, but pleasantly so.

"Well," Kurt said happily, "I never turn down an opportunity to showcase my talents." He winked and Blaine felt his breath catch.

"Definitely not." Blaine's eyes widened at the sound of his own voice, taking on a low, husky tone. He could have sworn he saw a pretty blush spread across Kurt's cheeks.

He took a step closer, invading Blaine's personal space, his eyes sparkling confidently as he leaned in.

"My break is in five minutes… meet me out back if you're interested."

Blaine felt his chest tighten, his breath erratic as Kurt walked away from him, his hips swaying lightly in his sinfully tight dress pants. Blaine's head felt light and then Kurt turned back, his electric eyes flashing, sending sparks down Blaine's spine.

He was out the door in thirty seconds.

For the next five minutes Blaine's mind was frantic. He had never done anything like this before? Was Kurt really suggesting what he thought he was? What if he just wanted to talk and Blaine had gotten himself all worked up for nothing? Oh god…

Kurt was walking out the side of the café, his lips quirked in a knowing smirk as he caught sight of Blaine. He had ditched his work apron and his black polo perfectly accentuated his defined arm muscles, clinging lightly to his abdominals. He was stunning, like nothing Blaine had ever seen.

And he wanted him. Like he had never wanted anybody.

His jeans were quickly tightening as Kurt quickened his pace, barely giving Blaine time to catch his breath before he grabbed onto his hand, reaching for the door knob behind him and pulling them into the backroom.

The room was small and stuffy and Blaine quickly found himself backed up against a gritty brick wall, Kurt on him in an instant, attacking his neck with hot, messy kisses that left Blaine gasping.

"Oh my god," he breathed, clenching his eyes shut as electricity crackled under his skin. It felt so good. It had been a long while since he had had intimacy beyond the loving cuddles he had with his friends. But this was what he had missing. Being touched in a way that lit his whole body on fire. Being wanted, feeling attractive.

Kurt mouthed up his throat, licking his way up his jaw until his lips finally pressed against Blaine's. Blaine felt himself melt under his touch, opening his mouth and moaning into the kiss. He allowed Kurt to take dominance, relishing in the way he felt as he pressed his body flush against him, his tongue doing incredible things against Blaine's.

He felt himself getting lost in the very scent of Kurt, but he wanted to hold on, needed to savour every touch, every press of mouth, every feeling, every moment, because he knew he probably wouldn't get this again.

At the sharp thrill that shuddered down his spine, Blaine pulled back for a moment, resting his head on Kurt's forehead.

"I don't usually do this," he whispered, surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. Kurt smiled knowingly back at him.

"Neither do I," he said softly. "But… there's something about you, Blaine…I-I want you."

Blaine felt his heart leap and he swallowed. "I want you too."

Kurt's eyes sparked. "Then have me."

Needing no further encouragement, Blaine surged forward again, pressing Kurt against the opposite wall, grinding his hips down as he kissed him hard, his mouth hot and filthy against his, the scent of copper and sweat wafting around them. Blaine's mind absently registered that this was a supply closet of sorts, but he had never cared less.

Kurt's hands were everywhere, tangling in his messy curls, running up and down his sides, massaging gently the small of his back before they wandered further down, kneading his ass and petting the tops of his thighs. Blaine felt himself let out breathy whimpers and moans into Kurt's mouth but he couldn't bring himself to care. It just felt too good.

Rutting frantically against him, Blaine felt himself coming closer. He bit into Kurt's shoulder in warning as he came, Kurt's name tumbling from his lips in a piercing cry. He felt Kurt shudder beneath him as he came too, his fingers buried in Blaine's hair, pulling him closer.

When it was over, they leant against each other, their shared breaths laboured and heated. Kurt was first to pull back with a small smile, almost apologetic.

"Wow," he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck with a faint chuckle. "That was…"

"Wow," Blaine finished, his voice breaking a little on the word. Kurt nodded in agreement.

"I-I have to go," Kurt stammered, looking for the first time since Blaine had seen him, slightly nervous, "Mer-Mercedes will be wondering where I am."

Blaine felt his heart sink. "I-I'll see you around?" he asked hopefully.

Kurt nodded, reaching out and squeezing his hand. He dropped his lips to his hand and planted a soft kiss over the back of his fingertips. "Thank you," he said softly, giving Blaine a small smile before smoothing over his shirt and leaving.

Blaine leant against the wall, exhaling deeply.

What had he gotten himself into?

The summer air swept lightly over their open tent as Blaine lay awake, waiting for sleep to seize him. But he was restless, his mind wandering.

He couldn't stop thinking about Kurt.

His pretty eyes, his stunning voice, his mesmerising lips, the soft yet passionate touch of his hands caressing his skin, making him feel alive and wanted in a way that he hadn't for such a long time. He couldn't help but wonder more about him; his last name, what his family was like, why he was working in a coffee shop. He wondered if he had hopes and dreams and what they were and whether or not they were coming true. He wondered if he had ever been in love, if he too, felt the borderline insanity of a blooming crush.

Blaine felt intoxicated under the sensations.

Every time his mind so much as spoke his name, he felt a flutter in the pit of his stomach. His cheeks burned at the thought of Kurt speaking his name and the thought of making him blush and stutter the way he had caused Blaine to made a thrilling shiver rush through him.

It was crazy.

As he willed sleep to come (his eyes were burning and his whole body ached), he looked up at the stars and admired the pretty spot they'd chosen to set up camp. He loved their little home. It was comfort to them, the same quilt that they had been using for many years that had faded from washing (they stopped into dry cleaners along their trips), and their own pillows that they had loved and cherished and used and worn.

All of it was theirs, and their little home was them. They had crafted it from their own hearts and minds, the little candles belonging to Santana, the ancient decorated guitar Blaine's most prized possession, the stack of books Sam's favourites, the small tables built from Puck's own hands.

They all laid on the grass together, on top of their large mattress that fitted perfectly against the wall of their caravan. They drove it everywhere, but they never liked sleeping it (except in the Winter nights when it became necessary), much preferring the wash of fresh night air on their skin and the glitter of the stars beaming down on them.

Blaine's stomach turned with excitement as he rolled over onto the cooler side of his pillow, thinking of the day ahead. He had another gig booked at the same little shop. He hoped with his whole heart that Kurt would be working again.

He needed to see him again.

A small, crazy, irrational part of himself couldn't block out Santana's comment from the previous day.

"He needs a muse."

Maybe, just maybe, this enigmatic, enchanting, utterly surreal boy who had shaken his hand and smiled and chatted and sung with him, would be just that.

His very own muse.

The next day Blaine was practically buzzing as he drove to the coffee shop.

"What's got your panties in a twist?" Santana sniped, still edgy before her morning cup of tea. Blaine smirked and ignored her.

If only you knew…

His heart was already stuttering wildly with anticipation as he pulled into the parking lot, ignoring the funny stares he got, probably aimed at his shabby vehicle. He didn't care. He was used to it and loved that old thing, no matter what other people thought.

He practically wrenched open the door of the coffee shop with his eagerness, nearly bowling over a lady trying to leave. He felt embarrassed and ridiculous, but too excited to care.

His eyes instantly scanned the room for Kurt, but he felt a gentle hand on his arm and the owner of the shop was already dragging him up to the stage.

"Everyone loved your performance yesterday," Mercedes enthused. "We should get you in more often."

Blaine's grin was uncontrollable. "If you asked, I wouldn't say no."

As he struggled into sleep the previous night, he had quickly thought up a playlist that he hoped might impress Kurt. He wasn't sure what his taste was like, so he simply went with the songs he was sure he sang well and ones that had worked well in the past.

His eyes searched the little house as he plucked the strings for his finale number, hoping to find Kurt's eyes as he began to sing. He felt sadness pang in his heart when he was nowhere in sight, thinking that he must not have been working today. His disappointment burst over him in waves, but he fought through the song regardless, pouring his whole self into it.

Each night before you go to bed, my baby

Whisper a little prayer for me, my baby

And tell the stars above

This is dedicated to the one I love

When he was finished, he took his time packing up his things, trying to work up the courage to approach one of the workers to ask about Kurt.

"Hey Anderson!"

He looked up, jumping a little at the sneak attack. Mercedes let out a short giggle at the look on his face.

"Sorry, darl," she apologised, still smirking a little. "You were great out there, by the way. That last song was gorgeous."

"Thanks," Blaine blushed, ducking his head a little shyly. "It was a request…" Well, that was one way to put it.

"From Kurt?" Mercedes guessed, a gentle spark fluttering behind her chocolate brown eyes. Blaine widened his own in shock.

"How did you-what?" he stammered nervously.

She laughed again and fixed him with a doting expression that made Blaine wonder if she was about to ruffle his hair. Thankfully, she didn't, instead choosing to elaborate.

"He was staying with me," she explained, "and he was humming that little tune all night… and I saw him talking to you yesterday."

Blaine nodded, only half listening to her words, too caught up in the first part of the explanation.

"He was staying with you?" he repeated.

"Yeah," Mercedes affirmed. "He's my best friend from high school… he doesn't live down here – he's just visiting. Or, at least, he was."

Blaine raised his eyebrows in shock, his heart clenching painfully.

"He was?" he repeated meekly. Mercedes' expression softened and she gave him a sad, sympathetic smile.

"Sorry, love," she said gently, "he went home last night."

Blaine bit his lip, trying to hide the pain he felt fighting its way onto his face.

"Where does he live?" Blaine couldn't help but ask, all filter gone. Mercedes only looked mildly taken aback by the question.

"New York," she answered. "He's a musical theatre major at NYADA."

He would be, Blaine thought regretfully. Of course, he was so beautiful and talented and probably smart, too. Blaine had tried out for the school himself at the end of high school, only to be painfully rejected. But then he met Santana, Puck and Sam and they formed their little group. They all had been rejected from schools of their choices too.

Blaine nodded mutely, feeling a sudden wash of homesickness wash over him. His mom always knew the right thing to say…

But they weren't really in contact anymore. He had a tent full of broken souls to return to, that he called his home now. He thanked Mercedes for the gig, evading her request for another performance soon and leaving as quickly as he could.

He didn't want to cry in front of her.

The light strum of Puck's guitar informed him that they were in the middle of a jam session. Blaine felt guilt coursing through him as he realised they weren't playing their own music. They were tired too. Tired of feeling so incapable, so helpless.

It was exhausting.

Even through the darkest phase

Be it thick or thin

Always someone marches brave

Here beneath my skin

Santana's voice was just a little raspy as it crooned over the familiar verse, her voice so full of heartbreak that Blaine's own heart just wrung out that little tighter. She had been in love with a girl once, a pretty young thing, blonde and bright, sparkling like the moon, glowing like the sun as she shined unexpected light over Santana's life. But Santana by instinct was sly and distrusting. She had known more hurt than help through her life and eventually her pent up anger was taken out on the girl and she ran.

And now she was alone.

Constant craving

Has always been

Blaine heard the guys harmonising behind her as he approached. They looked up at his entry, and Sam patted the space next to him. Blaine curled at his side, folding into himself and closing his eyes and immersing himself into the lyrics.

He was an addict. He could never get enough. Not of this, of feeling music, of playing music, of the taste of tempo on his tongue, the lyrics stuttered out between thick breaths.

There were days when he just wanted to forget it all and go back home.

But then he came here and he remembered that he had been home all along.

Maybe a great magnet pulls

All souls towards truth

Or maybe it is life itself

That feeds wisdom

To its youth

Blaine took over the next verse, feeling Sam's hand intertwine with his, Puck's arm wrapping loosely around his shoulders as he let his emotions out through the music. They didn't have to ask and he didn't have to say anything.

They just knew. Knew that he wasn't okay, that he wasn't himself.

They would talk later. But now…

Constant craving

Has always been

Constant craving

Has always been

The whirl of the old fashioned kettle was heard even above the sweeping winds, blowing frantically through the trees. Blaine shivered a little, pulling his light t-shirt tighter around himself.

Santana exited the trailer at last, looking awfully domestic as she carried out the tea laden tray, setting it on the tiny coffee table. Or at least, she would have, was it not for the dreadlocks, the nose piercing and the bell bottom pants.

"Alright, Blainers, that's enough moping," Santana said directly after he quietly thanked her. "Yesterday you were all heart eyes after that gig and this morning you were all energiser bunny and now," she huffed, "you're all kicked puppy. Who peed in your nutmeg?"

Beside him, Sam snorted into his tea and Blaine flinched as Puck kicked him under the table, aiming for Sam and missing.

"Nobody," Blaine said coldly, irritated at the throbbing pain in his shin. "I just got some bad news, that's all."

"Who died?" Sam asked through a mouthful of cracker. Puck kicked him again, succeeding in reaching him this time.

"Nobody," Blaine sighed. "No one died." Except for my blossoming heart, his mind added unhelpfully.

"Then what is it?" Puck asked.

"There was a…" Blaine hesitated. "There was a guy."

It was hard to describe something that Blaine barely had enough time to register. It was ridiculous to be so captivated by someone he hardly knew, but the looks on their faces conveyed that they understood.

But the hardest part was to describe Kurt.

How could you describe pure magic? A picture is worth a thousand words. Blaine could think of more than that to describe that boy, a litany of synonyms, all deriving from beautiful and perfect and superhuman.

"Wow," Sam breathed when Blaine had run out of oxygen (not finished… he could probably go on forever). "You seem really into him."

"I know it's crazy," Blaine let out, "but… I've never felt like this before."

"He must be a pretty special guy," Puck mused. Blaine exhaled.

"You have no idea."

"You said he was in New York, right?" Santana said suddenly. Blaine nodded and the others eyed her curiously.

"Well," she smiled, "I guess we have a road trip on our hands."

It was ridiculous, utter madness, trekking across the States to find a man who he had met once and knew nothing about but a name and a city. He could have a boyfriend – he could be married (although it seemed highly unlikely), or just plain not interested.

But they were going anyway.

"What do we have to lose?" Santana had said quietly as they loaded up the van. They had all exchanged regretful looks. As sad as it was… she was right.

They were penniless musicians, close to fading into nothing. They had to do something to find their light again.

This could be their chance.

The sweet summer air poured through the open windows of the van as they drove on, their voices singing unabashdley from the top of their lungs as the radio belted out an old favourite of theirs.

Every other day (every other day)

Of the week is fine (fine!) yeah

But whenever Monday comes (but whenever Monday comes)

You can find me crying all of the time (crying all of the time)

They played around sillily with the harmonies and joked around, shoving each other in the backseat as Blaine continued to drive on, a broad grin across his face as he sang along. It had been a while since things had been like this; so easy, so happy. He felt like they were getting back on track now they had something, a goal, something to work towards.

Monday, Monday

So good to me

Monday morning

It was all I hoped it would be

They had mapped out their trip, designated drivers and stops along the way. They had given themselves a week, stopping during the nights for rest and performing along the way. They booked gigs in small coffee shops and bars on the places where they were stopping for rest.

On the first night, Santana had taken a solo gig at a small pub on the outskirts of their town. Puck, Blaine and Sam all tagged along, taking seats in a quiet booth down the back, making light conversation as they listened intently to their best girl friend belt her heart out. Blaine grinned when he heard that she had taken her advice and was performing the song he had recommended for her.

Words of love so soft and tender

Won't win a girl's heart anymore

You ought to know by now

Words of love so soft and tender

Won't win her anymore

That night, after her gig, they were too tired to set up a proper camp, settling for sleeping in the tiny caravan compartments, Blaine crashing in the backseat of the van. The others fell asleep rather quickly, but he still laid awake as usual, his eyes tracing non-existent patterns on the car roof.

Images of Kurt still burned heavy in the back of his mind, like always. He was never far from the front of his mind, and Santana had made him think of their song once more. He couldn't help but hum it under his breath into the silence of the night.

Love can never be exactly what we want it to be…

"Oh my god," Santana hissed. "You are sickening."

Blaine jolted up in fright, his eyes wide. Santana fought an amused smile, settling for rolling her dark eyes.

"Seriously," she said, trying to keep up her haughty tone, "you're so in love, it's kind of sad…"

Blaine knew better than to take offence. He knew it was true anyway.

He laid back against the soft seats, a small smile playing on his lips. "I won't deny the truth," he said softly. "When love is not madness, it is not love…"

Santana narrowed her eyes at him. "So you can quote Pedro Calderon de la Barca at me, but you can't write songs."

Blaine shrugged and sighed. "Don't be jealous of me Santana… I haven't won him yet."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said nastily, rolling back over, effectively ending their conversation.

"Sure you don't."

The next morning they stopped into a cute little diner down the road for breakfast. They had no gigs booked today but had to get around, visiting a dry cleaners and stocking up on supplies before they finally left California.

Over their pancakes they discussed their plans and halfway through breakfast Blaine got a text.

Can I interest you in playing again tonight? – M

Blaine felt a twinge of guilt furrow within him for one of the kindest ladies he had ever worked with as he tapped out his reply in the negative.

Shame. You were actually pretty good – M

Blaine chuckled as he put away his phone.

He just hoped he'd be good enough for Kurt.

"We made it to day three motherfuckers," Puck crowed, yelping as Sam splashed water over him.

"Shut it," he returned, "I'm trying to get some shut eye before our gig tonight…"

Blaine felt a spark of excitement run thrilling through him. Tonight they were playing at a fairly popular restaurant as they passed through this next town. While Santana drove on, Blaine was hard at work trying to scrape together a set list that they all knew.

"What about Addicted to Love?" Blaine asked, tightening his brow in concentration as he racked his brain.

Puck and Sam exchange thoughtful looks.

"It could work," Sam said.

See the signs but you can't read

You're running on a different speed

Your heart speeds double time

Another kiss and you'll be mine

Blaine and Santana duet that one. He's glad. He missed her smoky alto, so well contrasting with his smooth tenor. They sounded amazing.

"And in case you were wondering," Santana said slyly over the microphone when they finish to loud applause, "that was dedicated to Blainers who is pretty much head over heels for this boy he just met…"

Blaine's face burned red as the crowd awww'd.

"So any proceeds from tonight's show go to our road trip," she proceeded, ignoring Blaine's warning glance. "We're going to find his man!"

On the fourth night Puck had a gig at a bar which usually equated to them getting drunk on free beer and Puck making up his performances on the spot. He's charming though and has enough stage presence and charisma to have the audience on its knees no matter what he sings, so it all turns out quite well.

Again, they didn't bother with the camp, simply happy enough to fall asleep in the backseat, entangled in each other's warmth.

"And for the record," Sam mumbled, half-asleep into Puck's shoulder, "I never loved you."

Blaine gave him a strange look and slipped into slumber quicker than ever, marvelling about the effects alcohol had on his already eccentric friends.

Still feeling the buzz of alcohol sparking beneath his skin, Blaine tossed restlessly under his sheets. He had just awoken from the most crazily vivid dream.

He had dreamt of Kurt before of course. Kurt holding his hand under the bright night sky, Kurt cuddling with him under thick blankets, Kurt kissing his cheek under a cluster of festive mistletoe…

But never this.

Unable to resist the temptation, Blaine crept his fingers across the spanse of skin just above his waistline, memories of the dream flooding against his forefront of his mind.

"Say my name," Kurt hisses, his breath against his already too hot skin. "Say it."

Blaine let out a string of unintelligible words, unable to speak under the firm hold Kurt had on his cock, jerking away all of his coherent thoughts.

"Say my name, Blaine," Kurt repeated, tugging harshly on his hair. "Say my name or I won't let you come…"

Blaine let out a loud gasp. "Kurt!" he cried, falling apart under him.

Kurt smirked in satisfaction as he jerked him through it, licking his come off his hands with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Blaine let out a quiet moan as he rolled over, reaching for a tissue and a water bottle before anything stained.

"Hot," he heard Sam mutter. Blaine widened his eyes, hoping desperately he was sleep talking again.

It was Sam's turn to drive and Puck and Santana were fighting over the radio.

"Amy Whinehouse, bitch!" Santana insisted, her hands flapping at the radio as Puck tried to push her away.

"Oh my god, fuck off Scary Spice, Billy Joel for the win!"

Sam rolled his eyes, trying hard to ignore them as he kept his hands tight on the steering wheel.

Blaine laid spread out on the backseat, his guitar in his lap as he absently plucked at the strings.

"Hey guys," he called out over their noise, "can I run something by you..?"

The next morning he had a gig down at a cute coffee shop an adorable little village. The sun streamed through the cracks in the lace white curtains and the walls were a chirpy yellow.

"Good morning," he greeted the customers, his voice a little less nervous than usual. He had been with people a lot more this past week and it was slowly getting easier. "I-er… I hope you like this. I tested it out on my friends and they kinda liked it so…"

His fingers played over the guitar strings in the way he had been practicing. He had hoped he had gotten the song down pat. He had been practicing it the whole car ride yesterday until Sam lost his temper and pulled over, telling them all to shut the fuck up and that when he got back from his cigarette he was going to make Puck drive and he was going to listen to Toby Keith the whole car ride home.

It's not a silly little moment

It's not the storm before the calm

This is the deep and dying breath of

This love that we've been working on

His gold eyes flicked out to the audience and he could see smiles on their faces and even a few people swaying lightly to the music. He felt encouraged by the positive reaction and felt himself get into it, closing his eyes as he belted out the notes, trying to find that feeling deep within where he would just lose himself and become the song.

We're going down

And you can see it too

We're going down

And you know that we're doomed

My dear, we're slow dancing in a burning room

As he got ready to croon out the next verse, he stopped still as a flash of blue eyes sparkled in his peripheral vision. His breath caught as his eyes followed the figure, the silky brown hair unmistakeable.

"Kurt," Blaine breathed under his breath, suddenly leaping off his stool and off the stage, running as hard as his feet could take him in the direction of the retreating figure.

"Kurt! Kurt! Wait!"

The pavement was hard beneath his feet as he sprinted across the parking lot, frantically trying to reach him as he opened the door of his SUV.

Finally, he turned and Blaine's heart stopped.

It wasn't Kurt at all.

"Oh," Blaine breathed, his heart sinking in his chest.

The boy looked remarkably like Kurt indeed, his skin pale and hair the same light brown, coiffed neatly under a red capped. He smiled brightly, his blue eyes glittering.

But he clearly wasn't Kurt.

"Sorry," not-Kurt said in a thick Irish accent. "I-er… I get that all the time."

Blaine frowned at the unusual comment. "People mistake you for other people often?"

The boy nodded. "Well… at least during high school people got my and my friend Kurt Hummel mixed up all the time-"

Blaine started.

"Kurt-Kurt Hummel?" he repeated quickly. "And you said he looks like you… pale, blue eyes, pretty as fuck?"

The boy gave an amused smile. "That sounds a bit like him," he said. He stuck out his hand. "I'm Rory."

"Blaine," Blaine said breathlessly, shaking Rory's hand.

"How do you know Kurt?" Rory asked interestedly. Blaine blushed.

"Ah… we met back in California about a week ago."

Rory nodded knowingly. "That's right. Finn said he was visiting Mercedes."

Blaine nodded. "She's my boss- wait. Finn?" Alarm bells rang in his ears. Who was Finn? Was he his boyfriend-

"Finn's his step brother."


"Right," Blaine nodded, biting down the excited smile that threatened on his lips.

"Were you looking for him?"

"Yes," Blaine answered gratefully. "He's in… he's in New York right…?"

Rory gave him a sympathetic smile. "I guess you haven't heard then…"

"Heard what?" Blaine frowned, his heart stammering worriedly.

"His dad had another heart attack… he's gone back to Lima."

"Lima? Are you fucking serious, Blaine?"

Blaine sighed, wincing slightly under Puck's hard glare. He ran a hand through his curls frustratedly.

"I know, I know," he said, "I'm sorry."

"But we already went right past it," Santana whined. Blaine exhaled, getting ready to apologise again when Sam put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay," he said gently. "The important thing now is that we get to Kurt and Blaine can be there for him. We should all be praying for his dad – not fighting over gas money."

Santana and Puck exchanged guilty looks and mumbled their apologies. Blaine gave Sam a grateful look.

"Thank you," he said, quiet and sincerely.

Sam smiled. "You're welcome."

The drive back through town was tense and Blaine could sense his friend's irritation. although he was desperate to return to Lima to see Kurt, for not wanting to start an argument, he didn't disagree when they insisted they pull into the local pub. They pressured Blaine to take to the karaoke, hoping to scrape up a few tips to help pay the gas fares. They were running low on money already…

"It'll all be worth it," Blaine heard Sam quietly remind Puck, "when Blaine gets his inspiration and can write again." Puck nodded his agreement, but Blaine saw Santana scoff beside them. He frowned at the sight. She had been snippier than usual these past few days…

He poured through the karaoke machine, searching for an appropriate song choice when one in particular struck his eye. He had a rather fond memory of performing it back in high school, when he was a member of an accapella show choir called the Warblers. That's when he had met Sam, Puck and Santana – they were in an opposing show choir (New Directions, they were called).

When the music started up, he felt his body involuntarily start to sway as he felt the rhythm, the melody he had adored for so long. He grabbed a hold of the microphone when he had the bar's attention, grinning wickedly as he launched into the lyrics.

I need somebody groovy

Someone who's able to move me, yeah

They've gotta move me like they should

And when I find somebody, yeah, I'm gonna treat them good

He grooved through the song, dancing along to the beat, grinning as the audience joined in. He heard enthusiastic cheers from his friends and winked at them.

When the song finished, he hung up his microphone to a smatter of loud applause. He grinned and gave a short bow, ducking off stage to the bar where his friends sat, eagerly taking a sip of Puck's beer.

"I'd like another beer, thanks, man," Puck said to the bartender, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"What are we drinking to tonight, boys?" the bartender asked teasingly as Sam gulped down the last of his second beer.

Blaine smiled secretively to himself, not even listening to Puck's answer as he took a steady sip of his beer.

I know what I'm drinking to, he thought.

One more night…

After a few more hours they headed back to the caravan, not quite drunk but pleasantly tipsy. Puck and Sam fell into sleep quickly as usual, but Blaine sat outside, strumming his guitar lightly as he admired the glittering stars that shined over the Ohio sky. It had been a while since he'd been back. He hadn't really missed it much, but a surprising sense of nostalgia washed through him. Memories of nights like this flittered through his mind; sitting on the front porch with his guitar and notebook, dedicating his silly little songs to the stars, dreaming that one day he'd be one of them

"Mind if I join you?"

Blaine looked up in surprise, his eyes meeting Santana's as she closed the caravan door gently behind her. He nodded mutely, patting the seat across from him at the small table they had set up.

"I brought you tea," she offered, handing him a mug. Blaine smiled his thanks, taking it from her eagerly.

They drank in silence for a moment, content under the night's cool breeze. It was so quiet in Ohio; Blaine had almost forgotten how eerie the silence could be. But of course, after years of camping, his friends had learnt to appreciate the silence, the light quiver of a breeze rushing over leaves filling the emptiness.

"Do you have a plan?" Santana asked him after a moment, breaking the calm silence suddenly. "On what you're going to say to him when you find him?"

Blaine smiled wistfully into his tea, tapping his fingers against the rim to an invisible beat. "There you are," he said softly, "I've been looking for you forever."

Santana gave him a filthy, derisive look, twirling her dreadlocks in one hand absently. "Sure," she said sarcastically, "I'm sure that will turn out just fine."

"Oh my god, that's it!"

Santana's eyes widened in shock as she jolted quickly away from the suddenly overturned table. Blaine leant against the table legs, pushing up into her personal space with narrowed eyes.

"What is your problem?" he snapped. "Because seriously, just because I am fucking happy for once, doesn't mean you get to mope and be a whiny little bitch."

Santana quickly recovered from her shock, letting out a shrill laugh. "Happy? You think that's happy?" she shook her head, her face lined with disgust. "You disgust me," she said thickly. "You lay awake at night, always talking about how fucking pretty the stars are and when you're awake you're constantly bouncing around, always whistling that same stupid tune."

Blaine recoiled in hurt, but Santana wasn't done. She was on her feet now, her brown boots marching over the table and she was right in his face again.

"What we had was happiness," she snarled. "Freedom. We had nothing but us and music and we could just live. And now you're ruining that by making us venture on some stupid road trip that is just going to end in freaking heartbreak."

"Santana," Blaine said warningly, but she wasn't listening.

"He doesn't fucking love you, Blaine!" she shrieked. "He doesn't know you and clearly he didn't want to know you or he would have freaking done something. He might have said goodbye or something. This is stupid and I'm tired and I want to fucking go home!"

"Santana," said a voice behind them coldly. They both whirled around to see Puck and Sam walking out of the caravan, their expressions stony. Puck spoke again. "What the fuck is going on here?"

"I'll tell you what's going on," Santana said icily. "I'm done. I'm fucking leaving."

"No!" Sam started as she tried to storm past them. Puck grabbed onto her arm but she threw him off, shrieking out in frustration. Blaine couldn't move, still in his shock.

"San, no, please," Puck pleaded desperately as she whirled around angrily, hitting at him as he tried to grab a hold of her.

"Please, Santana," Blaine squeaked as he managed to find his voice at last. "You can't go…"

"I can do whatever the fuck I want," she intoned angrily. "You have no hold over me."

"Actually," Sam grimaced, "we do."

They all stopped still at his words.

He gave her an apologetic look. "Bluebird Records has us all on contract for the next album, remember?"

Santana's eyes widened with alarm at his words. She clearly hadn't considered that…

"So, I'm sorry," Sam continued, "but you're stuck with us until we can finish this album. And unless you're prepared to write another seven songs, we need to get Blaine's inspiration back."

Puck nodded fiercely, clapping Blaine on the back.

"So Lima it is," Sam concluded quietly. "Goodnight Santana. Blaine." He gave them a blunt nod in goodbye, slipping back into the caravan, Puck hot on his heels.

"Santana-" Blaine tried, but she ignored him, walking straight past him into the caravan. Blaine tried to follow, but she had locked the doors.

Hot tears tingled against his eyelids as he slumped against the door, suddenly cold in the light breeze. He pulled his poncho tighter around him, fighting back a sob in his chest, his breath spluttering a little with the effort.

I could be satisfied knowing you loved me…

The lyrics, along with Santana's cruel words didn't fade with the night as he tried to drift into sleep. What if she was right? What if Kurt didn't care about him at all?

Would this all have been for nothing?

The next morning they left early, the sun just peeping over the horizon as they packed up camp, heading into Lima.

They drove in silence, the light hum of the radio (John Mayer) the only thing filling the tense silence. Blaine's sat on his hands to keep himself from wringing them nervously. His stomach was fluttering with unsettled butterflies.

He was scared. So very scared.

What if he was imposing? What if he arrived and Kurt and his family sent him away? What if Kurt just ignored him? What if he didn't even remember him?

As they pulled into the Lima Hospital car park, Blaine felt about ready to throw up. Beside him, Sam gave his shoulder a sympathetic squeeze.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he offered kindly. Blaine shook his head.

"No," he said, his voice a little shaky, "I think I need to do this by myself…"

Sam nodded. "Okay," he agreed.

"We won't be far," Puck said reassuringly. "We're just going to go to the diner down the block."

"Thanks, guys," Blaine said gratefully. Puck nodded and Sam clapped him encouragingly on the back.

Santana said nothing.

"Well," Blaine exhaled. "Here goes nothing…"

He unclasped his seat belt, giving his friends a meek wave before slipping out of the van, pulling his jacket a little snugger over his skin.

Here goes…

Blaine instantly felt shabby as he stepped into the imperiously clean and perfect hospital. He wondered whether or not he should have taken more care with his dress, eyeing his saddle shoes and beige cardigan nervously. He blushed as the receptionist raised an eyebrow at his curly hair, untameable under his beanie.

"Hi," he said nervously to the lady who's nametag read Michelle. "I was wondering where I might find the Hummel family…"

The nurse gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry but unless you're family, I can't disclose-"


Blaine felt his jaw drop as he turned to face that unmistakeable voice. He blinked back his shock at the sight of Kurt Hummel, impeccably tasteful clothes slightly rumpled, brilliant eyes lined with red as he sat up in his chair, looking utterly wrecked. Blaine's heart turned uneasily in his chest and he was seized with the urge to just run up and take him in his arms.

"Kurt," Blaine exhaled, "are you-I'm so-"

He didn't know what to say, but Kurt crossed the room anyway, sweeping him in for an unexpected hug. Blaine pulled his arms around the boy tightly as he began to sob, falling apart against his chest.

"I'm sorry," he sniffled between heart-breaking sobs, "It's just… Finn's not here and Carole's- and there's no one… I'm all alone."

"You're not alone," Blaine whispered gently. "I'm here as long as you need me."

As long as you'll let me stay…

The hospital cafeteria coffee tasted weak and bitter on his tongue, but he didn't care, far too lost in being with Kurt again to care about the sun or the moon or something so inconsequential as caffeine, despite how much he needed it after so many sleepless nights.

And to fill the tense silence that fell between them, Blaine couldn't help but speak the question that had been haunting him this whole time.

"How come you didn't come back?"

Kurt's answer was prompt. "I was only visiting – I had to get back to school."

Blaine frowned in frustration. "But you could have… said something." He sighed. "I don't know… couldn't you have given Mercedes a note or-" he closed his eyes, willing himself to see through the end of his confession. "I wondered if you didn't care at all and I was just a quick fuck to you. Because you were more than that to me… and that's why I'm here."

Blaine blinked his eyes open at the soft press of a gentle hand against his. Kurt's eyes were sad as he squeezed his hand tight, looking as if he was close to breaking down again.

"I wanted to," he uttered brokenly. "That night I went home and I squealed to Mercedes all night like I was some kind of teenager." Blaine felt his heart flutter happily at the admission. He hadn't made this all up in his head. "But then she told me about you…" Kurt's eyes darkened. "You're- you're a travelling musician and I'm a theatre student with a permanent residence in New York and I have to be able to support my family and myself and I fell too fast and-"

Blaine cupped his face gently to pause his babbling. Kurt paused, lip trembling as he blushed embarrassedly.

"I'm sorry," Kurt whispered. "I wanted to… but Mercedes helped me see that… this was probably for the best."'

Cockblocker, the teenage part of Blaine's mind hissed angrily.

"Kurt…" Blaine said, tears tingling in his own eyes, "I've been searching for you for a whole week, to find what I've waited a lifetime for."

Under his hand Kurt's fingers began to shake and Blaine could practically see the clocks ticking in his mind. His eyes darkened as he gave a quick glance around the cafeteria, lowering his voice.

"I need you."

Blaine swallowed and attempted a soft tone. "I'm here as long as you need me. I told you-"

"No," Kurt said darkly, "I need you."

Blaine bit his lip, fighting a shudder. He gave a small nod, exhaling deeply as sparks of electricity buzzed through their intertwined fingertips.

"There's a little motel down the road from here."

Blaine was tense as he checked them in, his heart stammering wildly as he followed Kurt up the stairs. His breath caught as Kurt pulled him through the front door of their room by the collar of his shirt, smashing their lips together and pressing Blaine up against the door.

Blaine responded quickly, enthusiastically kissing him back. Fuck, he had missed this; the press of another warm body, moving against his, rolling his hips down and kissing him hotly, breathing erratically as he pulled back for air, taking him by the hand and pulling him to the bed.

The last time had been with Jeremiah, and it had felt nothing like this.

There was just something about Kurt. Something about the feel of his hands against Blaine's skin, pulling his shirt off swiftly, mapping out his body with a soft, yet urgent touch, sending sparks of electricity through his body. Something about the press of his tongue, licking across his collarbone; the touch of his lips, peppering kisses up his neck…

"K-kurt," Blaine stuttered out as Kurt's hands ventured lower, tracing a path across the skin just above the waistband of his pants. Kurt shot him a quick bright eyed smirk, following the path with his tongue, making Blaine involuntarily buck his hips up as he nipped at his hip bone, his teeth scraping across the skin just lightly.

Kurt's fingers played with the top buttons of his jeans and Blaine's breath hitched. Kurt shot him a concerned look.

"Is this alright?" he asked. Blaine swallowed and managed a short nod as Kurt exhaled in relief, unpopping his buttons swiftly. Blaine bit his lip to keep from moaning as Kurt pulled him from his pants, his fingers wrapping around his cock almost reverently.

"You're beautiful like this," Kurt said, his voice alarmingly husky as they locked eyes. As Kurt tightened his grip, Blaine couldn't help but moan, clenching his eyes shut and throwing his head back against the pillow as Kurt began to stroke him.

"So beautiful," Kurt whispered as Blaine writhed beneath him, his breath coming out in short, high keens. Everything was so bright, so electric. It was like music, it was like what the weed had once been for him, it was everything he had lost, and so much more. It was electrifying, being close, being so very intimate with somebody, exposing yourself, letting them feel you, letting them make you feel, feel in ways you never even imagined.

Blaine had an addictive personality. He had been a drug addict, and then a music addict. He was quickly becoming addicted to Kurt. After just one meeting he had been enamoured, the taste of him quickly tapped into his cells, the imprint of his brilliant eyes staining the forefront of his mind. He knew there was no hope for him now. He would surrender to him forever; let Kurt keep him captive as long as he wanted him.

"Let me touch you," Blaine finally gasped, feeling too close to coming at Kurt's talented touch. Kurt helped him pull off his shirt, tossing it on the floor beside Blaine's, gasping at the feel of Blaine's too hot hands over him, lining his body with an intimate touch, tracing over muscles, kneading lightly over his skin.

"Fuck," Blaine rasped, "you're gorgeous. Fucking gorgeous. I've never seen anyone like you before…"

"Blaine," Kurt whimpered as Blaine made quick work of his pants, throwing them aside with their other clothes.

"So beautiful," Blaine whispered reverently, his hands grabbing tightly onto his hipbones, running his nose down his abdominals, kissing the crease between his thigh and hip, before licking his way up his cock.

Kurt wailed as Blaine took him in his mouth, sucking him in tightly, lapping over his cock with hot, even strokes, encouraged by the desperate noises Kurt was making above him, clutching frantically at the sheets.

"P-please, Blaine," Kurt whimpered. Blaine came off with a loud smack and Kurt visibly trembled.

Blaine crawled up the bed beside him, reaching out for his hand.

"What do you need, baby?" he asked softly. Kurt intertwined their fingers, squeezing gently.

"You," he said finally. "I need you in me."

Blaine's heart did a funny swoop in his chest, but he kept his expression calm, biting his lip to prevent the moan that threatened to escape.

Kurt wanted him in him.


"Okay," Blaine said slowly, "I can do that."

Kurt exhaled in relief, giving him a soft smile and squeezing his hand once more.

"Thank you," he said sincerely. Blaine smiled back, planting a quick kiss on the back of his hand.

"Do you have …?" Kurt asked. Blaine nodded, crawling off the bed to fetch the little bottle from his bag.

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"The guys told me to prepare for anything," Blaine blushed. Kurt bit back a giggle, motioning for him to join him again.

Blaine held out the bottle. "Do you want me…?" Kurt nodded.

He squeezed a bit of the cool liquid across his fingers, warming them against his hands before he moved towards Kurt again.

"Kiss me," Blaine said lowly. Kurt leaned forward, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss as Blaine ran a finger down the crack of his ass, pressing lightly against his perineum, making Kurt gasp into his mouth in shock. Blaine swallowed the sound, kissing him deeper, trying to distract him as he pushed in.

"Blaine," Kurt whimpered, clutching at his back desperately as Blaine pushed in further, stretching him open.

"You're so beautiful, Kurt," Blaine whispered reassuringly. "So perfect, so beautiful… stunning."

"More," Kurt insisted. Blaine nodded, drawing his first finger out and pulling another alongside it, burying it deep in Kurt.

Kurt quickly began to shift around his fingers, rolling his hips and clawing at his back hard enough to leave scratches. Blaine ducked his head in the crook of his neck, pressing hot open mouthed kisses at the skin.

"More," Kurt moaned hoarsely. Blaine added a third finger and Kurt keened, fucking himself hard against his fingers.

"God, Kurt," Blaine gasped, pulling him tighter against him as Kurt rocked his hips forcefully.

"Stop," Kurt cried. Blaine paused his movements, pulling back with a concerned expression. "I'm ready," Kurt said, eyes heavy and dark as they met Blaine's, spending a sharp thrill down his spine.

Blaine shivered, easing his fingers out of Kurt, kissing the whine straight off Kurt's lips as he pulled away, his hands finding the lube again and quickly spreading more across his cock.

"Are you sure?" Blaine checked. Kurt narrowed his eyes at him.

"Fuck me, Blaine."

Blaine swallowed, surging forward and kissing him passionately once more before lining his cock up with his hole, pushing in lightly at first, gripping at Kurt's waist.

"Blaine," Kurt exhaled in a breathy whimper. "Lie down."

Blaine's eyes widened at the command, but he complied, sinking gently back against the mattress, letting out a desperate cry as Kurt followed, Blaine's cock buried in him completely as he pushed down.

Their cries echoed loudly across the walls, sending vibrations through them as they moved together desperately, hips rolling, hands everywhere, lips sending shockwaves across skin.

Blaine clutched on hard to Kurt's hips as he rode him into the mattress, moving his hips at an agonizing pace, Blaine struggling to keep up.

"-m close," Blaine gasped out from under him. Kurt met his eyes with a dark stare, grabbing his hand tightly in his, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. Blaine gasped at the new angle, burying himself deeper in Kurt than he thought was possible.

Kurt moaned against his skin. "Come with me, Blaine," he gasped. Blaine nodded, coming hard with a wail, Kurt's name falling off his lips as he slumped down next to him, crashing out of his orgasm.

"Oh my god," Kurt whimpered. Blaine petted his shoulder soothingly, planting a sweet kiss atop his hair.

"You're perfect, Kurt," Blaine whispered reverently. "I've been looking for you forever."

Kurt trembled beneath him and Blaine looked down worriedly, his chest sinking when he saw tears cascading down his flushed cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Kurt," Blaine blurted out, feeling mortified. "I pushed too hard didn't I- too much- I'm sorry I-"

"No, Blaine." Kurt shook his head. "I just… it's me. I…I can't be with you."

Blaine's stomach twisted painfully. This is what he had been so scared of…

"W-why?" he whispered, hating himself for sounding like a lost little boy, but feeling unnervingly like one as he stared down at Kurt with sad eyes.

Kurt bit his lip. "It's too much. My dad… we live no where near each other…" he clenched his eyes shut. "Do you know why I left so abruptly, didn't say goodbye?"

"No," Blaine admitted softly, his heart hammering as he realised Kurt was on the edge of a confession.

"Because when I got home… Mercedes and I talked… I told her what happened; asked her to tell me more about you."

"So you were interested," Blaine blurted out before he could help himself. Kurt gave him a wry smile.

"Mercedes told me I was too interested," Kurt drawled and Blaine felt his heart lift. "She told me about your little band, how you never stayed in one place for too long – I know the story. Musicians are flighty. I could never be enough to keep you around. I was probably just a quick fuck to you…"

"Mercedes said that to you?" Blaine growled, outrage building hotly.

Kurt cocked his head to the side. "Not in those exact words, no… but the intent was clear."

Blaine tightened his jaw. "Well, I'm here now."

Kurt sighed. "Now," he emphasised. "But then I have to go back to New York… and you have to leave for whatever and I really don't have time for a relationship right now."

"Kurt," Blaine pleaded, grabbing for his hand again, "please don't cut me out of your life. I-" his voice broke, "I need somebody."

Kurt's expression softened.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Blaine breathed. "But all I know is that I want you, Kurt, and I need you in my life."

"You don't know me," Kurt whispered. "How can you know for sure."

"Because," Blaine exhaled, caressing his cheek gently, "when I do this I feel like my heart is going to explode. And when I do this," he pressed a small kiss to the side of his mouth, "I can feel it all the way down to my toes. And when I do this," he slotted their fingers together, smiling at the shape of their intertwined hands, "I feel like I was made for you."


"I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend," Blaine sighed. "Not yet…" he added quietly. "But I am asking for a chance. I want to get to know you, Kurt. And I will wait as long as you need for whatever you want. Just don't shut me out."

Kurt's expression crumbled as he reached out to him, snatching him in his arms quickly and pressing their lips together desperately.

No more words were spoken that night.

As the sun broke over early morning, Blaine shuffled out of the motel room, buttoning up his shirt regretfully.

"Write me, okay?" Kurt said softly. Blaine nodded, pressing a gentle kiss against his cheek, bestowing him one last small wave before Kurt shut the door behind him.

He had managed to sneak a text to Puck the night before, informing him not to wait up. Puck had texted back gleefully and he knew what his friends were expecting. Not having the heart to disappoint them yet, he decided to walk around the streets a little, stopping in at a small coffee shop.

As he drank steadily from his Medium Drip, something sparked in his mind and he choked on his coffee, frantically scrambling through his pockets for a pen.

"Excuse me," he said urgently to a passing waiter. "Can I borrow a pen?"

Giving him an amused smile, the girl passed him a black biro. Quickly nodding his thanks, Blaine grabbed up his napkin, his handwriting short and cramped as he scrawled across the fabric.

The walls are a dusty red

Cobwebs are scattered across the floor

I can hear my lover's breath

Erratic through the door

The panted breaths and shared intakes

Are lost by the hour of four

I can still hear his voice inside my mind

Begging me for more

It wasn't good by any standards, Blaine knew. But his whole body was alight with excitement. It was the first thing he had written in six months.

Sam, Puck and Santana were waiting for him expectantly when he finally returned.

"You got laid, didn't you!" Puck crowed excitedly, jumping up to meet him enthusiastically.

"Blainers!" Sam cheered, "my man!"

Blaine bit his lip, knowing he was going to let him down.

Santana eyed him with a knowing smile. "Guys, can you give us a minute?"

Puck and Sam exchanged confused looks but Blaine nodded, keeping his eyes trained on Santana as they left.

Two green teas and three pieces of biscotti later and Santana was clutching his hand with sympathy.

"It's better than I could have hoped for," Blaine concluded quietly.

"But it's not the same," Santana finished. Blaine nodded and Santana smiled.

She knew.

Hey Blaine,

I don't know… is 'hey' the appropriate greeting. Dear sounds a bit formal… or maybe too intimate, I don't know. I'm a little out of practice writing letters I guess.

My dad got out of hospital last week. I didn't want to leave him, but I have to get back to New York. We have end of term exams coming up in a few weeks and I'm afraid I'm going to fall behind.

I leave tonight.

I don't really know what else to say. I could say 'I miss you' but I've barely had a chance to breathe, let alone think… and yet, a part of me truly does. It's weird to miss someone you hardly know. It's even weirder to think that truthfully I don't know you at all…

Therefore, to replace the absence of meaningful words that I suppose a letter properly intones, I propose we play a game of 'twenty questions' and then I can get to know you better.

So my first question is; when did you know you wanted to be a musician?

And I suppose I should sign off here, but I'm rather unsure of how…

I shall stick to a pleasant yours sincerely, despite how awfully cliché it sounds in my head…


PS. Although now I'm worried the tone of the address and closure don't really match… but you're a writer, I'm sure you'll be happy to correct me.

He was stupid to think that he might be able to write a song straight away. He had the spark in his mind, but the melody wasn't quite there.

He wrote little scatters of words across scraps of paper, just little absent limericks, an expression of his new found thoughts and feelings.

But there wasn't anything really to it. Not a song, never more than a verse.

He couldn't find his chorus.


I've discovered some old letters from my friends in high school and they sometimes start like this. But I suppose we were frantic in our penmanship, scrawling our words without thought, trying not to get caught by our teachers.

In answer to your question I found out about NYADA through our school's guidance counsellor. Rachel (my roommate and brother's somewhat crazy ex girlfriend) and I actually had our hearts set on Julliard, but NYADA seemed better befitting the Broadway path we wanted to follow.

Christmas is coming up soon. I'm coming down to pay Mercedes a quick visit on the 27th, just after. I was wondering if there was any chance I might see you there…

His guitar had come to a constant rest on his tattered jeans. He liked to sit under the trees, breathing in their sweet scent, inhaling the beauty of home. They were back.

Lyrics were on the edge of his tongue as he hummed to himself. They were pretty, but not his own. It wasn't the same.

Don't you worry about the distance

I'm right here

If you get lonely give this song another listen

Close your eyes

Listen to my voice

It's my disguise

Dear Blaine, (should there be a comma in between Dear and Blaine…? I don't think so…)

Okay, promise not to laugh at me, but the other day I was Christmas shopping and this carol came on and I could help but think of you.

When I see you in Cali you have to promise to sing it with me.

It's kind of corny but I think we could make it work…

They didn't really have much money for Christmas presents. They never really did. Blaine usually liked to surprise them with a new song, but it hurt his heart to have nothing to give this year. They had decided to go without presents this year, but Blaine knew they had all been secretly hoping for the gift that only he could give…

As they drove back to California, they toggled between driving shifts as usual. As they neared the border, Sam and Puck were sleeping in the back seat and Blaine was driving, Santana gently swaying in time to the Amy Whinehouse tune pouring softly through the speakers.

"Blaine," Santana said, her voice just above the melody, "can I tell you something?"

"Of course, Santana," Blaine said kindly, keeping his eyes on the road. "What's up?"

"I meant what I said, all those weeks ago," she said. "I'm sorry, it was the wrong time to say it then, but I've thought it over and I know this is what I want…"

"Santana," Blaine frowned, "what are you talking about?"

"As soon as we're done with the album," she exhaled, "I'm leaving the band."

Blaine's heart was doing funny things in his chest as he pulled up to the Lima Bean at ten o'clock sharp. He greeted Mercedes with a warm hug. He was still annoyed at her for all the things she told Kurt, but things had worked out pretty okay in the end. Besides, he needed all the friends he could get.

"Kurt's running a little late," Mercedes warned him. Blaine's stomach dropped in disappointment. "Do you think you could play us a little something until he arrives?"

Blaine nodded, giving her a small smile.

He'll be here soon…

Not expecting to have to perform, he didn't have his guitar with him. But there was a keyboard on the little stage and Blaine knew the piece he had in mind off by heart. He never usually played it on piano, but he was sure he'd be able to make do…

He made a small introduction to the crowd, smiling at the few regulars he recognised before getting straight into it, his fingers tapping familiar paces across the keys.

I could be satisfied knowing you loved me

But there's one thing I want you to do

Especially for me

And it's something everybody needs

He faintly heard the light tinkle of the ringing bell above the front door and he glanced up momentarily, doing a double take at the man entering.

It was Kurt.

Blaine's heart soared. Kurt was here. Kurt could hear him sing.

At last…

Each night before you go to bed, my baby

Whisper a little prayer for me, my baby

And tell all the stars above

This is dedicated to the one I love

Kurt's face was pleasantly surprised as Blaine locked eyes with him, not breaking his gaze for the rest of the song.

When the tune trailed off under a splatter of appraising applause, Blaine rose and gave a quick bow before ducking off stage to meet him.

"You came," Blaine breathed, happiness warming in his chest.

"You doubted me?" Kurt teased coyly.

"A little bit," Blaine admitted softly. "You didn't come last time…"

Kurt's expression fell a little and he caught Blaine's hand in his own, squeezing lightly.

"I'm here now," he assured him. "And thank you."

Blaine frowned in confusion. "What for?"

"My song."

They spent hours talking. Blaine's throat hadn't felt so scratchy since their last tour when they were playing a three hour show every night.

But somehow, he felt like this was better.

"So what will happen when Santana leaves?" Kurt asked softly, his brow creased gently in concern. Blaine ran his fingertips across his skin, smiling as he relaxed under his touch.

"I don't know," Blaine admitted. "But it's had me thinking… maybe it's time for me to move on too."

Kurt raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"I mean," he faltered, "I love them. I love my friends and I love the music we play… but it's been a long time. And I-I don't think this is it for me. I think there are other things out there that I want to try and-"

It was Blaine's turn to be surprised, his words catching in his throat as Kurt leant across the table to plant a sweet kiss against his lips. Blaine fluttered his eyes open, slightly dazed as Kurt sat back in his seat, blushing.

"You're adorable," Kurt said by way of explanation. Blaine laughed a little, ducking his head shyly.

"I don't want to be too forward," he ventured quietly, "but… I think I want to move to New York."

Kurt almost choked on his coffee.

"What?" he asked softy, sure he had misheard.

"I-I'm sorry," Blaine stuttered nervously, sure he had overstepped. "I was just saying – I mean, I had considered New York for college – and I'm sure there's a place somewhere for an old washed up musician like me."

"Blaine," Kurt breathed, shaking his head incredulously. "You are so much more than you know."

Blaine looked up with hopeful eyes, his nerves buzzing under his skin.

"But…" Kurt ventured, biting his lip with wide eyed bashfulness, "if you were to ever visit, Rachel would want to know if you were my boyfriend."

"And…" Blaine swallowed the sudden lump in his throat, "what would you say?"

"I'd tell her…" Kurt smiled. "I'd tell her you were the one I loved."