It's a breezy summer afternoon that finds one Blaine Anderson making his way towards a building he'd never thought he'd be in: a dance studio. His cane taps rhythmically on the sidewalk, pausing every so often so he can feel the numbers on the walls. He climbs the dusty staircase of the correct building slowly and carefully, one hand on the metal railing while the other tucked the white cane under arm. His fingers fumble with the doorknob at the top of the stairs and the door swings open with a loud creak.

He crosses what he supposes is the dance floor, hearing the wood beneath his feet whine every time he places a little too much weight on a foot. There are warm patches he crosses over, probably from the sunlight that must be filtering through some windows. He follows the instructions he received meticulously and eventually makes it to the small upright in the corner of the room. After setting down his bag and folding the cane, he eases himself onto the bench, every movement made with slow precaution and care. He lifts the lid of the piano, smiling at the smell accompanied with old wood and dust, and tries to imagine where he is. His fingers find themselves on the keys, testing them until they're sure of their position. And he plays.

His mind supplies him with an appropriate backdrop. He imagines a small rectangular room with white walls, aside from the wall he is closest too, which he knows is paneled over with mirrors (he allowed his fingers to brush it tentatively while he was walking). The floor is all wooden and there are no pillars or columns rising to interrupt the smooth surface; it's a clear open area. He pictures dance posters and competition pictures on the wall opposite the mirror, but he doesn't dwell on that aspect, knowing it doesn't matter.

The only problem with his imagination is the blandness of the scene, but five years of total darkness almost made him forget the colors. He tries to remind himself to go over them, but with every passing day they seem to lose vibrancy.

There's the sound of feet beneath the floor, rising quickly; the dancers, he figures. He hears the door swing open with the same loud creak, smells their perfume as they enter the room. He can almost feel the vibrations of their voices and the noise they carry with them. He hears the teacher enter the room, her voice louder, her steps heavier, the cane she carries pounding the floor every so often. She uses it to keep her dancers in time, unlike him. He tunes her out as she introduces him and the complications surrounding their situation, feeling every eye on him. He then offers a short nod when she announces that they are to begin, and plays the piece he knows by memory, listening to the sound of the dancing he can never see.


Kurt Hummel keeps an eye on the pianist in the corner as he plays a melody he can't hear, following the memorized steps as the vibrations course through the floor and his body. It's thankfully a shorter, easier practice, and when the instructor announces that they are dismissed he makes his way over to Brittany, the only girl in the class that he can speak to.

Who is he? He points to the sunglass-wearing pianist after he signs. Brittany follows his finger and then packs her shoes away before signing back.

The new pianist Madame hired. He's blind.

Does he have a name? He asks impatiently.

She gives him a sly smile as she finger spells. B-L-A-I-N-E.

Kurt strings the letters together. Blaine. He can feel his tongue curling to form the sounds he's almost forgotten. He stops himself before any sound is actually made, afraid of his own voice. Still, he feels the weight of the name in his mouth, can imagine how it would sound to his ears. Blaine.

He thanks Brittany and finishes packing his bag, ready to leave when Brittany tugs his hand. Want to say hi? She asks with an innocent smile.

That obvious? He asks after he nods slowly.

She shakes her head, her smile growing. Only to me.


Blaine hears two pairs of feet approaching him as he closes the lid to the piano. He tucks the payment he's received into his pocket before turning to where the sound is coming from.

"Hello?" he asks. There's a soft girlish giggle from the person on his left, and silence on his right.

"I'm Brittany," the girl belonging to the giggle introduces. "This is my friend, Kurt."

Blaine adjusts his glasses slightly and sticks out a hand in their general direction, smiling easily. Brittany sounds likable enough, even if he doesn't play for her team. Her silent friend is the one he is unconsciously wary of. "It's nice to meet you." He feels two different hands shake his, both soft and smooth in his rough one, but one is distinctively bigger and more manlike, while the other is small with a soft bite of nails.

"I'm sorry," he hears Brittany say; "You'll have to excuse the silence on Kurt's part. He's deaf." Blaine's eyebrows rise in surprise, but he doesn't comment as she continues. "Anyways, I'm only here as a translator. Kurt wants to tell you," there's a silence as Kurt signs something to Brittany, "that it's nice to meet you, and that you play beautifully."

"And how would he know?" Blaine's tone isn't accusing or demanding, just curious and slightly teasing. There's another pause as a silent exchange goes on between Brittany and Kurt.

"He says that he's learned to feel beauty. Through the vibrations," Brittany answers.

Blaine smiles at them charmingly. "Thank you," he says out loud as he clumsily signs it. It's one of the five things he had learned in American Sign Language before the accident, aside from the alphabet. He hears a sharp intake of breath on his right, and a soft, "Awwww," from his left. He tries to picture them in his mind. Is she blonde, brunette? What about him? Is he annoyed at his poor attempt at communicating with him, or is there a fond smile on his face? What do their smiles look like?

"We'd better go," Brittany says. "Bye Blaine! See you later!"

"Bye Brittany, Kurt." He unfolds his cane and shoulders his bag, replaying the conversation in his head as he walks home.


A tentative, delicate relationship is established after that first day. Brittany and Kurt meet with Blaine after every dance class, passing a few words and signals between the three. Both Blaine and Kurt learn to trust Brittany as a translator between the words that can't be heard and the signs that cannot be seen. It's complicated, but it's built on trust, and they learn to make it work for themselves.

Eventually, Brittany and Kurt invite Blaine to eat with them after a class, and he agrees, placing his rough hands in theirs as they lead him through the streets. It takes a while for Blaine to adjust to the volume of the restaurant and the conversation is as stilted as ever between the three of them, but Brittany is patient and happy to act as a mediator between Kurt and Blaine. There's a semblance of normalcy that Blaine grows fond of, and these dinners become a staple for the three of them.

It's at one of these dinners that Blaine questions their appearance. He feels slightly awkward asking, but Brittany assures him that she and Kurt think nothing of it. She starts with her own appearance, signing everything she says so that Kurt doesn't feel left out. Blaine's pleased to know that his expectations weren't too far off base; she's blonde, not a red head, but that's his only mistake. He notices, as she begins to describe Kurt, the care she takes, the words she use.

"He has coffee colored hair; it's something he takes great pride in. It's always perfectly styled and shiny, yet still slightly soft to the touch." There's a pause and then the sound of a slap and Blaine's mind supplies him with the image that she's attempted to touch Kurt's hair, only to be rejected.

"Anyways," Brittany continues after giggling a little, "he has pale skin, but not like, sickly pale or anything. It's really pretty." Blaine wonders if Brittany is telling him this to feed the quiet fascination he's developed for Kurt. Can it possibly be that obvious already? And is she truly signing everything word for word to Kurt?

"But it's his eyes," Brittany's voice falls to a hushed whisper, as if she's telling him a great secret, "his eyes are made of these combinations of blues, greys, and greens, sometimes a little hazel; all swirling together and blending and changing." Her voice trails off as she happily notes a dazed expression on Blaine's face.

And dazed he is, placing all these different components he's heard into a single picture. The tall, lithe body, the pale skin, the coffee colored hair. But it's the eyes that he dwells on; and for the first time in a long time, he wishes he could see them. See if what Brittany said is true. He struggles to bring life back into the colors he's nearly forgotten. Are they really that beautiful?

It's the question he asks next that has him truly nervous. Most people find it weird or off-putting, but Blaine decides it's imperative if he truly wants to know Kurt looks like.

"Can I… feel your face?" he asks. "You don't have to," he rushes to explain, "It's just so I can… see you, in a way." Brittany signs something to Kurt, then nods, almost forgetting that Blaine can't see.

"Sure," she says, leaning forward towards Blaine's outstretched hands.

Kurt watches as Blaine's fingers lightly touch Brittany's face. He's a bit more anxious about the act himself; it's not like people came up asking to touch your face every day. Still, he can't help but be entranced by watching Blaine's gentle touch, the way his fingers almost trembled with the care he was using. His fingers traced the contours of Brittany's cheeks, the slope of her nose, over her brow and closed eyes, finally feeling the upward curve of her closed lip smile. She giggles a little, and Blaine's own lips quirk in a smile as he feels it as well as hears it. There's a quiet beauty to it, Kurt realizes, as well as an incredible intimacy to it. He feels as though he should turn away, but he can't.

Blaine's hands move away, and Kurt reads his lips as he thanks Brittany. She says something back that Kurt can't see, but she turns to him next, signing rapidly.

Do you mind if-

Kurt quickly shakes his head. It's fine. Inside, he's now somewhat eager for it. He's felt Blaine's calloused hands in his own, and he wonders how they would feel on his face.

Brittany smiles at his hidden excitement, and then excuses herself, sliding out of the booth. She says something to Blaine, moving him until he's directly in front of Kurt, and then leaves for the restroom.

Kurt stares after her for a moment, wondering how he is supposed to communicate. He spots one of Blaine's hands resting on the table and carefully grabs it, pulling it slowly towards him and giving Blaine plenty of time to pull away. Blaine seems to understand, because his other hand follows, and Kurt leans forward to make it easier.

At the first of Blaine's warm touch his eyes flutter closed. Blaine's fingers follow the same path as Brittany's, ghosting over Kurt's face. The touch is so light that it almost feels like it isn't there, as if Kurt is imagining it. Blaine makes a second trip, over his cheeks and up his brow, following the straight line of his nose, using a slight pressure. The trail it leaves sends tingles through Kurt's system, and he has to resist the urge to shiver. Finally, there's Blaine's rough fingers tracing his lips, and they part slightly, a warm breath rushing out. His eyes flash open, watching Blaine.

Blaine hears Kurt exhale, feels the way it slips past his fingers. His hands are still gently cupping Kurt's face, and he finds that he's leaned forward towards Kurt quite a bit since they started. His mind has finally strung together all the pieces as best they could, coming up with one conclusion: Kurt is beautiful. Brittany was fairly pretty herself, Blaine admits, gorgeous even. But Kurt, Kurt is simply beautiful. And all Blaine wants to do now is see if he could lean forward and capture Kurt's lips, which must be mere inches away from his own.

What is Kurt doing now? he wonders. Are his eyes open? Closed? Is his heart pounding in his chest like Blaine's? Can he feel the same quiet, thrumming electricity like Blaine does?

Blaine hears Kurt take another breath in, but doesn't hear him let one out. He holds his breath too, his eyes closing behind his glasses despite the fact that it doesn't change a thing. One of them is listening. The other is watching. Both of them are waiting.

Blaine leans forward almost unconsciously, and Kurt's eyes close again.


A waitress behind Blaine trips, sending the tray of glasses she was carrying to the floor. Blaine flinches at the sound, Kurt jerks back as he watches. The glasses are shattered, a thousand glittering pieces on the darkening carpet stain, and the moment is too.


Near the end of summer, but before Blaine can hear the crunch of leaves under his feet, only one pair of feet makes their way to the piano after dance class. He listens as Brittany explains that Kurt has a doctor's appointment, and the two of them leave for the restaurant as always.

In all honesty, Blaine is thankful for Kurt's absence. Ever since their almost-kiss a couple weeks ago, the tension between the two seems to swell and grow, at least to Blaine. He uses the time to attempt to properly sort out his feelings, as well as ask Brittany more and more about Kurt, losing subtlety with every question. His apparent crush is obvious to her, and he can hear the teasing edge in her voice, can almost see her smile.

"Was he born deaf?" The question slips out before Blaine can catch it, nonchalant in tone and matter. It's not pressing or demanding, simply curious.

But it doesn't stop the mood from drastically changing. Blaine can hear it, the way she hesitates before answering, the way her voice is subdued when she does.

"No," she all but whispers, "There was… an accident. Excuse me." She slips from the booth hurriedly, making her way towards the entrance. She's not leaving, contradictory to Blaine's thoughts, but she has words threatening to spill out of her and needs to text someone before they do.

Blaine sighs heavily, feeling horrible. He plays with his fingers a bit, eats some food, and waits, seeing if she'll come back or not. He's about to pull out his wallet to pay and leave when a hand on his shoulder stops him.

"Wait," she says, pushing him gently back into the booth, "don't leave yet."

Blaine nods, settling back into the seat. He listens as Brittany slides back into her own seat, the air being pushed out of the plastic covering as she does. He waits as she fiddles with her water glass, sliding it across the table a few times before she sucks in a breath and starts speaking.

"Kurt's gay." It's a simple statement, one that's not an entire surprise to Blaine. She gauges his reaction, which is little to none, and continues.

"We're from a small town in Ohio." Another simple statement, but one that speaks volumes to Blaine. He wants to tell her that he understands, that he knows where this story is going, but he doesn't. Instead, he quietly sits and allows her to continue explaining, trying to ignore the sense of dread in his system.

Brittany doesn't know his past. She doesn't know that his own story is so similar to the one she will be telling him soon. As far as she knows, Blaine knows nothing about what it's like to grow up with people's stares constantly judging you, their voices saying that what you are isn't right.

But he does. And sitting through Brittany's explanations of locker shoves and dumpster tosses is distressing to him, bringing back his own painful memories of high school. All he wants to do is tell her that he understands that she doesn't need to tell him everything because he knows, but he doesn't. He can hear it in the tone of her voice that these are things she needs to say, words that are long overdue.

"…And one day, it went too far." Her voice is choked with emotion, and Blaine finds himself leaning forward with some sort of sick interest. "He was walking home after Glee club; I've told you that he used to sing, right?" Blaine nods, a part of him wondering about the voice Kurt used to have, "And he got jumped by a few jocks at school. I- I couldn't read the whole report, but it was bad. Really bad."

He doesn't need to see her face to know how bad it was. His mind provides him with all the images he needs. "I know," he murmurs quietly.

He can imagine her staring at him in confusion. "What do you me-oh." Her tone is suddenly more subdued then before as the truth dawns on her. "You mean-"

"I wasn't born blind."

He hears her staggered, muffled breathing and assumes that she's clapped a hand over her mouth. A few dry-sobs escape her throat and he reaches over the table to grab her free hand and squeeze it softly.

They don't speak for the rest of dinner. They don't need to. When they finally leave, their food is left half-eaten and cold.


Hey, Kurt? Brittany signs to him once they've settled on the couch of their apartment. They just got home from dinner and are looking forward to a long night of sitting around watching reruns.


Brittany shift uncomfortably on the couch, hesitating. I can't go to dance tomorrow. Her hands are a flurry of movement and it's hard for even Kurt's trained eyes to track everything.

Why not? He asks, a speculating eyebrow raised.

My mom needs me to take her cat to the vet or something.

Kurt sits with his brow furrowed. There isn't much he can do about the situation. He'll still go to practice as always; it isn't the first time he's had to go alone. He much more comfortable with Brittany around, but he'll make do.

Okay. He signs, nodding his head slowly. Why the need for an update though?

Brittany looks surprised at him. Well, she pauses, cocking her head as she thinks, in case you still wanted to go and eat with Blaine or something

Kurt's eyes widen as he remembers. If Brittany isn't there to translate, there isn't really any way for him and Blaine to communicate at all. He smacks her upper arm, hard. Why didn't you tell me before? How am I supposed to- his hands still, his panic apparently too much for him to even form words. He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it slightly.

That's why I told you now, Brittany says. And that hurt.

It was supposed to, Kurt shoots back. What am I supposed to do?

Brittany shrugs. I could help you speak, just a little.

The rest of the evening is spent coaching Kurt to speak in a stilted voice, his tone accompanied by that slightly dead quality and hesitation.


The next day, Blaine hears one pair of footsteps approach the bench again, and he swivels on the bench, ready to listen to Brittany's explanation. He can't help the drop in his heart as he thinks about spending another evening without Kurt, because while the conversation with Brittany is overall easier, he misses the silence between her and Kurt as he tried to picture the signs they used between them.

However, the voice that reaches his ears is decidedly not Brittany's, or even female. Although in a higher range, Blaine can hear the masculinity in the somewhat lifeless voice speaking hesitantly to him.

It's Kurt who is talking to him.

Part of what Kurt is saying is lost to Blaine as he marvels at this development. He hears the words of Kurt's explanation for Brittany's absence, but he honestly could not care less at this point.

Because it's Kurt's voice. Although slightly toneless, it is exquisite; another piece that Blaine can snap into the near perfect image that he's creating in his mind.

"…So do…you… want… to eat?" Kurt takes long pauses between his words, carefully sounding them out in his head several times before he says them aloud. A small notebook and pen are pressed into Blaine's hands, open to a blank page (he can feel that there are no indentations from a previous pen) and he understands, clicking the pen open to write his answer. Anxiety and nervousness fill his stomach, and he knows he can't eat properly right now.

What about coffee instead?

Kurt agrees and his hand finds Blaine's almost naturally, as soft and smooth as Blaine remembers. He thumb unconsciously brushes against the back of Blaine's hand and they grin hesitantly, forgetting their inhibitions for a moment. They walk towards their usual restaurant but take a detour for the coffee shop to the left of it, Kurt paying strict attention to the crossing signals.

They find a secluded table in the corner, and, after placing and receiving their order, the silence is heavy upon them. Blaine fiddles with his notebook, flipping to a random page and writing his words out then pushing the page towards Kurt.

You have a beautiful voice.

Kurt blushes. "I doubt it," he says, internally wincing as he tried to imagine what his voice must sound like. "But thank you."

Blaine pulls the pad towards him again, scribbling frantically. Kurt smiles at the clumsy scrawl that inks across the page. It's uneven and awkward, but he finds a sort of grace in the way the letters loop together.

Brittany told me you used to sing?

That's all it takes for their conversation to start, the exchange happening so quickly that Blaine can barely write fast enough to keep up. Kurt, for his part, only grows more and more comfortable as the evening wears on, the words pouring out of him faster as their drinks grow colder.

Kurt watches as Blaine's face lights up as he laughs, seeing the way his cheeks lift and his lips form a smile. His own laughter rings out for a brief moment, but stop abruptly when Blaine's does as well.


There's another pause as Blaine hesitates before writing again. Can I "see" you again?

Kurt leans forward obediently, catching one of Blaine's hands and holding it to his face. His eyelids close again and he leans into the slightly comforting touch of Blaine's callouses. One of Blaine's hands glide over the spot between his ear and jaw and he giggles a bit. Blaine's other hand is cupping his cheek and he cracks a smile, feeling Kurt laugh beneath his fingertips.

"Tickles," Kurt comments in a hushed voice.

They're in the same position as last time, leaning across the table towards each other. Heart rates speed up as blood pounds in their ears. Blaine hears Kurt lean away for a moment, the chair creaking as he shifts his weight, and a hand comes up to his face, fiddling with the frame of the black sunglasses.

"Do you mind if I-?" Kurt doesn't finish his sentence, already slowly sliding the simple glasses off and then setting them on the table. Blaine sits very still, closing his eyes on instinct. His fingers, still barely touching Kurt's face, tremble.

Kurt brushes over Blaine's eyelids softly, pleading, asking. Blaine can feel him waiting, and his eyelids quaver a bit before opening, staring unseeingly at Kurt. He hears a hitch in Kurt's breathing, and then a long exhale.

Kurt feels silly as tears well up in his eyes, but he can't help it because Blaine's eyes, although flat and unfocused, are still somehow stunning. They're the color of brown sugar, flecked through with bits of hazel and green and gold, the warm light of the coffee shop reflecting off them, giving the faint illusion of life behind them. His eyes drop down to stare at Blaine's full lips and he wonders how they'd taste, were he to lean closer and capture them.

"Kurt," Blaine voices, although he knows he can't hear him.

Kurt watches as Blaine's mouth moves and wishes he could hear it. In this moment, he doesn't think he's ever wanted to hear something more. More than music or Brittany's laugh or even his own father's voice, he wants to hear Blaine. Placing his elbows carefully on the small table, he barely shifts forward a little.

"Can I-?" Another unfinished question from Kurt. They're centimeters apart at this point; close enough to taste a hint of coffee on both of their breaths. The moment balances on the point of a knife, both of them knowing the complications of what could happen if one of them leans forward just a little bit more.

Finally, Kurt caves, half rising out of his seat to crash his lips onto Blaine's because fuck it. It's perfect and everything he's thought about because he doesn't need to hear to feel Blaine's lips against his, to taste the sweetness of cinnamon and the bitterness of coffee. One hand curls in the collar of Blaine's shirt while the other cups his cheek, trying to somehow pull him closer.

Blaine allows himself to be pulled in, already feeling like he's drowning between the roar of blood in his veins and the sound of Kurt's shallow breathing in his ears. He traces nonsensical patterns on the back of Kurt's neck, his tongue flicking out to try and follow of faint trace of chocolate he tastes.

It's so much more than just the two of them giving in, even if no one is aware of it. It's them forgetting about complications and judgment and limitations; a quiet sign saying, "You can't take this from me too," from two people who have already lost so much.

It's forever in a moment.


After that, they become a "thing" as Blaine so eloquently writes once they part, his handwriting shakier than normal and his cheeks bright red. Kurt laughs at him when he pushes the question towards him, moving his chair next to his to kiss him in answer. It's brief and it passionate, causing Blaine to gasp in surprise and quite literally make him speechless.

Blaine invites the two of them over after the next dance practice, he and Kurt telling Brittany their new relationship status over some Chinese takeout. She claps and squeals in excitement, taking out a careful stack of book in a fierce hug, an effective audio and visual indication of her approval. Blaine smiles fondly at her excitement, holding Kurt close and listening to him laugh.

Not everyone shares her exuberance, however. There are countless times where their friends chat with them quietly, trying to explain the difficulties of their relationship.

"It's not going to work."

"How can you have a boyfriend that can't listen to the music you play?"

"Your dance is a gift, Kurt, and you can't even share that with your boyfriend?"

"Don't you worry about your future?"

"What about your safety?"

Even Kurt's father, for all his good intentions, voices his own worries the day that Kurt brings Blaine around to meet him. Blaine's gone to the bathroom for a moment, his cane tapping hesitantly along the unfamiliar floor. Burt Hummel turns to his son once he's sure Blaine's left the room, more out of courtesy than of actual fear that he's somehow hear the silent conversation.

Are you sure about him, Kurt?

Kurt stares at his father's kind eyes for a moment, and then simply signs back. He makes me happy.

The grin that blooms across the older Hummel's face warms Kurt's heart as a large hand pats his shoulder comfortingly. That's good then, he signs. After that, Burt becomes their number-two supporter after Brittany, always welcoming Blaine into his home with a gruff hug and stern instructions to stay in the guest room whenever he and Kurt are in town to visit.

The pages of Blaine's notebook fill rapidly; Kurt goes out and buys him five more unconsciously, not understanding the brilliant grin on Blaine's face when he presses them into his hand. Long evenings are spent in Blaine's apartment together, sometimes with Brittany, but gradually less and less. Kurt learns that Blaine is an old-time, cheesy romantic; he brings boxes of expensive chocolates and bouquets of roses on many of their dates.

"I'm going to get fat," Kurt complains one day, carefully perched on Blaine's lap as he opens his mouth obediently to let Blaine feed him another coffee-chocolate truffle.

Blaine only smiles benignly and pulls him in for a kiss, addicted to the taste of chocolate on Kurt's tongue.

They spend a lot of time doing that too, kissing. It's not uncommon that those evenings in the apartment end stretched out on the couch, sharing slow kisses together. Blaine finds the spot between Kurt's neck and collarbone that makes him whimper; Kurt commits to memory the amount of pressure against Blaine's side needed to make him arch into hm.

Kurt watches as the leaves change color soundlessly around him, until the day arrives on one crisp autumn afternoon, one that will stand out in both their memories forever. He packs his shoes and then signs to Brittany. Ready to go?

Brittany smiles secretively and shakes her head, slipping out the door quickly with a nod towards the piano. Kurt stares after her dumbfounded, and then turns his head to the corner, where Blaine sits quietly, his stuff still unpacked around him.

"Blaine?" He's still not entirely comfortable speaking aloud, but he's apparently getting better, according to Blaine. Kurt's not sure how much he believes him though.

Blaine beckons him over and Kurt half-jogs to him. Blaine's hand fumbles over the top of the piano until he catches one of Kurt's hands and lays it on the top of the simple, brown upright. He searches for Kurt's other hand and takes it as well, placing it gently on the front of his throat. He pushes a notebook across the piano to Kurt.

"Listen." Beside it is a scribbled arrow, indicating to turn the page.

As Kurt flips the page and settles his hand back on the piano, Blaine begins to play. A simple melody emits from the piano, and the vibrations travel through Kurt's fingertips to the rest of his body and he understands. Blaine is singing to him.

What day is it? And in what month?

This clock never seemed so alive

I can't keep up and I can't back down

I've been losing so much time

'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do

Nothing to lose

And it's you and me and all other people

And I don't know why, I can't get my mind off of you

Kurt smiles at the edits in the lyrics, the hand on the piano pressing harder against it, as if trying to force the "noise" further into his skin. It tingles throughout the piano and travels up his arm as well as into the floor, where it is absorbed through his feet. He finds that if he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can imagine the faint traces of music around him.

One of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right

I'm tripping on words

You've got my head spinning

I don't know where to go from here

'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do

Nothing to prove

And it's you and me and all other people

And I don't know why, I can't get my mind off of you

His whole body feels to be vibrating, through his arms and his legs and down his spine. It stirs inside his chest and makes him shiver. Not for the first time, he wonders at Blaine's voice, trying to picture him singing, or whispering in his ear, or just simply talking. A bittersweet thought enters his mind, and it makes him want to blush and cry at the same time.

To never hear an, "I love you."

There's something about you now

I can't quite figure out

Everything he does is beautiful

Everything he does is right

A lot is expressed in a person's voice. Kurt knows that; he used to sing and rant and gossip about his feelings as much as the next person. But feeling Blaine's throat beneath his hand, the way the muscles flex to form the notes Kurt can't hear, is so much more than that. There's a feeling behind the words, so much that Kurt can feel it, literally. The words on the page before him blur unevenly, and he finally notices that tears have filled his eyes, but he can't bring himself to wipe them away.

'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do

Nothing to lose

And it's you and me and all other people

And I don't know why, I can't get my mind off of you

And me and all other people with nothing to do

Nothing to prove

And it's you and me and all other people

And I don't know why, I can't get my mind off of you

What day is it?

And in what month?

This clock never seemed so alive

The vibration fades out from under Kurt's hands, but his body still feels the tiny shocks running through it. He cups Blaine's cheek tenderly, surprised at the wetness he meets; Blaine's been crying too. Kurt pulls the piano player to his feet and places one of his arms on his waist as he kisses him in that small dance studio.

Blaine kisses back sweetly, his arms coming to twine around his waist. Everything feels heightened to his refined senses, and he feels overwhelmed, but in a good way. The light filtering from the setting sun feels almost too warm on his face, the utter silence in the room seems to drum quietly in his ears, Kurt's skin is too soft, his hold perfectly too tight. Blaine swears he can feel Kurt's eyelashes brush up just so on his cheek.

Kurt sucks in a breath, loud in Blaine's ears, and their lips part briefly, only to meet again. One of Kurt's arms pulls Blaine closer until their pressed up against each other entirely, chest to chest and hip to hip. An idea strikes him then, and he pulls away, but not far. One of his hands travels down Blaine's arm until he is holding it gently; the other arm adjusts Blaine's hold until it's higher on his waist. Kurt's arm mirrors Blaine and he squeezes the hand in his. And, with Kurt leading, they dance together.

Now Blaine understands as well. Kurt twirls them slowly across the old wooden dance floor; the silence and the sound of their laughter creating the music in his own mind. They stumble often, Blaine's feet unaccustomed to the idea and feel of dancing. He hums a little and allows Kurt to lead them in a slow dance, much more swaying than any actual movement.


"I have a concert performance this weekend," Kurt mentions in an offhand tone two weeks later. They sit on the couch together, watching, or in Blaine's case, listening, to a movie play out on the screen. "Do you want to come?"

Blaine stares in his general direction for a moment and scribbles something in his notebook. I don't think I should.

Kurt stares at the words for a moment, unable to keep the flash of hurt that jolts through his system. "Why not?"

Blaine hears Kurt turn off the movie, and the sudden silence seems increasingly heavy on the two of them. "I don't think it's worth it," he says, and then sighs, beginning to feel frustrated. He writes it quickly on the notebook, his handwriting uncharacteristically pointed and jagged.

A cold weight settles in Kurt's heart as he reads the word, resentment building inside of him. He set the notebook slowly on the coffee table in front of them. "Not worth it?" he says, trying to keep the annoyance from his voice.

Blaine shakes his head "no", his mouth set in a deep frown. He half-gestures towards his sunglass covered eyes.

"I listen to you-"

Blaine grabs the notebook from the table, the suddenness of his motion causing Kurt to fall silent as he watches Blaine furiously write.

Music can create vibrations you can feel. It's not the same for dance. You can watch someone sing and read their lips and read the lyrics. I'll only hear the music. I can't feel you dance.

Kurt thought back to their evening in the dance studio, the way Blaine swayed with him as the sun set. "You don't want to-"

I CAN'T. Blaine roughly rips off the sunglasses and throws them on the table. Kurt watches the glasses clatter before turning his gaze to Blaine's flat eyes. His stomach did a treacherous fall when he noticed tears brimming in the other man's eyes, but he couldn't stop the next words from leaving his mouth.

"So you're allowed to share that part of you with me, but I can't share that part with you?"

Tears spill over from Blaine's eyes, slowly rolling down his cheeks. He curls in on himself as he writes, slowly now, the anger and frustration drained from his system.

Maybe you should find someone you can share that with.

He leaves the notebook between them on the couch, and walks towards his bedroom. The ball is left in Kurt's court, the words burning themselves into his mind as he reads them over and over again. He can't help but picture what the words would sound like to roll off of Blaine's tongue, the hurt that would be laced through it. Find someone you can share that with.

Find someone you can share that with.

The words are like a mantra, turning constant circles in his head. Find someone you can share that with.

His thoughts fly back to that afternoon, the way he lead the two of them in a slow swaying motion. Remnants of Blaine song from earlier still pulsed through his veins as he kissed Blaine's cheek. The look of pure joy on Blaine's face when he realized what he was doing, the way his laughter felt against Kurt's chest as they stumbled together.

The door to Blaine's bedroom creaks open; throwing a small sliver of light on the form huddled under the covers. Kurt crosses the room and climbs up on the bed, the fabric of the comforter rustling as he shifts. Blaine hugs a pillow and stubbornly keeps his face turned away from him. Find someone you can share that with.

Find someone.

Kurt leans down and presses a light kiss to Blaine's jaw, right near the lobe of his ear. He runs a hand through Blaine's curls as he does, and then whispers ever so softly to him.

"I already did."


Blaine pushes the notebook towards him after another practice, tinkering idly on the piano, keeping his head down.

How was your dance recital?

Kurt tries to ignore the melancholy expression on Blaine's face. "Good," he answers, shifting his dance bag to his other shoulder, trying to feign nonchalance. According to Brittany, it was apparently one of the best performances he had given thus far, but he doesn't want to explain that to Blaine. The fight they had had was enough, both of them hesitant to approach the topic again.

Kurt shifts his weight a little. "I…I wish you could have been there." I wish you could have seen it, goes unsaid, but it's clear in his tone.

Blaine pauses, then his pen flies across the paper.

Me too.


They're curled together on the couch that night, Kurt resting his head in the junction between Blaine's neck and shoulder. The small room smells of coffee, their empty cups resting on the table. There's no sound besides their breathing, each of them enjoying the other's company and warmth. Kurt "listens" to Blaine's heartbeat thud under his fingertips, where his hand is splayed across his chest.

Blaine listens to Kurt breath, soft and peaceful. One of his hands is picked up by Kurt's and he smiles as Kurt contorts his fingers to his heart's content. His free hand rubs Kurt's arm through his light sweater and plays with the hairs along the nape.

Kurt plays with his hand, feeling the slight roughness and callouses. He skims over each of Blaine's fingers individually and squeezes his palm slightly. He stares for a moment and Blaine's face, and then silently folds down his middle finger and ring finger, and then presses the sign against Blaine's chest.

I love you.

Blaine's breath catches as he recognizes the sign. He kisses Kurt's temple, and then shifts the two of them until Kurt's on top of him and looking down. Moving one of Kurt's hands through his throat and then manipulating Kurt's other hand to match the sign, he murmurs the same phrase slowly.

"I love you too."

Kurt smiles at him and leans down to meet his lips, his tongue tangling with Blaine's. His hand moves to cup underneath Blaine's neck and the other rests against his chest, still in the "I love you" sign. He mouths over to Blaine's ear, nipping and biting at his jaw. "Love you," he mutters.

Blaine sighs beneath him, one hand gripping Kurt's waist as he ran his fingers on the slip of skin revealed when Kurt had moved above him. He feels Kurt pull him in for another kiss and arches up towards him, moaning when he feels Kurt pressed against him.

Everything becomes a little bit needier, the kisses and the fleeting touches. Kurt straddles his waist properly, keening at the friction gained. They both lose their shirts somehow, and their hands trace each other's naked chests as they continue to kiss, both of them trying to commit the other to memory. It isn't until Blaine hears Kurt keen above him and grind down that he pauses, pressing against Kurt's chest just enough for him to stop, but not enough to feel rejected.

"Bed?" he asks slowly, knowing Kurt will read his lips.

Kurt drinks in Blaine's disheveled appearance beneath him, his hair mussed and glasses knocked askew. His chest rises and falls a little bit more rapidly and there's a thin shine of sweat visible.

"Yeah," he says, smiling a little as he also nods, even though he knows Blaine can't see him. "Bed."

They quickly get off the couch and Blaine leads them towards the bedroom, their lips still sealed together as they walk. Kurt feels the bed against the back of his legs and he loops his fingers into Blaine's belt loops before he falls back into it, effectively pulling Blaine on top of him. He rolls them until their positions are reversed and throws a leg over one of Blaine's.

"Hi," he murmurs playfully.

He watches as Blaine murmurs something back and then their lips meet again. Their tongues take the time to trace each other's mouths and they both try to slow down, wanting to drag this moment out as long as they can.

There's the sound of zippers being pulled and fabric being pulled away and Kurt watches as all of himself and Blaine are revealed to each other before leaning forward to catch Blaine's lips in a kiss again. The neediness comes back and neither is willing to fight it again, their motions quickening and their breaths turning to gasps. There's an imperceptible click of a bottle and then Kurt surprises Blaine with ever touch and stroke, taking advantage of him in a way Blaine can learn to appreciate. He watches and feels as Blaine moans and whines under him, the way his eyes close and his mouth drops open. He pauses and lightly brushes a hand over Blaine's eyelids.

"Keep them open?" he requests. "For me?"

Blaine nods and forces them open. He reaches up and pulls Kurt in for a messy, desperate kiss. There's a rip and the sudden feeling of being so so so full and, after Kurt's words, they don't speak again. They communicate through the breaths from their lungs and the sounds that escape them. Their hands map out every inch of each other's bodies, committing everything to memory. They don't need to see or hear to feel each other pressed close together and smell and taste the skin and sweat. They hold each other close as they move together, their hearts thudding in their chests.

It's far from perfect. There are breathless giggles and deep chuckles as one of them slips in a movement. It's messy and desperate but somehow caring and sensual as well, their minds trying to hold on to the moment but their bodies needing more. Hair is pulled too hard and bruises are left but no pain is felt as hips thrust and tongues lick behind teeth and over the roofs of mouths.

They cling to each other, curling towards each other despite the stickiness and the sweat. White noise rings in Blaine's ears from oversensitivity and Kurt closes his eyes, the image of Blaine searing itself onto the back of his eyelids. Their hands don't stop moving as they attempt to regain their breath, still trying to map out each other's bodies.

"You're beautiful," Kurt says, his voice muffled by Blaine's neck.

Blaine nudges Kurt until he looks at him, his unseeing eyes searching in Kurt's direction, as if he's attempting to find his eyes.

"You too," he says. After reading his lips, Kurt covers them with his own.


It is not sufficient to see and to know the beauty of a work. We must feel and be affected by it. - Voltaire