Well, babies, we've hit the end of our story and I know I'm a huge bitch for keeping you waiting, but I realized this and so, here's the happy ending I promised you.

The apartment is quiet when he finally makes it back. Class had gone over again and though he could have just left, he really didn't want to chance missing anything important. Better safe than sorry. But as it is, he knows he's late, it's nearly seven and Blaine should be here. Keys meet the faux marble with a sharp "clink" as Kurt drops them on the counter and ventures farther into the apartment. "Honey?" Blaine is nowhere to be found though, and Kurt doesn't hear the shower—normally ridiculously loud—so that isn't it. Puzzled, he dips his head into the bedroom and smiles when he's met with the image of the curly-haired, puppy of a man, curled into a ball with Kurt's pillow clutched tightly to his chest.

He sits his books on the desk and takes a moment to admire Blaine before he wakes him up for a late-ish dinner: the scruff on Blaine's chin, the mop of black hair—free of gel—the slightly-too-long nose, the geometric eyebrows, and the thick fan of dark eyelashes slick with te— Kurt frowns, inching closer to the bed to get a closer look.

Tracks of dried tears mar his olive skin and end at a darkened spot on his pillow case. Kurt's heart clenches painfully at the reality before him. It's so rare that Blaine cries. Not like Kurt. Kurt finds solace in the tears, resolution, but Blaine keeps everything bottled up; he's always so strong, and Kurt can't fathom what must have happened to bring this about. He sheds his coat and shoes, walking around to the other side of the bed as he does, and climbs in behind Blaine, wrapping his arms around him the way Kurt knows he likes to be held when the world is being particularly cruel. Blaine snuffles in his sleep, and he brushes a chaste kiss to the back of his neck and tightens his hold.

He isn't sure how long he lies there, losing track of time as he drifts, but he can see the sun begin to disappear behind the buildings of New York through their large window, fading softer and softer until the sky is a dull periwinkle and their bedroom is nearly void of light. There's a whine, faint and barely audible, that pulls Kurt from his haze. Blaine's back stiffens suddenly against his chest. "Kurt?" He makes a humming sound in the back of his throat like a question, and the body against him turns over until he's face-to-face with Blaine who is looking up at him with wide, pleading eyes that he doesn't understand, all traces of sleep now absent from his face. "Kurt." Confused and somewhat alarmed, Kurt brings the smaller man closer and tucks his face to rest in the crook of his neck as Kurt hooks his chin over Blaine's head.

"Sleep, Blaine," he whispers. "You can tell me in the morning." Blaine's body sags against him, boneless and compliant and moments later his breathing evens out, letting Kurt know that he's done just that. He presses a kiss to the top of his boyfriend's head and lets himself fall into a restless, dreamless sleep, knowing in the core of him that somehow this is his fault.

He's alone on the bed when his eyes finally snap open. Normally it wouldn't be so strange—they have classes at different times—but the glaring blue numbers across the room clearly say "7:07," and Kurt knows for a fact that Blaine's first class isn't until ten. Kurt drops back onto the pillows, stretching out his tired limbs with a little groan.

Instinctively, he knows that this has something has something to do with last night, something to do with him, so he's stalling, putting off the inevitable for just a while longer—cowardice as he knows it may be—because he's tried so hard to be what Blaine needs, to show him that he's in it body and soul, and to somehow redeem himself. Yet, with all of that, one way or another he's still managed to screw it all up again. He's causing Blaine more hurt. Blaine who isn't perfect but tries so hard to be; Blaine who he keeps hurting; Blaine who he's always loved so much but maybe doesn't love enough. God, it's too early in the morning for this.

Kurt takes longer than he normally would in the shower, brushes his teeth for a full ten minutes, and washes his hands for five. Eventually, though, he runs out of things to do and realizes that he can't avoid talking to Blaine any longer. With a deep breath that actually does very little to calm him, Kurt pulls open the bedroom door and steps into the living room.

In the middle of the couch, Blaine sits hunched over, head in his hands, elbow braced on his knees; he can't see his eyes, but he's sure they're closed tight. Kurt knows that position all too well from years of comforting him after bad experiences with Anderson senior and the familiarity stings like a slap in the face. Has he really slumped as low as Blaine's father?

Blaine hears the door open. He knows Kurt is standing in the doorway watching him, can feel his eyes searing his skin and knows he has no choice but to face them eventually. He'd really thought he had more time. Kurt doesn't say anything, doesn't clear his throat or make a noise, just stands there and watches him in perfect silence. There's a thick air of remorse, guilt, and acceptance between them that makes the quiet all the more difficult, because Kurt is waiting for him to say something to confirm his suspicions, and it's almost enough to make him change his mind. Almost. He can't back down though, not now while the truth stares him the face, and if he loves Kurt he has to do this. If he loves himself he has to do this.

Sock-covered feet shuffle soundlessly in his peripheral vision. Blaine loves those feet. It's a weird thought, loving someone's feet, but Kurt's feet are smooth and white, long-toed and elegant, insanely and uncharacteristically ticklish, and attached to thin gorgeous ankles that are the slightest bit sensitive to weather since a horrendous bullying incident when Kurt was a freshman. The middle toe on the left foot is shorter than all the others and has been nicknamed the "midget toe." Kurt hates that toe, it's part of the reason he keeps his feet constantly socked, Blaine suspects—besides the fact that they are always cold otherwise—he loves it though, it's awkward and adorable and part of Kurt so there's no way he could not love it. The thought nearly makes him smile. He just really loves Kurt's feet. He wonders if Sebastian has noticed them the way he has. And that thought chases away any prior urge to smile. He's avoided any in-depth thought about the two of them together, but sometimes he can't help it when thoughts slip through and every time it hurts like a knife through his heart. But maybe…maybe that pain will help propel him through what he has to do. Blaine takes a deep breath and hopes to some divine power that it will.

Like he can sense the extra push Blaine needs, Kurt takes a small step forward, rocks back on his heel once, then murmurs, "Blaine?" His voice sounds…acquiescent, compliant, as if he has already accepted his fate. Blaine isn't sure whether that makes it easier or harder to answer him.

"Kurt…" He can't force the words 'we need to talk' from his mouth but he catches Kurt's impossibly green gaze—a telltale sign of unshed tears—and tries to pass them on telepathically somehow.

Whether it actually works or whether Kurt just knows him well enough to guess, Blaine isn't sure but he doesn't really care either, because the brunette walks wordlessly to the couch and sits down next to him like he heard him loud and clear. Blaine is thankful for that. A hand reaches out and rests lightly on his knee, squeezing once before retreating. He misses the warmth but feels stronger for the touch and sits back against the couch with a renewed resolve. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asks softly, not accusatory, just a question he would like to know the answer to.

Blaine can feel the heat of Kurt's body from the inches between them though they aren't touching, can feel the cushion beneath them shift as his body stiffens. "What do you mean?"

He sighs because he doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to even think about it, but Kurt isn't feigning ignorance, he really doesn't know what Blaine's talking about so he doesn't have much of a choice. "About Sebastian." He looks up at the audible hitch in Kurt's breath—whether from shock of the topic or of being found out Blaine isn't sure—he only meets his eyes for a moment before Kurt closes his eyes and rubs his palm harshly over them.

Blaine doesn't push for an answer, Kurt will tell him and he needs the extra time to brace himself for the answer as well. "How?" His voice is soft and compliant again, his question is honest curiosity rather than a demand, though somewhere in the lilt of his voice, Blaine thinks he hears another, unvoiced question that he can't really specify.

"Does it matter?" Kurt pauses then shakes his head and Blain realizes that regardless of the 'no' maybe to Kurt it does. "I went over there for advice; he was wearing your sweater."

He nods slowly, tracing a finger up and down his own tight idly. "Advice?" he asks quietly.

"You've been miserable for weeks, Kurt. I didn't know what to do."

Kurt doesn't say anything to that at first, just nods again and fixes his eyes on the wall. "I thought that if I…I thought a name might make it harder. For you. Especially one you knew." Some part of him wants to scoff and accuse him of other motives, wants to sling insults and scream. But the other part of him remembers being thankful for not having a name to pin the blame on, remembers being glad he didn't have a visual to compare himself to so soon after it happened, when he was trying to pull himself back together. A name would have made it more difficult, so Blaine accepts the excuse with a twitch of a nod and a little sigh.

"You aren't happy anymore. With me."

"What are you talking about?" And finally Kurt's voice has lost that soft, near-whisper tone and Blaine can breathe a little easier. "Of course I'm happy with you, Blaine. Why else would I—I'm happy with you." He can hear the rest of the question Kurt didn't finish: Why else would I have chosen you? Blaine has thought about that exact same thing, has spent most of the morning thinking about it actually, because he isn't going to throw away the best thing in his life for nothing.

"No, you aren't. And I can't…"His throat constricts and he swallows around a lump forming there. "I can't just sit here and watch you be miserable, Kurt."

"I'm not miserable, I love you." A flash of ivory skin and cashmere then Kurt's on the floor at his feet, hands gripping Blaine's knees, and his eyes—god, his eyes. They're bright and pleading and more alive than they've been in months, staring up at him glassy with tears and rejection. It isn't fair. Blaine has to do this and it isn't fair.

"I know you do, Kurt." He nearly reaches out to cup Kurt's face but takes his hands instead, squeezing gently and praying for him to make this easier. "I know you love me. You love that I'm familiar. You love that we know each other so well. You love how easy we are. You love that you're comfortable with me and you don't have to do any guess work. And you love that I'm your best friend, but…" Kurt is shaking his head—has been since Blaine uttered his first few words—there are tears running down his face and Blaine has to take a minute and focus on anything but those or it'll be all over. "Kurt, you love me, but you aren't in love with me. Not anymore."

"Blaine—"

"And I…I'm still so fucking in love with you, Kurt. It hurts knowing that you aren't anymore and I wish I could ignore it and go on with my life because you just loving me back this way is almost enough. But I deserve more than a best friend that I have sex with occasionally, and you—you deserve more than an almost romance. I wish I could make you love me that way you did, but that's not possible anymore. I think you realized too. I think that's why you've been so lost this past month. You knew it wasn't the same but you were going to stick it out and hope for the best. Because you love me, right?"

"Please, that's not—"

"Kurt you are always going to be my best friend, no matter what, we are always going to love each other in that way at least, I would never throw that away. But I can't make you love me and you can't pretend yourself into being in love with again as much as we would both like that. I can't—we can't do this anymore." Kurt's hands shake in his but don't pull away. Blaine drags his eyes up from them to meet Kurt's, green and tear-filled and still pleading but somehow accepting in the rings of color.

"Please don't," he whispers. "Please."

Blaine bites his lip hard to keep it from quivering and takes a shaky breath. "I'm not…I wouldn't kick you out, but the lease is in my name for the next eight months and Rachel has offered you your room back. Take as long as you need I can…I can stay with a friend. Until. I'm sorry, Kurt. I really am." He stands releasing Kurt's hands only for them to be grasped again when he tries to walk to the door.

"Well, don't—don't apologize," Kurt cries, gripping the hands like a lifeline. "Don't be sorry, just stay. Stay with me. Don't go. I can—we can make this work again, Blaine. Like we always do."

He pulls away with more willpower than he ever thought he had and heads for the door. "No we can't." Blaine chokes back a sob, swiping at the corner of his eye with a shaky hand. He turns as he grips the doorknob—Kurt is in a pile on the floor, biting his bottom lip to keep from letting any sound through them. He wants to run over and scoop him up, comfort him and keep him from drawing blood from that lip. He doesn't. "He loves you," he calls back softly before tearing open the front door and sprinting through it. He knows Kurt heard him.

Kurt can't pull himself off of the ground; he can't feel his legs. Well, that's a lie, he can feel them because they're weak and shaking, and he can feel that. It would be easier if they were just numb, he thinks, because at least then he would have an excuse to still be sprawled out on the floor. He doesn't want to get up though, because if he does everything will be real, he'll have to accept that Blaine's gone, that the best thing in his life has vanished. If he can just stay on the floor a little longer maybe he can pretend.

Pretend.

Kurt is so very acquainted with pretending. It seems like he has done it his whole life. Blaine had always been his safe place though, the one person in his life he never had to pretend to. But now…

Some part of him that isn't mourning Blaine walking away from him—a miniscule and barely existent part—recognizes the truth in Blaine's words. Something had shifted and their puzzle pieces didn't fit together so effortlessly anymore. He couldn't take it back and try as he might, he couldn't fix it. But he had been willing to pretend. For Blaine, he had been willing to pretend and…there it is. Pretending.

Blaine has always been his safe place.

Someone he never had to pretend with. The second that changed, so did he. Somehow Blaine figured that out before Kurt could. But then, Blaine has always known Kurt better than Kurt knows himself.

He loves you. Kurt feels sick to his stomach at the stupid, unnecessary "tha-thump" his heart gives.

Rachel's apartment is…pinker that he remembers; in fact, it's almost like stepping inside a piece of cotton candy. Kurt isn't exactly in the best position to criticize the décor though, so he doesn't say anything. "Oh! I forgot that you hadn't seen the work I did on this place last month." Rachel spins on her heels, clapping her hands together excitedly as she watches him. "What do you think?"

Kurt smiles as genuinely as he can manage, "It's great, Rachel." It must come pretty close because she looks appeased, squealing and grabbing his hand to drag him behind her.

"Come on! I want to show you your room." It actually isn't so bad. Not like he expected, and with a little work—of Kurt's own doing, of course—it'll be well above livable.

"Thank you."

Rachel nods, smiling though there's an emotion behind her deep brown eyes that looks suspiciously like sadness to Kurt. "I missed you, Kurt." She pulls him into a tight hug that has tears prickling his eyes with what feels like the millionth time this week.

"I missed you too." And he did, he hadn't realized until now just how much.

"If you need to talk, Kurt, you know I'll be here to listen." Kurt sniffs, feeling his lip quiver dangerously as he nods. He isn't ready. Not yet. Then, like she can hear his thoughts, "I'll be in my room." He's thankful for small miracles.

"Kurt," Rachel calls. "I made dinner."

"I'm not hungry," he answers. Seven days, 10 hours, and eleven minutes. His bed chants his name.

Incoming Call Finn. His eyes flicker over the letters then to the numbers on his clock across the room. 3:46. Sixteen days, seven hours and thirty-two minutes. Kurt lets the call go to voicemail. He'll call back later.

He doesn't.

"Kurt, I'm meeting up with some people for drinks if you want to come." Rachel shifts awkwardly against the doorframe she's leaning on. Twenty-seven days, thirteen hours and four minutes. Kurt lies still, pretending to be asleep. She leaves.

"Have you tried getting in touch with Sebastian since…?" Shutting the oven door and leaning in to set the stove alarm—thirty-four days, eight hours and nineteen minutes—Kurt shakes his head and sighs.

"I'm not ready."

"Okay."

"Kurt, look, you can't keep yourself locked up like this! It hurts to watch you, I know you're sad and upset and you feel like the world has knocked you on your ass, but it happens. Life happens. And if you don't get your act together, life is going to happen without you." Burt grips his shoulder and squeezes it comfortingly. His phone beeps. "I reckon that's Finn. I don't want to miss our flight so," he sighs. "I love you, Kurt. I'll see you, next month." Kurt nods, accepting the hug before he shoos his father out the door. Forty-six days, five hours, and forty-six minutes.

Fifty-two days, three hours and—Kurt bangs his head against the wall. He wants it to stop. He wants to be able to go one day without thinking about how long it's been since his life changed so drastically. He misses Blaine. It's harder being without him than Kurt ever expected it to be, but not for the reasons he originally thought. After the first few weeks, he found himself missing the strength Blaine had always provided, missing the company of man that he could be himself around without fear, missing how it felt to be needed. More than anything else, Kurt just misses his best friend. But they agreed. They need more time before they try to rekindle that friendship. Time for Blaine to move on. Time for Kurt to become his own person again. Time.

That's all he has anymore, time. And he's a little tired of wasting it. Which is how he ends up somewhere he never thought he would again. He makes himself the same deal he did so many, many months ago. One knock, sixty seconds. If he doesn't answer, Kurt will leave forever.

The breath he takes is shaky and doesn't help calm him down in the slightest. Sebastian's door stares him in the face, massive and intimidating. He raps his knuckles against it before he can convince himself to do otherwise. One, two, three, four, five. Kurt strains to hear any kind of movement behind the cement wall. Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty. Wait. He's pretty sure he hears something now. Thirty-eight, thirty-nine, forty, forty-one, forty-two. There is definite rustling, like footsteps and shuffling. It's coming nearer. Kurt's heart is close to beating right out of his chest. Fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven. Please, please, please. Fifty-nine. Sixty. The rustling stops. There's silence.

Kurt holds his chin up high. Maybe it really is better this way.

Kurt stops counting. He doesn't need the numbers and for the first time in a long time he feels like things are looking up. Kurt Hummel will be okay.

Time has served as the best medicine, as five month, a new apartment, and an internship later show. His magazine keeps him busy and most days he doesn't even feel lonely. He's young and successful and determined and most of the time that's enough.

Some days, though, Kurt is reminded by the proximity of the office to a certain familiar apartment and a coffee shop he had come to love for a too brief a period of time, of green eyes, a smirk, and hair that wasn't really so terrible.

Some days he passes the coffee shop on purpose just to reminisce. He doesn't go in. It feels…wrong somehow, going in there alone. Like he's intruding on a life he no longer has the right to intrude on.

Some days he pauses at the door knowing that he won't go in, but allows himself to imagine it for just a second. Allows himself to smell the familiar scent of coffee and fresh pastries before hurrying along to catch the subway.

One day the door opens as he passes and a young woman holds it for him when he pauses. It doesn't feel wrong today.

He doesn't know why he's here—why he keeps doing this to himself. He not moping or spending his time being depressed over K—over Hummel, but this coffee shop always does this to him. It puts him on edge, leaves him feeling raw and exposed. It makes him remember things he doesn't want to remember, but can't bear to forget. Which is why it's, admittedly, stupid that he keeps coming, but in Sebastian's defense, he does get his best coffee here. Plus, it's closer than the Starbucks by the firm he works at. And…sometimes he just really wants to remember. It might hurt, but it's worth it to be hit with the conversations they'd shared in such sharp clarity; to remember the exact way the light had hit Kurt's face and the way a piece of his immaculately styled hair had come lose to fall over his forehead, the way he had resisted the urge to push it back.

Sebastian shakes his head. He doesn't know why he does this to himself. Picking at his half eaten muffin, he glances across the table at the empty chair—as if he expects someone to be sitting it in it. It isn't exactly accurate to name it "Kurt's chair" because obviously he doesn't own it, and they hadn't even sat at this table every time they'd come here. Well, they usually did, but the point is, Sebastian shouldn't still expect him to be sitting there. But he is. He really, really is, because the chair faces the door the way Kurt always insisted sitting because he loved to watch the people come and go. Because light from the window always touched him so perfectly and because what the hell is he even doing here if Kurt isn't sitting there? Being pathetic. That's what he's doing.

It isn't fair to hate Blaine, and he doesn't. Most of the time. But sometimes he really wishes he could because he needs to feel strongly about something other than remorse and loneliness and— He just needs to feel something else. He thinks hate would be a pretty good substitute. It worked pretty well before.

He's nearly finished his coffee and decides that he's had enough sitting around feeling sorry for himself—he's a Smythe damn it, he's better than this.

"Is this seat taken?" His body goes stiff and suddenly he can't breathe. He's not going to turn around. He's not. Because if he does he's going to see that it's a perfect stranger, he's going to be faced with the reality that he's stooped to a new low, that now he's hallucinating. And if he's not-if he turns around and he's right…how can he—he can't handle being right either. A Kurt he can't have is so, so much worse than hallucinating.

So he doesn't say anything. He doesn't turn around, but he can still feel the man standing behind him waiting for an answer or some sign that Sebastian heard him. He's determined not to give him one. Maybe he'll go away.

There's a shuffling of feet behind him—no, lots of people do that when they're nervous—and he can almost feel the hesitance rolling of the stranger in waves. That alone nearly has him answering just to put the poor bastard out of his misery, but he catches himself at the last minute and thinks better of it.

More shuffling and suddenly Sebastian is pretty sure his heart has exploded. Or imploded. Or stopped beating. Or maybe he's just dead. He can't actually tell. He can't do much of anything, really, because Kurt fucking Hummel is sitting across from with a coffee and a blueberry muffin—probably a fat-free one—and Sebastian is frozen, not breathing or thinking or— He sucks in a breath; air is necessary he realizes, probably. Then he's choking on it. Too much at once, deep breath, easy, easy, that's it. "W-what are you doing here, Kurt?" he chokes out, because really his whole mantra didn't doing much to ease that.

Kurt's eyes drop down to the table as his finger traces a ring around the lid of the cup and Sebastian wants to reach across the distance and lift his chin so he can see them again. It's been so long, and he's nearly forgotten their exact shade, the way the blues, grays, and greens mix together just so. He wonders if they'll be more blue today like he remembers them being when Kurt would laugh, or whether they're green, or maybe gray, like when he was pissed off or upset. He hopes they're blue, and wonders what Kurt would say if he did—lift his chin, he means. What would he do? Is his skin still as soft as he remembers? It looks like it is and Sebastian's palm itches with the urge. "I…I work across the street…I wanted some coffee?" He doesn't notice how weak the response is over the sound of his heartbeat pounding away in his ears. "Is this—I mean, I can leave. I didn't mean to just insert myself; you could be meeting someone for all I know." Sebastian's hand shoots out before he can stop it and grips Kurt's wrist before he can so much as attempt to stand.

"No, no. It's fine, don't go, I was just surprised." He attempts to tone his voice down when he realizes he's nearly screaming, and there are people around looking at him likes he's insane. Maybe his is. He knows he should let Kurt leave, encourage it even, because talking to him—in this particular place, at this particular table especially—is going to do nothing but wreck him for weeks but how is he supposed to say no when Kurt's dangling himself right there in front of him like food to a starving child? So he tells himself it'll be worth it and ignores any other thoughts of self-preservation.

Kurt's eyes are glued to Sebastian's hand on his wrist as he answers, distractedly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to impose on you or…anything."

He quickly lets go and can't quite read the emotion that flickers in Kurt's blue—god, so blue—eyes. "You didn't. So, you said you work across the street?" Last chance to bow out gracefully, demolished.

"Uh, yes. At Design, it's an internship type thing, I haven't been there long, but it keeps me busy which is nice. And you? How are you, Bas?" Something about the way he says 'Bas' and the intensity of how he's looking at him at that very moment, like he really wants to know, like maybe his life depends on Sebastian's answer, has him looking away—like trying to look at the sun—and chugging back the rest of his coffee.

"I'm still at the firm, so work's fine. School's fine. I'm fine," he answers stiffly before the words 'I can't go on with my fucking life because you're always in the back of my mind, and I can't even have a decent one-night stand anymore because all I do is compare them to you and they never live up to the standard. And all I can think about is how much I hate Blaine and you because it's easier than hating myself for being so pathetic and what in the hell made you think it was okay for you to just show back up out of nowhere like nothing ever happened?' stupidly spew from his mouth.

He can feel Kurt's eyes still watching him and for a moment he worries that maybe he'd just said it aloud or that somehow Kurt had read his mind which would be less than surprising, actually. But Kurt's not screaming at him or leaving so maybe not. Sebastian glances back up and he's just watching him like he's never seen him before. He finds himself shifting nervously under the gaze trying to look anywhere but at Kurt, but it turns out his eyes really, really enjoy looking at Kurt so he gives in and lets them settle on his unfairly attractive face. "Uh…Kurt?"

Kurt opens his mouth to say something, but looks as if he changes his mind at the last minute before answering, "Just fine?" He swipes a hand through his hair, shrugging. Kurt hesitates then, "Bas…"

"Don't, Kurt," Sebastian cuts in sharply. "Don't you dare." He sees Kurt flinch under the hard edge in his voice and his eyes drop back on the table at his untouched coffee. He nearly apologizes, but some sadistic part of him rejoices in that flinch, that sign of weakness, because it's payback somehow for how he's felt for so long, and—whether it makes sense or not—payback for making Sebastian lo—for making Sebastian care about him at all.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "It wasn't my place."

"No," Sebastian responds, but his voice has lost some of the harshness. "No, it wasn't."

"You look good," Kurt tells him with a small apologetic smile that makes his heartbeat accelerate an embarrassing amount. He doesn't know why, because he knows he looks good; it's taken a while to get this way. There had been a time when he had thought for sure that the dark circles were permanently tattooed under his eyes.

"I could say the same to you…even in girls' clothes," he jibes back, and really it's an 'all is forgiven,' but that aside Kurt does look really fucking good. He can't tell if it's because of how long his eyes have been starving to look at him or if Blaine just looks really good on him. That thought makes his stomach twist uneasily, because oh yeah, Blaine. What is he even doing here? Friendship isn't an option for them, not by a long-shot and especially when Blaine knows about them and fuck. What the fuck is he doing?

"This vest is McQueen, you ass." The genuine smile on his face nearly makes Sebastian forget about his internal meltdown. Almost.

"Kurt…" The smile melts away just as quickly as it appeared, "What are we doing?".

"Talking?" Kurt tries, wincing as he picks at his muffin.

"Really," Sebastian deadpans. "We never talked before."

And Kurt actually looks hurt at that, he tells himself that he doesn't care what Kurt feels. "Well, I…I'm sorry, Sebastian. I shouldn't have—I shouldn't have done this." Then Kurt's on his feet stumbling with nerves and something else. He hits the corner of the table with his hip splashing cold, forgotten coffee over the table top; he doesn't seem to notice. "I knew that you—" He grabs a bag from the floor that Sebastian hadn't even noticed in the first place and inches farther away from the table. "I'm just really sorry." Kurt's voice is thick and a little shaky, and Sebastian's hand shoots out again to snag his elbow as he passes.

"Please," he breathes. Sebastian isn't actually sure of what he's even asking for. Please stay? Please go? Please love me and leave your midget boyfriend? Please stay away from me so that I can move on with my life? "Please, don't go." He doesn't know how Kurt hears him, but he does and then he's turning again and his eyes are just slightly greener. Sebastian's heart beats a little faster.

Kurt keeps their gazes locked for a long moment then takes his bottom lip between his teeth. "Do you," he starts, "want to go somewhere?"

No. Absolutely not. Fuck no. Are you insane? "Yeah," he murmured. "Yes."

It turns out 'somewhere' actually ends up meaning Sebastian's apartment. They don't say much on the five minute walk over or the two minute ride up the elevator, just exchange a few awkward looks and hit-and-miss glances.

"Nothing's changed," Kurt says with a soft amused smile once they've stepped inside. Sebastian eyes are glued to his body as he moves through the room, fingers gliding over furniture and little odds and ends, because actually yeah a few things have. And he's stuck between the memory of Kurt leaving him that last time and the time they had sex on the counter Kurt's touching right now. He wonders if Kurt's remembering it too. And that is a terrible thought which he will not ever think it again, because he is not having sex with Kurt under any circumstances. He isn't strong enough to watch him walk away again. Suddenly Kurt spins around and faces him and Sebastian is almost embarrassed by being caught in the act. "What?" he asks suspiciously.

"Kurt, where does Blaine think you are right now?" Sebastian sighs.

Watching Kurt's face freeze up so quickly is almost amusing in some strange nonsensical way, but then he shrugs and begins moving around the apartment again as Sebastian trails closely behind him. "I don't know."

"You don't know," he deadpans. There's a small frown on Kurt's face as he spins to face him, something like confusion. "And you don't think he'd be a little, I don't know, upset if he knew you were with me?" he snapped sarcastically.

"No. Why would he?"

Sebastian gapes like a fish for a moment, opening and closing his mouth repeatedly before he snaps it shut and shakes his head slowly. "Kurt, he knows about—he came here. Before. He knows it was me."

The strangest expression takes over Kurt's face then—a mix of fondness, understanding, sadness, and guilt; what does that even mean?—before the corners of his mouth turn up just enough to be noticeable, and he thumbs the stubble at the hinge of Sebastian's jaw."Bas, Blaine and I haven't been together since he found out." The words barely make it out of his mouth before Sebastian's brain short circuits and wonders why exactly Kurt's mouth is able to form words at all and why is he still thinking when Kurt's standing in front of him with his hand pressed hotly over Sebastian's skin and—

He doesn't know who moves first or whether they just meet somewhere in the middle, but one minute he's staring at Kurt's lips and the next they're smashed into his, moving and sucking and parting to make way for his tongue—god Kurt's tongue—and he definitely isn't thinking anymore because it's been so long. Sebastian takes charge then, cupping the back of Kurt's head to pull him closer as his other hand finds the small of his back just as it dips. It's sloppy and tactless but so fucking good, because it's Kurt and him and it's okay to be together like this, to taste and touch and want so desperately. Kurt makes a little sound in the back of his throat that sounds suspiciously like a whimper when Sebastian sucks his bottom lip into his mouth to rememorize the taste and feel of it and the way his teeth sink into it so easily. He's missed the little sounds Kurt makes so much more than he realized.

A hand slides up the plane of his chest, leaving a trail of heat in its wake before it scoops around his neck and suddenly both of Kurt's arms are hooked around it, tugging him closer until every line over their bodies are pressed together so tightly he's sure he can feel Kurt's heart beating against his skin. He wonders if Kurt can feel his too or if maybe he can hear it because it's pounding so loudly, so violently in his chest that he thinks it's completely probable.

His whole world is a daze of fog, Kurt's lips and the heat of their skin pressed so close, he's lightheaded as the world seems to spin, which he guesses is a symptom of touching after so many months of not being able to, but then Kurt pulls back just enough to separate their lips and he automatically sucks in a breath that it appears his body desperately needs. Oh. Or maybe it was oxygen deprivation. Whatever.

Their foreheads rest against each other as their breath mixes together between pants and he doesn't know how well this whole breathing thing is working out for them if they're just taking in each other's exhales but he doesn't actually care about that deatail enough to pull back. Kurt's lips curl into a sweet, tiny smile that makes Sebastian's stomach flutter, and brushes against his mouth. "Missed you," Sebastian breathes, "Missed you so much." His heart clenches when he says it because finally he's admitting it to himself, allowing himself to acknowledge how miserable he's been without out him and it's all too much to handle at one time, especially while Kurt's looking at him like that, like he's never seen him before. But then Kurt leans in to brush their mouths together in a gentle, barely-there kiss that Sebastian feels all the way down to his toes.

"Kiss me." He doesn't need any more prompting before he seals their lips again, all teeth and tongue and heat and lust and perfection. Their hands race over each other's bodies, touching and teasing as they push closer, so close, but not nearly enough yet, so Sebastian grips the back of Kurt's thighs and lifts him up to wrap them around his waist. He'd nearly forgotten how perfectly tight his thighs are, how good they feel wrapped around him.

"Is this okay?" Sebastian manages to gasp between kisses as he begins walking them to the bedroom.

"So, okay," Kurt pants. Then their tongues are tangling together in a familiar dance and Sebastian's trying really hard not to crash them into something. The coffee table nearly trips him but he quickly gathers back his footing and without further obstruction and a few more steps they fall haphazardly onto Sebastian's mattress in a mass of limbs. "New comforter," Kurt observes, as he leans down to press a kiss to Sebastian's collarbone. It's not something he really wants to talk about right now, though, so he just nods and rucks the fabric of Kurt's shirt up his back to slide his hands up the—oh, so soft—skin there.

Kurt's mouth brushes against his ear before he sucks wetly at the hollow beneath it with a low moan that goes straight to his already half-hard dick and wow, when did that happen? "I want to taste all of you," he mutters before tugging Sebastian's shirt up and over his head, and dropping it off the side of the bed which is perfectly fine with him, great actually, he encourages it. His jeans and briefs follow soon after leaving him naked atop the blankets as goosebumps prickle his skin with the sudden loss of heat. It doesn't last long though, before Kurt straddles his waist and leans down to lick across his collarbone, down his sternum and lower until he's dipping his tongue into Sebastian's bellybutton then moving back up to start the to map out the rest of his chest. By the time Kurt makes it back down to his waist, he's sure he's going to have a heart attack and die from the sexual frustration, but apparently Kurt doesn't care because he sucks at his hip bones, nipping the pointed tips before sliding further down to kiss across his thighs then lower.

The inside of a knee should never be that sensitive, he decides when his cock gives a jerk at Kurt's mouth sucking a purple bruise into the skin there. Then again, Kurt could probably make sucking Sebastian's toe erotic and sure enough, much to his complete and utter horror, the thought sends a coil of heat shooting down his spine. There is something seriously wrong with him, but maybe he should try and figure out later when he's able to form complete sentences.

Luckily, Kurt bypasses his toes altogether and presses a small kiss at the arch of his foot before working his way back up the other leg. "Kurt," he whines, nudging his hips up, "Kurt, please." A vicious grin takes over Kurt's features and he feels a little tendril dread.

"Please, what?" he teases, stroking over Sebastian's rigid length.

"Inside me," Sebastian breathes, "Please, Kurt, I'm not going to last and I just want—I need to feel you. I need to know that you're here." Kurt stares down at him with an expression akin to wonder and Sebastian feels a horrible blush creeping over his skin as he realizes there's a possibility that Kurt might actually refuse him.

"Of course," he says. All the air trapped in Sebastian's lungs rushes out of him then in relief, and Kurt brushes a quick kiss against his lips as he reaches out to pluck lube and a condom out of the nightstand and rids himself of his clothes. "Whatever you need." Kurt cups his face, something intense in his eyes that makes Sebastian's heart race in his ears, before leaning in to kiss him one more time. It's slow and deep and it makes tingles race down every inch of his skin, and it's…time. Their time. Because they have that now, they can roll in it and savor it and kiss as long as they want to—but not now because he thinks he literally might explode if someone doesn't start doing something like now. Kurt can feel that apparently, because he pulls away with a peck and begins warming lube up over four fingers.

God, Sebastian wants him so badly, can barely think over his need to feel Kurt hot and thick inside him. He nearly opens his mouth to tell him he'll do it himself if Kurt doesn't hurry up, when a slick finger eases into his body and fuck it's so worth the wait.

Kurt goes slow with him, taking his time sliding in and out of him, stretching him and pressing more fingers in as he goes. Sebastian's thankful for that, because as much as he wants this, he doesn't bottom much, ever actually. He can count the amount on one hand and those had been years ago. The act is too personal, makes him feel too vulnerable, but he needs that right now. Needs to feel Kurt so close, so intimately, more than he's ever needed anything in his life.

A fourth finger slides in alongside the other three, brushing against his prostate purposefully as the fingers ease deeper inside of him. Spikes of white-hot pleasure shoot up his spine and his head flies back against the pillow. "That's enough," he gasps. The digits still and if he didn't want Kurt's cock in him so badly he would have whined and begged them to keep going, but he does so Sebastian pulls Kurt's head down to whisper, "Please," against his lips.

Kurt pulls out without another word, inhaling sharply when the cold lube makes contact with his condom-covered erection. It's glorious, Sebastian thinks, so long and beautiful and hard for him. The thought shouldn't please him as much as it does but he doesn't have much time to think on it before Kurt's sliding back up his body, pushing his thighs further apart so he can settle comfortable between them. The head of his cock presses teasingly against his stretched hole. "Ready?"

Rather than give a verbal answer, Sebastian hooks his legs around Kurt's waist and rolls his hips so that the head of Kurt's cock sinks into his ass. Fuck. His thought is voiced by Kurt in Sebastian's ear as his head drops heavily onto Sebastian's shoulder. But it's all white noise over the perfect slide of Kurt's cock pressing deeper and deeper inside him and why haven't they been doing this always? What is wrong with them? Kurt's thrusts shallowly one more time and his balls slap against Sebastian's ass as he stills to give him time to adjust. "Fuck, Bas," he says through clenched teeth, "How are you so fucking tight?" Sebastian can almost feel Kurt shake at how much effort it's taking for him to hold still and that is definitely not what he wants right now at all.

"Move," he whispers then, releasing something close to a wail as Kurt draws back and pushes back into him. There is no way he's going to last, not with Kurt stretching him so tightly and pounding into him so perfectly. His skin is on fire, too hot even on top of the blankets because every facet of his skin has needed this for so long and now it's here, in him, all around him, and he feels it all.

Kurt moans against the side of neck, peppering it with kisses. "You feel so good around me, Bas. Never want to stop, but I won't last."

"Then fuck me," he gasps, "fuck me until I can't see straight. Until you're all I can feel."

Sebastian doesn't know what Kurt answers to that because a warm, lube-slick hand wraps tightly around him right as Kurt brushes against the bundle of nervous in him with a particular hard thrust. He can't control the stream of nonsensical words flowing from his mouth anymore, but Kurt either doesn't notice or doesn't care because he doesn't stop, stroking him now to the tempo of the rolling of their hips. It's all so perfect and hot and desperate and he wants it to go on forever but the fire in his belly has been building since Kurt's lips first touched his and he'll be lucky if he can hold off another minute. "Kurt," he cries, "I can't—I'm going to come."

"With me," he mews, letting go of Sebastian's cock to thrust into him a few more times. "Come with me, Baby."

Sebastian sees white as Kurt slams into one more time and he's coming hard between their bodies with Kurt's lips on his soaking up their twin groans. They slump together on the mattress without a thought of cleaning themselves or pulling the blankets up over them before they fall asleep.

His eyes fly open at wetness sliding over his chest; he jumps, but settles down into the bed again he realizes it's just Kurt, who gives him a smile as he moves the washrag over his skin. He cleans himself next and tosses the rag across the room somewhere. Sebastian feels an unexplainable tightness in his chest and realizes he's waiting for Kurt to get up and leave him. He's waiting for Kurt to tell him that it was fun, but he'll see him later.

The sky is a dull blue outside of his window, they've been asleep for a few hours at least, and if anything he guesses he can just feel triumphant in that aspect. It's the longest they've ever stayed together after sex.

Kurt doesn't get out of the bed though. The opposite actually. He pulls the throw blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it over them, cuddling into Sebastian's side once it's settled. Sebastian tells himself it's dust in his eye.

"I missed you too," he says suddenly, "Ever since I—since that day. I didn't realize it at first. I just knew something was…off, missing. I thought it was Blaine," he winces as he says it and Sebastian has the urge to comfort him and tell him he doesn't have to say anything, but he just listens because he knows he needs to hear this. "I thought it would go away if I put more effort into being who I was before. But…I'm not who I was before. I haven't been for a very long time. And I couldn't go back even if I wanted to, and I did, I tried so hard." His voice has dropped so soft that Sebastian has to strain to hear it. "I love Blaine, I do, but as my best friend. I guess I've only ever been able to have feelings for one person at a time. As soon as I had those feelings for you—I love you, Sebastian. I left before because I was terrified of how you might react to that, that you wouldn't be able to give that back to me when I already knew Blaine did and I know it wasn't fair but it doesn't matter to me whether you do or not because…" Sebastian silences him with a kiss and it's the only thing keeping him together right now, because he can't wrap his mind around anything Kurt's said. It's terrifying and liberating at the same time and he's afraid if he lets himself think about it for too long he might have a mental breakdown. Kurt seems thankful for the distraction as well, smiling into the kiss before he breaks away to nip the tip of Sebastian's nose. "Goodnight," he whispers.

For the first time in a year Sebastian sleeps all the way through the night with no fear of where Kurt will be when he wakes up.

At first, Kurt can't register just why, exactly, he isn't burning up under the thick blanket that he didn't kick off of himself during the night. As a matter of fact, his normally too-hot-for-civilization bedroom is even a little chilly. But a comfortable chilly, like the cool side of the pillow kind of chilly that makes sleeping just that much more enjoyable. He yawns, tossing his arms up over his head in a long, luxurious stretch that has his back popping deliciously and his toes curling into the mattress. It's going to be a good day, he can just tell.

Kurt takes a deep breath through his nose, which alerts him of the second thing to trip him up. He's pretty sure he smells eggs. And coffee. Why does he smell food and coffee? His eyes fly open for the first time that morning and his stomach drops into his toes. This is not his apartment. This is Sebastian's apartment.

He is in Sebastian's bed.

Naked.

He is naked in Sebastian's bed.

Why is he naked in Sebastian's bed?

A million insane explanations fly through his brain before he can stop and think about them and for a second he thinks maybe this is a dream. Then he catches sight of the new sheets and comforters, the curtains he doesn't recognize, their clothes literally the bedroom floor and he remembers everything all at once. His breath catches in his throat, more shock than anything, before a wide grin spreads over his face. It was real.

Kurt isn't able to toss himself out of bed fast enough, stumbling over wrinkled garments on his way into Sebastian's bathroom. He will not ruin this glorious day with morning breath. No. He finds a spare toothbrush under the sink and wastes no time spreading the mint-green past over the bristles.

He catches his eyes in the mirror though, almost too bright against the alabaster of his flesh, blue and glittering with more emotion than he's ever seen in them before. His cheeks are tinted pink with something like excitement and anticipation and he realizes all at once that, god, he's happy. He's really fucking happy right now and it doesn't even bother him that most of his teeth don't show when he smiles right before he shoves the toothbrush in his mouth.

The bathroom is different too, Kurt notes after he rinses his mouth out and finds time to take in his environment. The cream rugs have been exchanged for ones in a deep midnight blue and the shower curtain has been switched out too. He wonders why. As Kurt turns to leave the small room a small glass bottle catches his attention, he squints. Is that…? He clutches it in his hand, inspecting it closer. Huh.

He snags a thin, sleek housecoat from Sebastian's closet, pulls it on, and takes the bottle with him into the kitchen.

Sebastian is flitting around the kitchen in a thin t-shirt and boxers, flipping what looks like the most perfect omelet in existence and pulling a tray of muffins from the oven, with his hair sticking up in every possible direction. It's both adorable and sexy at once for reasons he can't identify. He had no idea Sebastian had any culinary skills and he pauses to watch him for a few minutes while he arranges food on two amber colored plates and pours creamer into a mug of coffee. Which, actually, Sebastian drinks his coffee black so…

He's making him breakfast.

Sebastian is making him breakfast. His favorite foods no less, and Kurt bets his savings that it's an egg white omelet with tomatoes, spinach, and onions, that he just scooped out of pan and that the muffins are blueberry.

Kurt can't stand back anymore, too caught up in the urge to just touch and make sure, once and for all, that he's not dreaming. So he crossing the distance between them in a few large strides and wraps his arms around Sebastian's trim waist, burying his face in the back of his neck. He smells like home.

Sebastian jolts under the unexpected embrace but quickly melts back into Kurt's body, covering Kurt's hands with one of his once he's placed their plates on the table—which Kurt takes time to admire, along with the bright red strawberries smiling up at him from a dish in the middle. "Good morning." He can hear the smile in those words and he hides his own with a quick kiss to the base of Sebastian's neck.

"Good morning." Sebastian turns in his arms, leaning in to kiss Kurt's forehead and offer a mug of delicious smelling coffee. And then he nearly drops it. "Shit," he curses, sitting it on the table and shaking off the piping hot liquid from his hand. "Uh, Kurt?"

Kurt shakes the little glass bottle of cologne in front of the other man's face. "I don't remember leaving this here." Though it sounds more like a question than anything else, because Kurt is honestly curious as to what his cologne was doing in Sebastian's bathroom.

An almost guilty look twists Sebastian's features as a faint blush blossoms over his skin. And if that wasn't an interesting reaction. "You didn't." He lifts an eyebrow and Sebastian shrugs. "It smells nice." Kurt doesn't believe him. Not for a single moment, or at least, he doesn't that's all there is to it, but he drops the topic because Sebastian will tell him when he's ready.

The coffee calls his name from its place at the corner of the mahogany table. Kurt answers the call all too eagerly. "You know," Sebastian murmurs against the side of his neck, I actually meant for this to be breakfast in bed.

Kurt laces his fingers into the hair at the base of Sebastian's skull, he needs a haircut. "Smythe, you spoil me," he grins, "But who says it can't be still?" With that, he untangles himself from the knot of arms and legs, known as his, well, whatever Sebastian is to him now, and grabs his plate, heading back into the bedroom. He knows Sebastian will follow.

It's later, after their bellies are full and sated, and their bodies drowsy with content and calm, that Kurt brings it up again. Mostly, because he's curious about Sebastian's reaction and is completely incapable of leaving anything alone for long. He trails a fingertip idly down Sebastian's sternum and mumbles out a few words to get his attention.

"Hmm?" Kurt nearly lets it ago again when fingers slide into his hair and massage at his scalp, happy to dose for a few hours with the knowledge that he's not in a rush to be anywhere but here. But then he remembers that he's a nosy little fucker and decides to put that off for a few more minutes.

"Why did you do it?" Sebastian hums in response, a question, because he's done quite a few things Kurt might just be confused about, so he clarifies. "My cologne. Why did you buy it?" There isn't an answer right away, but it doesn't feel like a refusal to answer, it feels like maybe Sebastian is thinking about it to put his response into words, so Kurt waits.

A deep breath and then, "Because if I closed my eyes sometimes, it was like you were still here. Like you never left."

He doesn't know what he was expecting but it was this. It was wasn't the sudden knot in his throat, the tightening in his chest, so Kurt forces himself to breathe and responds flippantly, "You know, I noticed I'm missing a sweater."

Sebastian's laugh is deep and comfortable and natural and everything a laugh should be, and it vibrates alive and beautiful against his chest and all around him. It's beautiful. "You're impossible!"

Kurt props his chin on the warm chest under him and smirks up at Sebastian. "I know, why do you put up with me?"

A hand cups his face, thumbing the sharpness of his cheek bone with a surprising softness that is matched in Sebastian's eyes. "Because I love you."

FIN

So, let me know what you thought? I'm so sad for this to be over, it's been such a long road. Geez. But I really hope you enjoyed it as much as I have. Farewell, my sweets. 3