Dear Mr. Anderson,
I do not know if you recall the circumstances under which we met; it was my perception, in fact, that you wished fervently you had been somewhere else at the time. If so, I apologize, but I must bring it up.
I have never met a gentler soul than you, my dear Blaine, a fact which I can no longer ignore. From the moment you approached me, as the only man in the room appreciative of music and, dare I say, beauty, as I was—from that moment, you have been on my mind. We spoke endlessly that night. You listened as well as spoke, you were attentive in every way, and I was too far gone to even categorize my own feelings. I am afraid that, although your letters are a spot of brightness in my life, they are no longer enough. If you feel the same way, I beg of you to write immediately and ease my mind. If not, then the letters will cease and I will at least be relieved.
Despise me if you will, forget me if you must. Know that every moment we are apart is a moment in which I suffer. I beg of you to reply hastily and end my torment. I remain
Yours most faithfully,
Blaine stared at the letter in mute shock. It seemed—if he was not gravely mistaken (and he would throw himself into the Thames if he was, for deceiving himself so cruelly), it sounded as though Kurt was confessing an attachment that bordered on love. From that moment, you have been on my mind… Surely he was reading too much into it? Nothing Kurt had ever written or said had hinted at such great affection?
Or perhaps he was simply a fool. If the evidence had been in front of him and he had simply been too blind to see—? If Kurt had been writing to him this entire time in an attempt to—
“Anderson?” Santana strolled into the room
“I’m—I’ve been forced to reevaluate something,” he said weakly, setting aside the offending piece of paper. “And I would very much like some sort of deprecating remark on my character now, please. The world seems to have gone topsyturvy.”
“Has your family won the lots? Or failed in the stocks?” Santana quipped, sipping her coffee. “Or has your Juliet found and married her Paris?”
“No… actually… I think—it’s possible that my unrequited love is—somewhat—requited.”
For a moment, Santana simply gaped at him. Then, with lightening-fast speed that actually alarmed him, her hand darted out and snatched the letter from its place at his elbow.
(Missing scene: Santana is caught off guard at first, but she is very calm when Blaine tries to explain it away. She gives him tips on how to write the perfect letter.)
My dear Mr. Hummel,
Of course I recall that evening… with greater fondness than you may realize. I must confess that thoughts of you—the memory of your voice, your image carried so close to my heart—gives me courage as I count out the seconds until the next time we shall meet, hoping that I might be ever, humbly,
Your Mr. Anderson
(Missing scene: Blaine gets ready to leave)
Andrea kissed his cheek, simultaneously pressing something into his hand. Blaine glanced down and his face broke into a smile. It was a photo, a recent one, of Andrea and Mark.
“For your watch,” Andrea said shyly. “Whenever it’s empty.”
It wasn’t much. She hadn’t outright expressed congratulations or good luck, but he couldn’t imagine anything that would mean more. Blaine pulled her and Mark into a tight hug.
“Thank you,” he whispered in her ear.
Finally—finally, Blaine stood on the doorstep of the Hummels’ home, heart hammering wildly against his ribcage. He noticed, with a self-deprecating smile, that his hand shook when he raised it, and tried to make up for it by banging the knocker as solidly as possible, three times.
Within seconds, the door was answered by a frighteningly efficient-looking woman with iron grey hair.
“Blaine Anderson, to see Mr. Hummel, please,” he told her, pleased with his steady voice. The maid nodded.
“One moment, sir,” she said in a voice of utmost disdain. The door was shut in his face, and he waited. She returned presently. “Mr. Hummel is in the drawing room. If you would follow me.”
Meekly, Blaine followed her, a few paces behind, observing the house as he passed. It was furnished simply, but tastefully. From Kurt’s letters, he had formed a rough picture of the elder Mr. Hummel, and assumed (rightfully) that he had not had the final say in most of the decoration.
They reached the drawing room. The maid entered and introduced him, before disappearing silently.
(Missing scene: Kurt isn’t home. Blaine chats awkwardly with Burt, and learns that Kurt talks about him a lot, and has been missing him.)
Blaine turned, his heart pounding in his throat. Kurt was standing in the doorway, looking dumbstruck.
“How—how long have you been back?” Kurt asked.
“Not long. A day, perhaps. Lucky the weather’s been so fair, or it would have been longer.”
“Yes, it’s been quite mild for March. Last year I believe we still had snow on this date.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me. London’s been quite dreary these past few months.”
Their conversation was inane and stupid, but Blaine couldn’t even bring himself to care. Kurt was here, in the flesh, his eyes sparkling and the color high on his cheeks. When he spoke, his voice was slightly lower than Blaine remembered, but melodious and smooth despite his hesitation. The lines of his face were sharp, but softened around his mouth where the faintest smile was beginning to bloom. He stood taller, poised like an angel about to take flight, and it took Blaine a moment to realize that he was speaking again.
“Shall we take advantage of the weather and go for a walk? We’ve just had some of the paths redone. It’s a lovely view, if you ignore the distant drills.”
God bless your beautiful mind, Blaine thought, relieved.
“Yes, that would be excellent. Excuse me, sir,” he said. He nodded at the elder Mr. Hummel, who looked between his son and Blaine with a bemused expression.
“Of course. Although I don’t think the weather is that mild….”
Blaine followed Kurt through rooms and hallways until they exited through French windows and found themselves in a small garden littered with rosebushes.
“Kurt,” he said, pouring every ounce of relief and love and desire into that one word. It tasted like ambrosia on his tongue.
“Not a word.” Kurt turned with a pained expression. He reached out and grasped Blaine’s wrists.“Please, Blaine—my love—not here.”
With those words, he yanked Blaine forward, one arm wrapping around his shoulders. He walked again, quicker than before.
It took Blaine a moment to understand. Then a euphoric smile crept over his face, and he laughed. He leaned into Kurt, hugging around his waist. The sudden force caused Kurt’s arm to slip up to Blaine’s neck, pulling them even closer, and Kurt stumbled. A laugh was torn from his lips as Blaine’s snatched his hand. Soon they were nearly running to the line of trees at the edge of the garden, connected at every point and thoroughly delighted to be so.
They passed through the fringe of the trees and Blaine turned fiercely. Kurt yelped, caught off guard, and pressed back. They fell, laughing, wrestling on the ground, too happy to form words.
“A truce, a truce!” Kurt cried, when Blaine discovered the sensitive, ticklish spot beneath his arm. “Let go of me, you mongrel!”
“As you wish,” Blaine chuckled. He sat up and stood, offering a hand. “You’ll get your clothes dirty.”
“I don’t care,” Kurt declared, although he stood readily enough. “You’re here. You’re real, Blaine, you—”
“I am! Kurt—Kurt, you have no idea how long I’ve missed you, how long I’ve been waiting for this…”
“I believe I do,” he smiled, smoothing Blaine’s jacket.
Kurt lifted his hands, hesitatingly, and cupped Blaine’s cheeks. It was the most honest thing he could have done, and Blaine shivered. Months—months of ink on paper.And now this, the warm, solid feel of Kurt’s skin. He met Kurt’s gaze for just a moment, and then forced his eyes to close. He couldn’t bear it.
“Kiss me,” Kurt murmured. “Please.”
Blaine kept his eyes closed and leaned forward. He found Kurt’s lips blindly. It was clumsy and he didn’t have the courage to do anything but press their mouths together as firmly as he possibly could. His answer was a soft sound of relief, and he broke the kiss to wrap his arms entirely around his beloved.
“You never told me,” Kurt said breathlessly as soon as they parted. There was an accusation lurking behind the words. “I didn’t expect you to be back for weeks, at least. It’s very rotten of you.”
Blaine laughed, pressing another kiss to his cheek.
“I thought you liked surprises.”
“I hate surprises.”
“I love you.”
Kurt’s eyes widened, and a slow smile spread across his face. His arms tightened, briefly, before loosening, and he slipped out of Blaine’s embrace, averting his gaze. He strolled over to one of the oak trees, and Blaine could see him blushing.
“I love you, too,” he said simply. He looked up, and something about him—his pose, his happiness, the play of sunlight across his face—took Blaine’s breath away. “I never thought I’d say that,” he added, almost a whisper.
Blaine nodded. His throat was too constricted to speak.
“What is it?”
“It’s—nothing,” Blaine said, smiling with some effort. He stepped closer and brushed a lock of hair out of Kurt’s face. “I’ve never seen you in this light before. You look exquisite.”
“You’ve only seen me twice,” Kurt said sweetly. His lashes created a fringe of tiny shadows on his cheeks.
“No,” Blaine corrected. With clumsy fingers, he pulled his pocket watch out and flipped it open. He showed Kurt, who reached out almost automatically and held it in both hands, fingers smoothing the engraved face. “I’ve seen you every day since I left, dearest, and you’ve only grown more beautiful in my absence.”
“That’s a pretty speech. Have you been practicing?”
“No, that was pure impulse. You inspire me,” Blaine teased, pressing a kiss to Kurt’s temple. “And what have you done with my picture?”
Kurt blushed deeper and tried to look away. Blaine reached out to hug him again, and so they only swayed awkwardly before Kurt rested his head against Blaine’s.
“It’s at my bedside. Your face has been the last one I see these past three months. My dreams have been sweet.”
“Pretty speech,” Blaine chuckled, lifting Kurt’s chin and leaning up to kiss him lovingly. “I’m glad. Would you believe—doubt was the only thing preventing me from crossing the ocean the second I got there? I was anxious—desperate to know if you—cared for me, yes, but if you understood… I love you, more than you can imagine but—”
Kurt’s sweet, delighted smile stopped the words in his mouth.
“I love you,” he said simply, like that was all that mattered. “Really, I do. Do you really love me?”
Blaine tightened his grip even more and reached up with one hand, stroking Kurt’s silky hair. Kurt let his hands drift up his chest, wrapping around his neck, twining into Blaine’s hair and pulling him closer. The sun flared bright gold on the horizon and then faded, as night returned to the earth.