BROKEN HEART SYNDROME
REPORT ONE: AMBIVALENCE

“So,” Adam says, walking inside the room with a couple of Coke cans in his hands and countless different types of junk food between his arms, “Mom said you can stay as long as you want, maybe even stay the night if it pleases you, but I’m telling you, if you’re really planning on planting roots in here, you better start paying your own share of bills, you hear me?”

“Fuck you,” Leo answers, trying to kick him in his knees when he walks past him and the chair he’s sitting on, but clumsily missing the target, “Gimme one of those,” he whines, pointing at a chocolate bar.

“I should have you pay for this too,” Adam chuckles, throwing the snack at him and then opening one of the cans to sip at it, “You know, not everybody here is the son of the most important Broadway actor of the last ten years, with a hundred dollars per week allowance. Some of us are poor. I hate to break it down for you.”

“I said fuck you,” Leo snorts, unpacking the snack and taking an angry bite of it, gnawing violently, as if he’s trying to take his anger out on the innocent chocolate bar, “They used to give me more before Tana was born.”

“Yeah, let’s complain about that, Leo, that’s exactly what I’m in the mood to hear about when my mom’s doing double shifts to pay the rent,” Adam shakes his head, rolling his eyes and casting a resigned glance to the ceiling. He’s not really angry at Leonard, he knows him too well, and has been knowing him for much too long, not to know he doesn’t see anything else in the world that doesn’t concern himself. He doesn’t do it on purpose, he’s not even mean. He’s just self-centered. And kind of dumb, actually.

“I’m sorry…” Leo sighs, finishing his snack in a couple of bites and then asking for some coke. Adam gives him his can, and opens the other one, “It’s just that… that man’s home now. It’s making me even angrier than usual.”

“And, considering you live your life in a constant state of deep, wild and unreasonable anger even when he’s not around, that’s saying something,” Adam chuckles, mocking him.

Leo turns to glare at him, but he ends up losing all his drive halfway through, so when he’s actually looking at Adam he’s doing it with an annoyed but too-tired-to-be-really-threatening look, which is fine. Adam knows him enough to know he’s about to surrender. “You don’t need to make me feel stupid about it, y’know?” he says.

Adam nods. “I know, but it’s funnier that way,” he answers, and when Leo starts whining, he chuckles. “Come on,” he says, “You can’t expect me to take it seriously, I mean, you never talk about him, I don’t know what he did to make you hate him like that, how can you expect me to sympathize?”

“Maybe ‘cause you’re my best friend?” Leo asks back, arching an eyebrow.

“I am,” Adam nods, “But that doesn’t mean I can hate a man just because he exists or something. Come on, all I know is that he was your father’s boyfriend when they were in high school, and that coach Karofsky has always been jealous of him.”

“And that he almost ruined my parents’ wedding, a wedding I had worked my ass off to make possible!, nine years ago!”

“That’s not exactly accurate,” Adam laughs, opening a pack of onion-flavored chips to start eating them, “What really happened is that he was a guest at your parents’ wedding and that you misunderstood what was the purpose of him being there for your father, and you ran away in tears, making the hugest drama queen scene you’ve ever done, getting yourself lost in the woods and putting yourself and the wedding in danger, until your fathers just sat down and figured everything out, making it alright again.”

Leo swallows down all his coke and then throws the empty can at Adam, missing him spectacularly. “Fuck it,” he whines.

“You really are hopeless, aren’t you?” Adam chuckles, standing up to retrieve the empty can from the floor before the couple of drops of coke still left inside it could stain the carpet. “I don’t know what this Blaine guy did to you, beside looking like you in quite a disturbing way—”

“He doesn’t look like me!”

“—but you really should let it go, Leo,” Adam sighs, throwing the can in the trash.

“Listen, I’m not making this up or anything,” Leo snorts, sitting better on the chair so he can look at Adam straight in his eyes, “I’m not exaggerating! He’s, like, the worse human being ever conceived, I refuse to acknowledge he has a mother because nothing that evil could ever come out of a living woman, it would kill her. Maybe that’s why his is dead, after all.”

“Now you’re being mean.”

“No, now I’m being the one who doesn’t give a fuck about Blaine Anderson, okay?” he insists, getting all fired up, “I hate him. Now, you’re free to believe that I do it for stupid, trivial reasons, or whatever, but I know him better than you, I’ve been knowing him my whole life, and that man is scum. He’s inconsistent, always showing himself off inappropriately, he doesn’t know what the word respect means, he’s a whore and he’s not even ashamed of that, and yet everybody looks at him like he was some sort of Greek God, just because he’s good-looking and has abs. I can’t stand him, he’s exactly the kind of person I don’t want around, and yet I’m forced to have him around because my father, just like everybody else, falls for his Prince Charming shit every single time. So, is this enough, Adam? Is this enough for you to understand why I’m so fucking angry whenever he’s around?”

Adam blinks a couple of times, looking at him like he’s never seen him before. “Leo?” he calls out, standing up from the edge of his bed and walking towards him to put a hand on his shoulder, “I think you should talk about this with somebody.”

“I just talked about this with you,” Leo answers, frowning.

“No, I mean somebody who can understand what’s going on in your head, because dude, what you just said sounds so totally unhealthy and kind of messed up, if you want my opinion.”

“Oh, please…” Leo says, letting out a frustrated moan and standing up too, walking away from Adam, “I don’t need a shrink because I fucking hate Blaine Anderson.”

“You sure?” Adam insists, tilting his head a bit as he keeps following him around, “’Cause, dude, everything you said… I mean, what do you even care about it? So he fucks around, alright. What do you care?”

“It’s not just that! It’s everything else too! Did you even listen?”

“Yeah, man, I did! I heard you fine and clear, it just seems to me that you’re, like, you know…” he tries to find the right words to say, because he knows Leo’s in a very bad place now, he feels like he’s been cornered and Adam’s almost sure that if he tried to reach out for him carelessly, Leo would bite his hand off. “…a little overinvested, maybe?” he tries, looking cautiously at Leo.

Who drops his arms down his sides and parts his lips in shock. His eyes scream “betrayal!”, and Adam instantly knows maybe he didn’t choose the words correctly enough.

“Yeah, sure. It’s me. I’m the problem,” Leo mutters, walking past Adam as if he didn’t even see him, to retrieve the jacket he abandoned on the back of the chair when he walked in, three hours ago, when he took it off. “Doesn’t matter anyway, he’s still going to be there. Dad wouldn’t throw him out even if I ran away from home.”

“Leo… come on,” Adam sighs, following him as he tries to stop him, “Aren’t you taking it a little too bad? And don’t get mad at me!”

“I’m not mad at you, okay?” Leo turns around to look at Adam, as if he could trick him into believe that if he’s able to look at him straight in his eyes, he’s telling the truth. Adam, however, knows it’s not that simple. “I just need to go. If I move now, I’m gonna be home before midnight.”

“Wait— what?” Adam opens his eyes wide, almost throwing himself between Leo and the door, “Leo, you live in the other side of the city! Come on, at least wait for my mom to be back, she’ll drive you home!”

“No, I’m fine,” Leo shakes his head, forcing a smile that doesn’t look even half as sincere as he wanted it to, “I need to walk. It’ll help me cool down. I need it, if I don’t wanna punch him in the face the very moment I see him.”

Adam sighs, moving away from the door and opening it. Leo smiles at him and walks to the front door, whispering a “thank you”.

“You sure you don’t wanna stay for the night?” Adam asks, “I was joking, you know, about making you pay for it.”

Leo lets out an amused half-chuckle that actually sounds half-honest too. “I know, Adam, I know,” he says, “I’m fine, don’t worry. Besides, even if I slept here, he would still be there in the morning. And I can’t let that man kick me out of my own house. Don’t worry, I’m gonna be okay.”

“Sure you are,” Adam sighs once more, lifting a hand to ruffle Leo’s already wild enough curls, “Some day, my hand’s gonna get stuck in it,” he says with a light chuckle.

Leo echoes it with a chuckle of his own, looking at him with a flash of gratitude in his eyes. “Then you should stop doing it, already,” he says, punching him lightly on his chest, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, you’ll call me tonight, so I know you’re alive,” Adam says, with one last sigh.

Leo’s not going to call him tonight, but this he still doesn’t know.

*
When Leo has said he was fine going back home alone, he hasn't realized how really far his home is from Adam's. While he walks down the road with his cellphone on so to make some kind of light the seldom drivers can see and not run him over, he understands thoroughly the difference in condition between their family. Never, in all his life, he has wished more not to live in the suburbs.

Apparently, they are a longer way away if you don't drive a car or take a bus.

He has just passed the cafeteria downtown where they always go when they should be studying at the library and for some reason or another they don't want to – that's the furthest he and Annie can convince Adam to go before his ever present sense of duty kicks in – when a text message arrives. It's Adam of course, asking if he has made it home yet.

“No, I didn't made it home yet, Adam,” Leo snaps and writes him an answer. Geez, can the guy stop worrying for a couple of hours? He has all it takes to be the so called leader of their trio: he is the strongest, the most popular, he is the tall, handsome blonde and he is not even dumb. He could be the hero. Instead, he goes on and plays the mother-hen for him and Annie.

When he gets home, another hour has passed and Adam has written ten other messages, one more anxious than the previous one. Leo has answered the first four, then stopped all together because he may receive more money than Adam from his parents, but his allowance is not endless, and he doesn't want to spend it all in one night to make sure his overprotective best friend knows he's still alive.

The house is dark, of course.

Since Santana is born, his parents go to bed early, hoping she will follow their example and fall asleep sooner, but she never does. She always keeps them awake for the most part of the night. Luckily, Leo is an heavy sleeper, so she can cry all she wants, he never notices. Only the morning after he knows that she has been generally unbearable because Kurt is so tired that he doesn't even bother covering the shadows under his eyes before showing up for breakfast.

But they have a guest in the house tonight. The thought of Blaine being unable to sleep because of his annoying little sister's crying makes him happy. “I hope you wanted to sleep, Anderson, and that she kept screaming and screaming and screaming until your head felt like exploding and you ran away,” he says aloud, as he looks right and left approaching his home.

Santana did cry.

She cried a lot. She cried so much Blaine actually thought she was going to scream her head off or something. He usually loves kids. He's not the kind of man who goes head over heels just to hold them or makes those stupid little noises every time a toddler under six months is anywhere near, but he finds them cute. He was sure that someday he would stop fucking around and even have a kid; possibly with the gorgeous guy who tends to all his needs in his dreams every time he is in bed alone. But Santana did whatever she could do to make him reconsider. The little girl – no more than five months old if he understood correctly – was the cutest thing ever while she was with them at dinner and right after that, while they were talking in the sitting room. But as soon as her fathers said goodbye and brought her to bed, she started howling and she wouldn't stop.

Blaine tried to ignore her for a while, burying his head under his pillow on the couch, but to no use. Even behind a closed door the kid's high pitched wailing was clearly audible. He even wondered how Kurt and Dave could stand that torture every night without swinging her out of the window. After hearing Kurt singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” Barbra Streisand style for the third time in a row, he decided it was time for him to do something different instead of tossing and turning on a couch and went to have a shower.

Spending the night at Kurt's house after their lovely's monthly homecoming dinner wasn't a great idea. He likes Kurt and he sort of likes his family – even though part of it hates him – but he likes sleeping as well, and apparently he can't do that in Kurt's house. Luckily, the shower gave the little princess enough time to collapse and when he gets out of the bathroom, a white towel perfectly wrapped around his equally perfect hips, the house is finally silent.

Blaine combs with his fingers his long and curly hair that is still ruffled and dump. It's in moment like these that he regrets not sticking with the tidy look he had in high school. Wild curls look wonderful at any given moment, except when he actually has to comb them. As he tries to make sense of his hair again, he goes back in the sitting room, which is comfortably dark and quiet now, and just watches the moon that he can see through the window.

He is toying with the idea of drying his hair as quickly as possible and enjoy what little is left of the night before Santana wants to eat or something, when the front door opens, however silently, and he suddenly remembers that not all the members of this family were already back home. He thanks his legendary shamelessness for being able to turn around and facing with a smile who's entering, wearing only a towel.

Leo tiptoes into the house and tries to close the door as silently as he can. God forbid that the click of the lock wakes up the demon upstairs. A few days ago he dropped the keys in the hallway, Santana started crying and his father appeared on top of the stairs, looking ready to claw his eyes off. He doesn't want to repeat the experience, so it takes him a little time to realize someone is watching him doing his best not to be noticed.

“Oh, great,” he snorts, as he tries not to show Blaine has startled him. Last thing he needs right now, having to deal with this man he hates so much. “I was hoping you would be gone already. Or dead.”

Blaine doesn't lose his smile. He knows Leonard since he was six years old. Yes, he almost ruined his fathers' wedding, but in the course of his life he had also the privilege – and the mildly devastating rotten luck – of babysitting him multiple times at different ages, much to Leonard's annoyance, and if he doesn't know him pretty well, he at least learned how to bear with him. “Oh, hey,” he says, waving nonchalantly. “I'm sorry I have to invade your privacy like this. It's only for tonight, anyway. Your fathers and me had a late night and Kurt invited me to stay. I hope you're not mad at me.”

“You can bet your ass I am,” Leo replies, being excessively rude just to show he's tough. He usually doesn't speak like this to adults, but he feels the need to when Blaine's around. He leaves the keys at the entrance and takes off his coat that bears every sign of Kurt's sense of fashion, being a three quarters coat that has nothing to do with the jeans and shirt the kid wears underneath.

Blaine looks genuinely surprised. “And why's that so?”

“You ask me why?” Leo says, unbelieving. This man is here, exceeding his dad's hospitality by being naked around the house and he asks why Leo is mad at him. How shameless can he be? “'Cause it's not cool, dude. That's why. And it's inappropriate. My dads are a married couple and they almost broke up because of you once. I'm not eager to go through that experience again, thank you very much.”

Blaine understands teen's anger. Or at least, he acknowledge its existence, even if he finds it stupid to be angry at everything and everyone as teens usually are. So, he is not surprised that Leo is angry, but he honestly thinks that he should be so over the wedding issue already. “I honestly can't understand why you're so stubborn about it,” he says matter-of-factly. “I couldn't get it back then and most of all i can't”

Leo raises an eyebrow. “'Cause I love them and I don't like you? And Geez, dude, put some pants on if you wanna keep talking to me. You're distracting.”

Leo looks away, making himself busy with whatever he keeps in that ragged looking backpack of his. Blaine can swear he has just seen him blush, and that's something that can keep him entertained for hours: embarrassing Leo. He's been doing that for years now.

“Am I?” He says, looking at himself with a raised eyebrow. “All my intimate parts are perfectly covered, kid. I'm not showing off for you in any manner, and if you think I'm doing that, please, remove this thought from your head, because I'm not.”

Leonard blushes even more, and whatever he is looking for in his bag seems suddenly nowhere to be found because he keeps rummaging and rummaging. “You're half naked, you're wet and that towel won't cover you for very much longer,” he declares, confusedly, giving proof of having spent the last few minutes watching him very closely. “In this house, that's for me the signal to go and sleep at one of my friends house 'cause my parents want to get some. Now, maybe you're not showing off, but I don't know if I'm talking to you or your six pack, so please, dress. Or leave, better.”

Blaine is incredibly amused, but it's hard to tell his amused smirk from his usual smug one. He looks at himself once again. “Well, my six pack wouldn't find completely bad to talk with you for a while. You never really had the chance to meet him during all those years. And now this sounds terribly dirty, but I swear I started it as a joke,” he says, blinking.

“What makes you think I would like that?” Leo says, outraged. “Dad's so right about you. There's something creepy in what you say sometimes.”

Blaine knows he's talking about Dave this time. It's pretty easy to get the change in tone. Leonard is always angry as Dave when he speaks his words. Blaine just wishes he would be sweet as Kurt when he speaks like him. He rarely does, though. “I wouldn't call myself creepy, and neither should you. It's not exactly a compliment, you know?” He says. “Didn't your dad teach you that, too?”

“Dad taught me to be honest too,” Leo grins because he can answer to the point for once.

Blaine finds him really cute when he tries to talk as cleverly as himself and fails miserably. Leonard always thinks to be right and to have the right answer to everything. Unfortunately, he almost never does. “Yes, I appreciate honesty, but there's a difference between being honest and being rude, and I think you're being rude. So maybe your dad didn't teach you very well.” Then he smiles, trying to sweeten his last words, maybe. Or maybe not. “Why don't you come here?”

Blaine pats the spot beside him on the couch. For the longest moment ever, Leo looks at him, then at the spot on the couch, then at him again. He doesn't know exactly what makes him go there, eventually. Probably the wish to show Blaine all the disdain he feels right now. He wouldn't see it in the dark, if he wasn't close enough. He goes there slowly, though, always watching him and sits on the other end of the couch. “What?” He barks.
Leonard doesn't exactly sit on the couch, he just falls on it, like his legs couldn't hold him up anymore. Blaine watches him as he curls up in a stubborn ball the farthest he can from him, crossing his arms on his chest and trying to look very mad and deadly serious. He fails again. There is something off with the kid, tonight. Blaine has noticed that since the kid has looked up at him, entering the house. The way his eyes never linger on him too much doesn't seem quite angered as it usually is. He knows Leo's rage very well, and it doesn't look like that. Plus, his knee is shaking so fast he could make a hole in the ground with his foot if he keeps moving it. It looks like someone is feeling really awkward at his naked presence.

If it's a nudity problem, and he is not sure about that.

“Don't worry, I just want to talk,” he says, with his best reassuring tone as he tries not to smile affectionately at the way Leo is looking at everything but him. “So, when did it start?”

“When did it start what?”

Blaine smiles sweetly. He has the feeling this is going to be a very long night. “When did you first notice that you like boys.”

The snicker that comes out of Leo's mouth is so ridiculously nervous and sudden that Leo closes his mouth right after it, feeling ashamed. Then he swallows and tries to chuckle in a more controlled way. “I don't like boys,” he says with half a smile.

Of course he doesn't. Who ever admits it right away the first time? “My gaydar never failed, boy,” he says with a raised eyebrow. “Plus, you're staring at me. Like, really staring.”

Leo pouts instantly and glares at him. “Maybe you should have it overhauled, then 'cause I'm not gay. I'm staring at you because you are naked.”

“Why do you insist on me being naked? I am not. I could show you what the word naked means, if you wanted, but this,” he says, calmly pointing at himself as if he wanted to talk some sense into him with logic “is not how you define naked.”

That's exactly why Leo hates him, because nothing ever phases him and, instead of getting mad, he always answers with tons of explanations nobody wanted to hear in the first place. Leo always ends up arguing on his own because Blaine doesn't even start to get as upset as he is. “Well, you're half naked then. And I'm not used to have half naked guys on my couch, OK?”

“Don't you?” Blaine smiles. Leo is so hilarious right now that he's having a hard time not just laughing in his face. “How do you find the sight, then?”

Leo averts his eyes almost immediately. “Pretty disturbing,” he says, pretending to sound disgusted while the only thing that comes through it's his mounting awkwardness.

Blaine watches him as he picks at non-existent loosened threads on the couch. Leo hasn't lost all his baby fat yet, so his face is still a little rounded and his now blushing cheeks are adorable in their puffiness, but you can already see the beauty he's bond to become in a few years. The kid has gorgeous, delicate features that would make you think he really is Kurt's own blood. His nose is a straight line and his almost almond-shaped eyes are so azure like Blaine has never seen before. But the thing that never fails to catch Blaine's attention are Leo's lips. They are full, just slightly pinker than the rest of him and when he happens to look at them, he always thinks that he really should be looking at something else.

“Now, disturbing is a word that can have a lot of different meanings,” Blaine says, moving a little closer to him. “So, since your father told you to be honest, what kind of disturbing are we talking about?”

Leo sighs heavily and what comes out of his mouth has a strange resigned tone to it. “Why are you asking me these questions?” He would like to ask Blaine what the hell he wants from him, but then he realizes that he has given nothing but rage and sarcasm to him, which he deserves anyway, so maybe this is just revenge, or something. He just needs to find a way to get away from him.

“I don't know,” Blaine shrugs. “Maybe I just want to understand if you really hate me or if you just don't want me to come too close to you, because you're scared of the consequences. It's a possibility I'm still taking into consideration, regardless of your continuous denials.”

Leo turns on the couch, so to face him. “OK, let's put this straight once and for all. I don't like you.” He tries to state this as much clearly and slowly as he can, so if the man has some hearing problems or something, he will understand anyway. “And even if I did, you're one of my dads' ex boyfriend and the other's archenemy, so...”

So the problem really is me, Blaine thinks amused. The flow of Leo's words goes on for a few minutes, describing how much he doesn't like him at all and how hypothetical scenarios where he likes him would be hilariously and stupidly so not true. It doesn't matter, Blaine has already stopped listening to him long ago, as soon as the problem was crystalline clear to him.

“OK, now it's my turn to put this straight.” He smiles and moves even closer. So close he is now inches away from Leo. So close that when he speaks again without being bothered by the fact that he's embarrassing him to no end, Leo can blush but he can't move away, unless he stands up. And he doesn't. “I think you like me. I don't know if you already found me cute when you were a kid, but now? You're eating me alive with your eyes, kid. Do you know why you keep saying I'm naked? That's because you're undressing me. In your head.”

Leo's eyes grow so big he is almost comical. He gets instantly agitated, but even if he fidgets on the spot, he doesn't go anywhere. “I'm not!” He almost screams. “What... What are you talking about? It's nothing even close to that!”

“Come on, kid, it's so obvious. Don't you even notice? You're freaking out and I haven't even touched you, yet.”

“And you won't do that!” He shrieks, outraged. But then he deflates, like he had put all the strength in denying Blaine the permission to do something he has never really intended to do, and now he had to resign to just sighing and begging him to just leave him alone. “I'm not comfortable with this.”

There's an echo of Kurt in these words. Blaine remembers very clearly how Leo's father used to say he was uncomfortable every time he had to face something he was scared to do, however curious he was to do it. He stated he was not comfortable, and the case was closed. Not that Blaine would have forced him to do anything he didn't want to, but Kurt continuously closing to him was one of the reason why he and Blaine broke up in the end.

Leo is exactly like his father. He is scared, therefore he's trying to avoid speaking of what scares him, but Blaine is not gonna let him because he doesn't want to repeat the same mistakes he made with Leo's father. “So you are asking me not to do it, not because you don't want me to, but because you're scared about it?” He inquires.

That's when something changes in Leo's eyes, as if the question had melted something inside him. Blaine knows he has hit a soft spot by the way Leo finally gives up and sighs, looking confused. “I'm asking you not to do it because I'm not exactly sure of my things.”

“What things are we talking about here? And why aren't you sure of them?” Blaine asks gently, his voice almost soothing as he comes even closer to him. They are practically touching now. “Maybe I could help.”

Leo doesn't think Blaine can help anybody, let alone him. But these feelings he's been having lately about other people torture him and mess up his head to the point that he is more than willing to talk about them with the first person who bothered to notice that something was off about him. Too bad said person is one he despises so much. But he showed some interest at least, didn't he?

“Sometimes it happens that... I can tell a male body is gorgeous,” he eventually confesses, looking down, his face as red as it can be. Now that he has said that, he doesn't feel any better about it, but at least he feels lighter. As if he has just passed his problem to somebody else by saying it aloud. It doesn't work like that, of course he knows that, but it feels good. So maybe that's why he doesn't run away. “And I'm not sure why this happens.”

Blaine smiles at him reassuringly. “That doesn't mean anything, you know? We're human beings, and it's our nature to be particularly fascinated by beauty. If you just think a male body is beautiful, that doesn't make you gay, or even bisexual. It just makes you a normal human being. On the other hand,” he raises a hand and lets a finger slide on his chest down to his stomach “if a male body has other effects on you other than making you notice how beautiful it is, than maybe there's something else.”

Leo follows his finger with his eyes and he is a little startled when Blaine gently pushes his stomach with it.
He knows what he means by that. He knows really well the tangled feeling that makes his stomach hurt sometimes. “It might have done that once or twice,” he says vaguely, turning purple.

Blaine knows how much it costs Leo to say it aloud, especially to him. He can read how troubled he is on the tense lines on his face. “And does it happen in a specific moment or with a specific person?”

“No, it just happens randomly,” he says.

And that's a lie. Sometimes, when his eyes fall on his male friends during P.E., he feels weird, and even if this upsets him, he can't really turn away from the curve of their back or the way their flat stomach dives underneath the waistband of their pants. Exactly as it happens when he's looking at girls and he's intrigued by what lies beneath their clothes. That's why he is so confused. He doesn't know which one of the feelings is real.

But all this came after.

The truth is everything started with Blaine, and Leo is very well aware of that. He may not know what drooling over both guys and girls means right know, but he knows what happens in his head every time this stupid man is around, how his stomach hurts at the sight of him. How it's not really his stomach that demands attention. And how his mind answers with rage to that upsetting and embarrassing feeling between his legs.

So now he doesn't know anything for sure. If he likes boys, girls, both. Or what in the world this man has done to his head lately. He thought that hating him would stop the confusion, but it's not working very well, it seems.

But he can't tell him any of this, though. That's why he needs to lie, because he really doesn't want to face the consequences of confessing to Blaine stupid fucking Anderson that he has felt something for him in his belly more than once.

Blaine is currently holding his breath because Leo is so beautiful in his confusion. Whatever wall there was between them, it has crumbled down, leaving him defenseless. Even though this sounds bad even in his head – and he knows it's gonna sound even worse once he will speak again – he just can't look away from the kid.

“Then you should probably try,” Blaine says. “Just to see how your body reacts.”

Leo shivers. “You are not suggesting with you, are you?”

Blaine chuckles, but he makes sure not to make it come across like mocking him. “Well, as a matter of fact, I am,” he says. “I mean, it would be alright. I promise I would never do something you don't want me to do. It would be just a test. Plus, you could even finally stop hating me afterward. So I'd really like to take the chance.”

This is not right for so many reasons, Leo is pretty sure about it. But what really worries him now are other kind of possible consequences. “What if I don't like it and hate you even more?” It shouldn't be a problem hating him more than he hates him now. But since Leo is not so sure that hate means really hate in his case, he doesn't want to risk to sort of-hating him even more. He doesn't know what could happen then.

Blaine doesn't look as worried as much as Leo is. Actually, he shrugs like this is not a big deal. “They're two different things, you know. You could still hate me but like the kiss, for example. And that would mean the experiment wasn't completely useless, because at least we would know if you like boys too, or if you don't.”

Leo makes a face. “Why exactly if I like kissing you, I like boys?”

Blaine blinks, pretending to be very puzzled and dying a bit of laughter inside. “Because I happen to be a boy, maybe?” Then he grins in that way that always manages to give Leo shivers he can't quite define as good or bad. They're just weird. “Obviously, there's another possibility, that is you liking to kiss me because you just like me. But we're not even taking this in any consideration, are we?”

Leo instantly shakes his head, looking outraged and purple. “No way. Not even the slightest chance!”

“I thought so,” Blaine nods, as he sits more comfortably, resting his back against the couch back. “Well, then, there's nothing more to discuss, am I right? Come here.”

Leo looks at him very suspiciously, but he goes there anyway. “For what?”

Blaine doesn't waste much time to explain what's gonna happen. He strongly believes that there's only so much you can explain with words. “For this,” he says, grabbing Leo by his nape and pulling him closer for a hungry and incredibly wet kiss. For a very long time, this is the only thing he says.

Leo feels Blaine's hair dripping water on his t-shirt as he's pulled closer, and the next feeling is the softness of Blaine's moistened lips. For a moment, he'd like to stop him because this is happening too quickly, but he doesn't. Instead, he kisses him back the moment after, with a soft moaning noise.

Blaine lets his fingers run through Leo's hair, caressing his scalp and pulling him slightly closer, so that their bodies touch, even though not too much because he doesn't want to frighten the kid away. Leo is so lost in it already that he just leans in. Blaine lets that same hand slide down his neck then, and starts caressing him slowly as he deepens the kiss.

Leo opens his mouth, allowing Blaine's tongue to explore it as much as it wants. And it actually feels so good that he stops trying to understand what is really happening with and around them. He rests one hand to the couch to balance himself as he gets a little closer by himself.

Encouraged by the way Leo's reacting, Blaine pulls him to his chest, deepening the kiss even more. But now that there's nothing but Leo's clothes separating them and Leo can feel Blaine's body against his own, something clicks in his head and he withdraws, suddenly.

“Wait... I...” he stutters, lips red as cherries and the most confused expression Blaine has ever seen on him. “That's enough.”

Blaine immediately stops pulling him by his nape, but he gives him one last kiss anyway. “So, how did it feel?” He asks, still so close to him that he breathes on his puffy lips.

Leo takes a moment before answering as he unconsciously wets his lips with the tip of his tongue. “Weird... that it's so good.”

Blaine smiles a little, his hand still lazily caressing Leo’s neck. “You want to do it again?” he asks, and it’s not like he’s expecting Leo to say yes, considering the kid was the first to pull away, after all, but somehow that’s exactly what he gets: Leo barely lets him finish his question, and the second after he’s literally all over him, pressing his little body against Blaine’s, and that’s an invitation Blaine is not really able to refuse.

He wraps his arms around Leo’s shoulders, keeping him close as the kiss grows a bit more forceful, a bit hungrier, a bit messier. Leo whines when Blaine’s teeth playfully close around his already swollen bottom lip, but he doesn’t pull away, and it’s up to Blaine, this time, to put a stop on things, before they get too wild, too fast.

“You sure learn fast,” he comments, an even smile curling his lips, still so very close to Leo’s, “You’re adorable,” he adds, gently stroking one of Leo’s cheeks with his index finger, and then biting at the kid’s bottom lip again, before he starts trailing its outline with the tip of his tongue, making the boy shiver with pleasure. “You know, I could make it better, if you wanted.”

Leo slowly opens his eyes, struggling to focus on him. It’s so obvious – written all over his face – that, if it was for him, he would have kept going on kissing him for the rest of his life. It kind of feels like, whatever it was that kept Leo so frustrated and angry, it’s slowly fading away, leaving him freer to do things he would have never thought he could do before. “You… You can?” he says, his voice cracking in surprised anticipation, like he wasn’t even struck by the possibility of a kiss feeling even better than how it had been up to that moment.

Blaine smiles sweetly, nodding slowly. “Yes, I can,” he says, every word a kiss on Leo’s lips, so light that the boy keeps chasing those kisses and never manages to catch them, “You just have to let me know when I have to stop because you’re not feeling comfortable anymore,” he warns him, kissing him once more and smiling when Leo lets out a frustrated moan because, once again, he didn’t manage to kiss him properly, “Promise you’ll stop me if this ever becomes unpleasant.”

“Stop running away…” Leo whines, firmly holding Blaine’s head between his hands and keeping it still to win another real kiss, taking his time to savor it before he pulls away, looking kind of lost, now. “By the way you’re saying it… I mean, am I supposed to feel uncomfortable, at some point?”

Blaine kisses him again, and then stays as close to him as he can, lips brushing against Leo’s with every word he says. “I tend to be honest,” he says, “And I can’t lie: you could, depending on how far you want to go. But,” he promises with a light smile, “I’ll do my best to make you feel good.”

Leo somehow manages to find his lost smartass self back again, and smirks against Blaine’s lips. “You forget I never trusted you, I’m not trusting you now and I certainly won’t do it from now on. But I’m curious to see how far your lies go.”

Blaine grins, his hands running down Leo’s body and closing around his hips. “Sounds like a challenge,” he says, helping Leo to lay on his back on the couch while holding the towel at his place, so it doesn’t slip away while he settles on him. Then, he starts kissing Leo again, hands running up and down his body, through his clothes, and the kid, who wasn’t expecting another kiss, moans slightly at the feeling of Blaine’s lips. He fidgets uncomfortably under the man’s body, though. He’s not used to the new position, and right now, with the torturing pressure of Blaine’s body all over his, he definitely thinks he could never get used to it.

It’s so embarrassing, for fuck’s sake. He’s so hard. They both are, and he can’t help to ask himself if he’s prepared for where this thing’s going.

He’s not sure he is, but after all he’s not sure he could ever be, even in twenty years. He figures he just has to take the chance.

“Listen…” he says, when Blaine’s lips let him free to talk, “Who decides who gets to top or bottom, exactly…?”

Blaine can’t help a laugh from slipping out of his parted lips. He’s trying not to mock the kid because he doesn’t want to have him run away with an angry mood – who knows what he could do in retaliation? After all, he put a dead snake in his bag not more than three years ago just to spite him during a family holiday Blaine had been part of – but Leo’s making it very hard to be serious, right now.

“Now, now,” he says, shaking his head, “Aren’t you running a little too fast? I never talked about getting to the real thing. Yet,” he adds with a dirty smile that sends wild shivers down Leo’s spine.

Leo frowns, blushing furiously, and Blaine stops the hell from breaking loose by kissing him deeply again. One thing he’s sure of: Leo likes kisses a lot. He instantly melts under his fingers when Blaine starts to kiss him, and so, despite having clearly offended him, with just that single kiss Blaine gets the free pass to let his hands run down Leo’s sides and then dive under his t-shirt, fingertips gently brushing his skin. “You’re hot,” he whispers on Leo’s lips, and he can almost feel Leo blushing again.

“…am I?” he asks in a low, soft, kind of surprised voice. “I mean,” he adds then, clearing his throat and looking away after he realizes how his voice sounded, “Are you even supposed to say that to another guy? I mean, even if you like him, shouldn’t you say something more…” he shrugs, “I don’t know, manly?”

Blaine laughs again, harder, trying to restrain himself but not really making it at all. “I just meant your skin is hot,” he clarifies, shaking his head. Leo blushes more violently and tilts his head, looking someplace else, to some random point behind Blaine’s shoulder. “As for how you look,” Blaine says, his smile growing a little sweeter as he lets his eyes wander on Leo’s childish and stubbornly angry expression, “I think you go far beyond every dream of a man my age.” He pulls up Leo’s shirt to take a look at him. Leo’s tummy is still a little rounded, and seems so very soft, and Blaine wants to take a bite of it so much that he feels dirty just thinking about it. “You are flawless,” he says in a whisper as he gently bends over Leo, kissing his navel and playing with his tongue in and out of it.

Leo lets out a liquid moan, arching his back enough to offer his belly to Blaine’s kisses. “That was…” he says in a heavy breath as he throws his head back after Blaine kisses his navel again, “That was so lame.”

Blaine laughs, and he’d like to answer that – asking Leo, for example, why did he blush so much, if the compliment was so lame – but he prefers to keep kissing his skin, soft and smooth, silky like a baby’s, and so his answer ends up to be his laughter alone.

“If you stopped laughing,” Leo says, annoyed, “That would be very helpful. You’re distracting me from your tongue,” he adds in a light smirk.

Blaine looks up at him, raising an eyebrow at his newly found confidence in himself. “How could I possibly laugh with a mouthful of your tummy?” he asks, running his tongue up the kid’s chest, “Would you take your shirt off for me?” he asks then, eyes half-closed as he covers Leo’s chest in casual kisses, “I could do it myself, but I want to watch you as you do it.”

“You perv…” Leo says in a mild protest, but still he crosses his arms over his chest and grabs his t-shirt by its hem to take it off. Once he gets rid of it, he lets it fall on the floor by the couch and then lies there on his back, feeling uncomfortable, embarrassed and horny as hell, basically not even knowing what to do with himself. “Like this?” he asks, just to give himself something to think about. Learning about the right way to get undressed in front of a man twenty years older than him and that he’s definitely supposed to hate sounds like a good way to pass time.

No, it’s not. Like, at all. And Leo wants to die. But then Blaine moistens his lips and looks at him like he could swallow him all at once, and then whispers “Yes. Exactly like this,” as he kisses him down his chest again, and Leo doesn’t want to die anymore, he just wants to feel this as long as possible, and when Blaine takes one of his nipples between his lips and teeth, and sucks and nibbles at it to make it oversensitive, something inside Leo’s brain just explodes, and he loses control over his whole body.

He closes his eyes shut, holding his breath in surprise. He didn’t even know that something, let alone some guy sucking at his nipples, could feel like that. Like electric shocks of pleasure making him shiver and moan uncontrollably. He doesn’t know much about male-on-male stuff, which – he admits – is a bit absurd considering he’s got two dads, but he really didn’t know that sex could feel like that, with another guy or at all. It’s scary, but surprising. And kind of addictive, he finds out when Blaine starts to stroke both his nipples with his fingertips, and he can’t help but let a shocked “omg” slip out of his lips.

Blaine suddenly raises his head, letting out an amused chuckle as he looks at Leo. "What did you just say?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

Leo manages to open his eyes, looking at Blaine with a bit of confusion showing on his face. He has no idea why Blaine stopped, and he knows he could kill for way less than this. "What?" he murmurs, fidgeting under Blaine's now unnervingly still fingers, "I said OMG. Don't you use this kind of exclamations in your... whatever place you come from?"

Blaine laughs again, shifting over him to settle into a more comfortable position. Leo can feel the man's hardness against his own thigh, now, making his thoughts even more confused. He feels so dizzy he could swear he's about to faint. This can't be good for him, in any way. "You know," Blaine says, "I had a fair number of sexual encounters, but it doesn't matter what I did to my partners, none of them ever responded to something I did saying 'omg'." He pulls himself up to reach Leo's lips, kissing him again as he resumes playing with the kid's now hard nipples.

"Yeah, well..." Leo mutters, keeping his eyes half opened to look at Blaine's face as he kisses him, "Next time don't bed a teenage kid, if you don't wanna hear acronyms in response to what you do." Blaine laughs again, and Leo frowns, trying to fight the urge to arch his back to offer his own chest to Blaine's ministrations, "Would you stop laughing? You're really annoying."

"It's not my fault, I swear," Blaine keeps chuckling, and Leo keeps hating him, even if he's starting to get used to the sound of his laughter, "You are unbelievable. And I mean it," he says, looking right into Leo's eyes. Leo blushes, because he could get used to the sound of Blaine's voice, or his laughter's, but his eyes, he's never gonna get used to them. Whenever Blaine stares at him, he feels uncomfortable, naked, exposed. His gaze turns him inside out, and it's nothing like pleasant. It's just disturbing and annoying, and the fact that he himself keeps searching for it makes it even more so.

Blaine moves slowly, but firmly, and in a second Leo feels him rubbing against his thigh, and it's way more than just feeling the pressure of his hard-on against it, because in the movement Blaine's thigh rubs against his crotch, and it makes Leo instantly want more.

"Shit..." he moans, fidgeting slightly under Blaine's body when he feels Blaine starting to rub against him following a slow and regular pace. He hangs to the man's shoulders, trying to follow those movements and failing constantly. He'd like to tell Blaine to stop, to not do whatever he's doing right now, because it's too much, and he's still dressed, and he couldn't stand the thought of coming right away like a ridiculous, inexperienced kid, but he can't even manage to open his mouth for something else than moans and whining. And he feels so lost he's almost scared to open his eyes, fearing the world he would see then could be completely different than the one he knows.

"Calm down," Blaine whispers, kissing him slowly, "You don't want this to end up too soon, do you? I promise it'll be better, if you let it last longer."

"Yeah, well..." Leo breathes slowly, trying to think about something else than Blaine's body pushed right up against his. He ends up understanding that those urban legends about thinking of your granny to stop yourself from getting off too soon are just that, urban legends. When you've got somebody like this so close, touching you this way, there's no chance to let any other thought take their place. It's the first time he finds somebody so captivating, and it's scary, especially considering it's Blaine he's thinking about, and he should hate the man with a fire for a numerous variety of reasons he can't manage to recall right now. "It's not my fault, you know, I'm fifteen," he snorts, "It's kind of an issue teenagers have. Maybe you don't remember 'cause it happened to you in the past century."

"Hey," Blaine chuckles, "I'm not that old."

"Yeah, I'll let you know when I cut your arm and count the rings."

"Shut up!" Blaine laughs again, leaning in to kiss him. When the kiss breaks, Leo looks at the man and finds him smiling. That's scary too, because he finds himself to like that smile. "Now, say I wanted to touch you."

"Aren't you already?"

"You're not being serious at all," Blaine giggles, playfully slapping his hip to keep him in line, "I'm talking about under the Walls of Jericho," he clarifies, letting one of his hands travel down Leo's tummy to reach the button of his jeans to make his intentions even clearer.

Leo blushes violently, looking away. "The Walls of Jericho?" he mutters, his cheeks so flushed he's scared he'll start to glow in the dark soon, "Seriously?"

Blaine smiles again, catching the kid's chin between his fingers and making him turn his face enough to have his eyes on him once more. "I need an answer," he says in a low voice, "I need permission."

Leo blushes more, enough to start feeling a headache coming. He looks down at Blaine's fingers, so still around his jeans' button, like waiting for instructions. And he nods, biting at his lower lip.

"Fine," Blaine smiles again, unbuttoning Leo's jeans and pulling them down his thighs enough to expose him, but not enough to let him free to move. Leo fidgets uncomfortably, but it doesn't last long, and he freezes on the spot when he feels Blaine's fingertips trailing the outline of his own hard-on.

Stranger hands down there feel good enough for him to cry, but he can't make a show of himself, not now, not more than he's already doing, so he closes his eyes, breathes in and out and settles under Blaine's body, resting his hands on his shoulders as he tries to focus on the feeling alone, letting the context and what's causing it out of him, like it was just a dream that he could forget comes morning.

Blaine doesn't let him.

"Open your eyes," he says, his voice somehow stern, like he's scolding him, "Look at yourself. You're gorgeous."

Leo doesn't know why he obeys, but he does, guided by Blaine's voice and by how good it feels now that the man has closed his fist around him and is stroking him harder. He holds his breath, looking down at Blaine's hand moving slowly around his erection, and bites at his inner cheek, fidgeting under him. "That is..." he breathes out, "...wow."

"It could feel even better," Blaine whispers against Leo's skin, sliding down the kid's chest and tummy in short, barely wet kisses, "But it could also be kind of embarrassing. So I guess this calls for another question," he smiles, placing a tender kiss right under the boy's navel. "Do you want me to take it in my mouth?"

Leo's whole body starts to shake uncontrollably, unable to resist all the feelings that seem to keep him under siege. The touch of Blaine's hand, the warmth of his breath on his barely sweaty skin, the intensity of his eyes locked with his own, the deep vibration of his voice, those words echoing in the air all around him and inside his brain. "I've... I've never..." he swallows, his hips almost automatically thrusting upwards to meet Blaine's strokes better, "I mean, nobody has ever... to me, y'know..." he lets out a desperate sigh melting into a restless sob, covering his face with both his hands, "Geez, can I be any more pathetic?"

"You're not pathetic at all," Blaine says, his voice even lower, nothing but a whisper, now, but still reverberating through the room, like it was made of thunder. "You are not," he repeats, his lips brushing against the head of Leo's cock, licking it tentatively, "Do you hear me?" he says, and he looks up at Leo, locking eyes with him with no shame at all as he sucks him inside his mouth, still stroking him slowly.

Leo chokes on his own breath, eyes wide open in the darkness of the room. The warmth, the wetness, the sucking, it's all too much, and when he thinks his heart's going to fail him, Blaine stops, and still looking at him whispers a "you taste so good" that pushes a whole new series of buttons inside Leo's body, buttons he didn't even thought he had.

"Shit!" he squeals, pushing his hips up carelessly, eager to dive deeper inside Blaine's mouth, unable to stay still. Blaine lets him, stroking his hips with both his hands and moving his head up and down, following Leo's movements.

He pulls away a few seconds later, licking pre-cum away from his own lips. "Now you can choose again," he says slowly, articulating his words, "I could go on like this and make you come," he suggests, kissing the head of Leo's cock, still wet and almost hurting now that the kid's so hard he can barely stand it, "Or I could show you how grown-ups like to come," he smirks, sucking him into his mouth again.

"God..." Leo whines, throwing his head back on the couch, "Just do something, I'm going crazy."

Blaine chuckles, his lips sliding slowly up and down Leo's length. "I recognize I'm acting a little teasingly," he says, "But that's not something I can decide on my own. I need your permission. Even though, I can't lie, I want you. I really want to feel you all around me," he moves up, kissing Leo on his tummy and then staying there, drawing wet, curly lines on his skin with the tip of his tongue as he can't help letting a dirty grin crawl its way up to his lips, "I would really like to fuck you."

Leo lets out a desperate, breathless moan, hesitating before he answers. There's a part of him that wants this so much he's sure he'll regret it forever if he doesn't find the guts to say yes. Another part, though, is so terrified he could just as well jump up and run away crying. "...is it gonna be devastating like it seems it will?" he asks, whining, "Maybe I'm not drunk enough."

"You don't look drunk at all," Blaine notices with a small chuckle.

"Exactly," Leo answers, covering his face with his forearm.

Blaine smiles tenderly, climbing up his body in little dry kisses as he keeps stroking him gently. "I promise it'll be worth it," he whispers in his ear, just before sucking at the soft, sensitive skin right under his earlobe, "You'll come harder than you ever did."

Leo breathes out, terrified now, because that's a yes. Yes, it's gonna be just as devastating as it looks like. Probably even more. There's something blooming inside himself, Leo can feel it. Some sort of warm wave mounting deep inside of his body, something drawing him ruthlessly towards Blaine. Something bad, something Leo can see casting a long shadow he can't see the end of. He can't decide if it's just lust or something else. He knows he can't escape it now, not because it's been running after him and it almost reached him anyway, but because, on the contrary, he feels like he himself has been running after it for years now, and he can't wait to hold it in his hands, see what is it, if it's scary as it feels it could be, if it will burn his skin like the touch of Blaine's hands is doing right now.

"Is it normal that I want you to do it anyway?" he asks, his eyes closed as he tilts his head to make room for Blaine's lips running up and down his neck, "I mean, even if I know it's gonna hurt, and even if I'm scared... is it normal if I still want you to do me this way?"

"Totally," Blaine answers, laughing a little. Leo hates him now more than ever, because Blaine doesn't know. Blaine doesn't get it. How hard it is to even speak in his presence, how much strength Leo's needing right now just to keep himself together under the even touch of his fingertips, how frustrating always was for him to just stand right in front of Blaine and fight not to fall, fueling his rage against him with all the flaws Blaine kept throwing at him, exposing them as if he was proud of them. And it was never enough, never enough to move his eyes away from him, not really, because even in the worst days, when he just wanted him gone and as far away from him as it was possible, it was only to stop facing the fact that his body was aching for it. For this. And Blaine, he just stays there, and it's a game, for him, just something new he's playing with, and he keeps laughing like what's happening is no big deal, and Leo keeps thinking "fine, then, it's not gonna be a big deal for me either", but when Blaine's lips touch his in another kiss that quickly grows deeper and hungrier, it's impossible to keep thinking straight. It's impossible to push away the deep, instinctual knowledge of the truth his body's telling, when all he can hear is his own heartbeat roaring in his ears.

"I missed the taste," Blaine says, almost talking to himself, smiling kind of stupidly as he takes his time to play with Leo's lips, tracing their outlines with the tip of his tongue and indulging in a couple of little bites that instantly make them swollen, cherry red and incredibly sensitive.

"So..." Leo says, letting Blaine kiss him, just opening his lips to let Blaine's tongue in, "What about my first question?"

Blaine laughs again, tightening his grip around Leo's cock and stroking him harder. "That's not something you decide preemptively. You mainly go with the flow, with the inspiration of the moment. Did you know," he says, opening his eyes wide as if he was telling something completely new and uncommon, even if Leo knows he's only using this tone because he wants to mock him, "Did you know you can actually switch roles, if your partner is open-minded enough and doesn't believe homosexuals should be divided in two categories, one of which stands for the male role while the other stands for the female?"

Leo looks away, his lips curling in a pensive expression, and just by looking at that Blaine can tell that right now the kid's thinking about his own parents and the way what Blaine just described simply doesn't apply to them. "Oh, God," he chuckles, "I can read it in your eyes. Please. Just don't," he says, kissing Leo deeply again to switch the subject of his musing. Leo whines between his lips, clearly unhappy with the way he probably feels Blaine's patronizing him, but the man just ignores him and, when he parts from his lips, he's already smiling. "Let's say I'll top, for this time," he suggests, "Just because I'm actually dying to be inside of you," he adds, leaning in to kiss the kid lightly on his lips. "How about it?"

Leo blushes, embarrassed by his words, and glares at him. "You say this time like there's ever gonna be a second," he snorts, but then he sighs and nods. "Go ahead," he says, "I wouldn't know where to start anyway."

"I was saying it just in case, you know," Blaine laughs, "You seem to enjoy it."

He pulls away, standing on his knees and slowly freeing himself from the towel. The light of the moon, coming inside from the window, makes his lightly sweaty skin almost glow in the darkness of the room. And even though it's dark, and even though Leo's upset because he can't help liking Blaine despite how unpleasant he finds him as a person, he can't help but swallow whatever snarky remark he had conjured from the last rational bit of himself, and stop to stare at him. His eyes travel quickly down the man's body, falling rapidly on his cock, so big and hard to scare him.

"Now I know for sure I won't survive this night," he says in an even, frightened, shaking breath, as he tries to swallow once more and finds out his throat's completely closed.

"Why do you say so?" Blaine smiles softly, bending over the kid and rubbing against him, keeping himself up on his arms, the tense line of which Leo follows with lost eyes, moistening his lips.

"'Cause..." he starts off, quickly losing control over his own body as he feels his own cock answer to Blaine's rubbing, "'Cause clearly you're gonna break something, possibly in half. I don't know. It's in no way possible."

"I am in no way this big, kid," Blaine kisses him slowly, lightly hitting his knees with one of his own to ask him to part his legs. "Would you make some room for me?"

"You seem so, to me," Leo answers, opening his legs anyway.

"I'm going to take this as a compliment," Blaine says, laughing a little, "But you don't have to be scared. It will hurt just for a moment. And it's part of the game," he adds, speaking softly over the sensitive skin right under Leo's ear, "There's a life lesson in it too. Nothing really good can be earned without having to suffer for it a little bit before," he whispers, licking one of his own fingers and pushing the tip of it gently against Leo's opening.

Leo tenses nervously, closing his knees in a sudden reaction to the weird, surprising feeling of that slick finger against a place he never thought could be touched that way.

"Hey," Blaine speaks softly, kissing him on the tip of his nose, "...you probably don't like cuddles, do you?" he stops right after, just while Leo's body had started to tense all towards his to get some more of said cuddles, "Just try to relax," he tries, as Leo falls back down on the couch deciding that, as much of a cuddles-whore he can be, he's never gonna ask for it. Not to Blaine, anyway. "It'll feel good soon, I promise," Blaine goes on, "I know how to make it feel good."

He pushes half of his finger inside of Leo's body, moving it slowly in circles. Leo makes a face and tries to relax, holding onto Blaine's shoulders. "It's not as bad as I thought," he says, "It just feels... uncomfortable."

"Yes," Blaine chuckles, "That's why people usually don't sit on fingers." Leo glares at him and Blaine laughs again, shaking his head. "Alright, sorry, I won't try and make jokes anymore."

"You better. Your jokes are lame."

"Do you want me to stop?" Blaine asks suddenly, leaning in to kiss him. It's an open, wet kiss that moves along with his finger pushing a little bit deeper, touching some spot inside of him that makes him shiver in something that, even if it's not pleasure already, certainly reminds it greatly.

"Don't you dare, not now that it started to feel good," Leo answers to his question and to the kiss, his hips moving down to meet Blaine's finger, "Keep doing... whatever you're doing. You're..." he breathes out, letting a little moan go with it, "I don't know, it feels different, now."

Blaine kisses him hard again, his hips moving against Leo's thigh with a will of their own. "Then I'm going with another one," he says, "Be strong, kid."

Leo bites at his lips, trying to relax and to distract himself concentrating on how fucking pleasure it feels to have Blaine this close to him, to feel him hard against his body, even to know he's gonna be inside of him in a few minutes.

"Don't bite too hard," Blaine says, kissing the offended lip sweetly, sucking it inside his mouth and biting it gently, as if to show Leo how it's done, "You're too beautiful to ruin yourself like this," he adds, twitching his fingers inside the kid's body, drawing a surprised scream out of his lips.

Leo tries to cover his mouth, hoping his parents didn't hear them. "What did you just do?!" he asks, trying to recover from how breathless that sudden shock of pleasure he felt left him.

Despite how amused he is, Blaine tries not to laugh, so to not upset Leo again. "That's the part in which you admit I was right, and it was worth it," he says.

"Oh, dream, Warbler," Leo answers, frowning, "I didn't say it was good. I just asked what-- shit," Leo almost screams again, parting his legs and pushing his hips down on Blaine's fingers again when he feels the man twitch them inside his body once more, searching for the same reaction from before.

Blaine celebrates his victory with a self-satisfied grin. "You’re not calling me warbler during sex, kid," he says, pulling and pushing his fingers in and out of Leo's body.

"Is my name allowed just until sunset or something?" Leo snorts, annoyed with how easily Blaine let that nickname - kid, he's always been kid for him, since he was six - slip into what they're doing now. Just what Leo needed, some innocent, everyday word to become triggering for such a thing like sex.

Blaine smiles, kissing his pout away and smiling once more when Leo lets out the umpteenth needy moan, answering to the pressure of his fingers inside him. His smile growing wider, he leans in to whisper in Leo's ear, "Think about how much better it's going to be when I'm doing that with my cock, instead of my fingers."

"Shit," Leo breathes out, moaning shamelessly, "Don't... talk like that. I'm not used to this, it's weird."

"Oh, but what about all the other things I'd like to tell you now?" Blaine keeps going, smirking as he kisses his way down Leo's neck, "Like that I want to fuck you until you beg me to stop. Or that you're so fucking beautiful you almost make me want to come by just looking at you. Or how I like the way your cock twitches and hardens for my fingers inside of you."

"God..." Leo starts moving up and down, following Blaine's fingers and rubbing himself against the man's thigh, clearly losing himself to those words. He's never had somebody talking to him like this and somehow he had always thought he'd be squeaked out by dirty talking. Now, he doesn't understand if he likes it, or if it's just Blaine's voice that's making it work. "You won't stop, will you? How many more fingers do we need?" he asks, eagerness growing quickly in his belly.

"I think we're done with the fingers," Blaine whispers on his lips before kissing him hard, "Now on to the real thing."

Blaine settles himself better between Leo's thighs, while the kid looks down, trying to watch closely what's about to happen, secretly hoping that if he manages to keep his eyes fixed on it, it's not gonna hurt. He feels him pushing tentatively against his opening, and then entering for just a couple of inches.

"God..." Blaine says, trying his best not to move too quickly, despite how tempting the warmth of Leo's body feels, "I'm not stopping for anything in the world, kid."

Leo grimaces, biting at his own lip to try and bear the uncomfortableness. "Maybe... maybe you should've kept going with the fingers..." he breathes out, hiding his face in Blaine's neck, "Gosh, it feels even bigger than it looks."

Blaine laughs breathlessly, moving in for a couple of inches more as he wraps his fingers around Leo's cock to start stroking him. "You know, flattering's not going to get you anywhere," he says, letting out another chuckle when Leo sticks out his tongue at him. "You're unbelievable tight," he adds then, closing his eyes as he thrusts once more, finally managing to push himself entirely into the kid's body, "I am literally in love with you."

"Oh, you love me because I'm tight," Leo answers in an annoyed snort, "That's so sweet. How come you're single, with all this romance pouring out of you?"

"You really are gorgeous," Blaine laughs again, "And funny. I can't believe you are still single," he adds, resting still inside of Leo's body, to help him getting used to the new, cumbersome presence.

"Maybe I'm not and you're fucking a taken man, what about it?" Leo mocks him, and then he moans again, grimacing at the same time, fidgeting restlessly under Blaine's body to find a more comfortable position, "It's better if you move," he says in a troubled whisper, "I feel... insanely full, if you just stay still."

"And doesn't it make it more exciting?" Blaine asks, a dirty smile curling his lips as he slowly starts to rock back and forth, still stroking Leo's cock to the rhythm of his own thrusts.

"From now on," Leo says, grabbing Blaine by his shoulders and pulling him down, "You do stuff, I tell you if it's exciting. I'm the one with your cock up his ass, I've got privileges," he decides, pulling Blaine in for a kiss.

Blaine chuckles between Leo's lips, pushing a little harder inside of him. "You really are something," he says, "But you've got a point. What about this, then?" he asks, lifting himself up just a little but holding Leo's hips still to change the angle of his thrusts, getting way closer to hit with his cock that same spot he already hit repeatedly with his fingers before.

"Yes!" Leo breathes out, arching backwards in a desperate attempt to follow his body's imperative to suck Blaine in as much as he can, "You did it again..."

"I can do better," Blaine whispers, thrusting more forcefully now that Leo got used to his presence inside his body. He pushes so deep inside him that the tightness and the wet warmth start to feel overwhelming, and for a moment Blaine just forgets what he's doing and where he is, and all he can understand is how deliciously trapped inside Leo's body he feels. "Fuck," he whispers, "You're just... fuck."

"Oh, shit," Leo holds onto Blaine's shoulders, hanging to him, "God, keep doing this," he begs, searching for his lips almost desperately, his hips moving at the pace Blaine's setting with his steady, quick thrusts.

"Keep your voice down, kid," Blaine says, though he's finding hard to follow his own advice and keeps moaning loudly, squeezing Leo's cock inside his fist and stroking him hard while he pushes even deeper, "God, you're just unreal. I didn't even know something like this could be possible, I don't want to come out of you ever again."

Barely opening his eyes to watch Blaine's features and the lines of his body as he moves in the dark, Leo smiles, lost in what they're sharing. "I don't know," he says, his voice so sweet he'd be embarrassed with himself if he only could hear it from the outside, "It's just crazy that I'm doing this with you."

"Does it really sound so crazy?" Blaine says, thrusting harder inside Leo, using the armrest to point his feet against it and push deeper, "Am I not good enough for you?"

And that's when Leo would like to let himself free to speak, because right now he probably could. He could manage to gather all his courage together and just tell him that yes, he's good enough, he's too good, probably, that he can't recall a single moment of his whole life since he actually started to understand what being attracted to somebody means, that he hasn't thought about being taken like this, from him.

But he just can't say that, that'd be too much, that'd be embarrassing and stupid and he's Blaine, of course it's just a game for him, of course he's just another fuck, of course he's gonna disappear in a couple of days again as he always does. There's no reason to say anything. He'll be gone in the blink of an eye and what they're doing right now won't matter anymore, by then.

So he avoids the question, keeping Blaine in as much as he can, letting him barely free to move to put off the moment he'll pull out as long as he can. "I... I don't think I'm gonna last much longer," he says, biting at his lower lip when he feels himself tensing all around Blaine's cock, a warm wave of pleasure mounting in his underbelly.

"Then come," Blaine whispers in his ear, "Come for me," his lips curling in a tender smile, "I want to feel how much you liked it, I want to know you'll want me again, inside of you, just like that."

Blaine's words push some button inside him, something that hasn't got to do with pleasure alone, something deeper, and Leo tenses for the last time, arching beautifully on the couch and coming with a suffocated moan, as Blaine sucks the tender skin of his neck, thrusting inside of him a couple of times more and then coming hard inside him.

That's when Leo first notices. And Blaine does too, opening his eyes when he falls down, resting himself on top of Leo's body.

They didn't even use a condom. And, wrong as it is, the moment Blaine came with no barrier whatsoever between them, something lit inside of them both, some mysterious spark that, instead of fading away when the sex was over, is still tingling even now that the air starts to feel suddenly colder on their bare, sweaty skin, and the silence starts to grow awkward in the perfect calmness of the night.

Blaine lifts his head and they lock eyes. Leo holds his breath, knowing that this is the moment. He doesn't know what this moment will bring, but whatever it is, this is the moment it's decided.

Then Blaine leans in and kisses him softly on his lips, one, two, a hundred times, and Leo plays along, settling comfortably in his warm embrace. He's still moving lazily inside of him, every now and then, and even if Leo's oversensitive and starting to feel a bit of pain again this is the most pleasant feeling he ever felt in his life.

"Are you cuddling me?" he asks, a tired, almost already sleepy smile blossoming on his cherry red and puffy lips.

"Just a bit," Blaine answers, smiling against Leo's lips after another sweet kiss, "I'm finding kind of hard to, you know... let you go, at the moment." Then he opens his eyes, as if he just realized that Leo's a teenager, after all, so there's every chance he just finds cuddles stupid and annoying. "Don't you like it?"

"Mmh, maybe," Leo answers with an enigmatic smile, "But, you know..." he adds, his cheeks turning red with embarrassment, "I'll have to stand up, eventually. I mean, I can't sleep here."

"I know," Blaine nods, "But it's early. You don't have to run right away-- unless you want to, of course."

"It's just..." Leo looks away, nervously scratching his cheek, "My dads are gonna kill me, if they find out."

The thoughts of Kurt and Karofsky still asleep in the first floor bedroom crosses Blaine's mind for the first time in what feels like hours. He knows that, as much as they could be angry at Leo too, if they found out, they'd never hurt him or kick him out or anything like that. On the contrary, nothing would save him from their righteous and terrifying wrath. "We don't have to tell them, you know?" he sighs, "This could just stay between us."

"As if I ever thought about telling them," Leo blinks a couple of times, looking at Blaine as if he said the most obvious thing ever said by somebody since humanity moved its first steps on the planet.

"And, if it ever comes out, somehow," Blaine goes on, "You're not going to tell them I, like, forced you to do something you didn't want to do, are you? Because that, you see, would be very bad. And if you want to ruin me, there are less cruel ways."

Leo lets out an amused chuckle, arching an eyebrow at him. "Are you by any chance scared to death I could tell everyone you raped me?"

"With kids like you, one never knows," Blaine grins, and then kisses him on the tip of his nose. "Hold your breath, kid," he suggests as he pulls away, his now soft cock finally slipping out of the kid's body.

"Ouch!" Leo blurts out, making a face, "It's even worse when you pull out... wait, what did you mean with that? How many kids like me did you do, exactly?"

Blaine laughs, rolling on his side and resting his head on the palm of his hand, "What's that, jealousy?"

"It's not jealousy," Leo pouts, crossing his arms over his chest, "I just want to know if you're a serial underager or something."

Blaine laughs again, shaking his head. "I actually am not. I've had a couple of things with kids your age, but then I was their age too when it happened, so I guess that doesn't count. You're my first," his smile softens, as well as his eyes, "As I'm yours."

Leo blushes violently, looking away as he searches for something to say to change the subject immediately. "So... I guess it's safe to say that I'm at least bi."

"See?" Blaine chuckles, nodding, "I told you it would be a useful experience, however it went," he says, leaning in to randomly kiss the kid on his cheek.

"Yeah," Leo nods, giggling, "Grandpa's gonna freak out. You know, he always thought a kid wasn't a good idea for my dads. He loves me, of course, he's just old fashioned. So he was okay with them being gay, but a kid... he had issues. And then it turns out I'm half gay too! He's gonna say it's my dads' fault, for sure," he giggles again, as if the thought of telling his whole family, possibly during Thanksgiving or some other festivity that could be easily ruined by this confession, was the most amusing thing he ever thought about in his life.

"Let's write a note and then print a hundred posters to glue to every single door of this house," Blaine nods, "Hello, family. I accidentally found out I'm bisexual. Thanks you for your cooperation in letting me found an half-naked man on the couch right when I needed it."

"No, you idiot!" Leo laughs, slapping him on his shoulder, "But eventually, I'm gonna tell them. I always end up telling everything, anyway, so... but don't worry," he adds when he notices Blaine's eyes growing bigger and worried, "You're the only exception, I won't tell about you."

"Thanks," Blaine chuckles, and then stops to look at him for a couple of seconds. Leo can see there's a question lingering on his parted lips, and he's curious to hear it, but at the same time he'd happily kiss him right now to not let him even try and ask it. He doesn't, anyway, and eventually Blaine speaks. "Can I be the exception again," he asks, "Sometime soon?"

"...I don't know," Leo answers, looking away. They both know Blaine shouldn't have asked, and at the same time they're both glad he did. "Maybe," he tries and joke about it, "I have to think about it, you're still the man who tried to drag me out of a bush after I saw you make out with my father on his wedding day, you know?"

"I wasn't making out with your father, you stubborn kid!" Blaine laughs, "That was just a goodbye kiss," he says, leaning in to kiss Leo deeply and slowly, so passionately Leo's happy he's still lying down, or else he would have needed something to hang onto not to fall. "...as this will be," Blaine adds, "If you decide you don't want to try this ever again."

Leo slowly bats his eyelashes, trying to focus again and having a hard time doing it. "If this is the kind of kiss you gave him, then I totally hate you."

Blaine smiles against his lips, brushing the tip of his nose against the kid's. "Did anybody ever tell you you're kind of addictive?"

"Here you go, changing subject," Leo chuckles, snuggling closer, "You really are shameless, aren't you?"

"I'd say I'm good with words," Blaine laughs, "That sounds better. But, seriously," he looks at him again, "I'm going to be in New York by tomorrow evening, and after the audition I'm probably just going to go home. So... if you want to see me again, you'll have to be the one that makes the first step."

"The man asked to the fifteen years old kid who wasn't even allowed to get his driver's license," Leo answers, casting him a disapproving glare, "Let's just say that if you see me in Westerville or wherever you warblers live, then it means that I probably run away from home or I decided to be with you... at least to use you, 'cause I will be homeless and penniless and it'll be basically be all your fault, so you'll have to take responsibility."

Blaine laughs again and then sighs, looking at him with that sort of tenderness Leo's quickly growing fond of. "How am I supposed to leave your smart ass here all alone?" he asks, and then shakes his head, as if to clear it from dangerous thoughts, "Now, give me a goodbye kiss like you think a goodbye kiss should be, and then run to bed. Your bed."

Leo bites at his lower lip, looking at Blaine in silence for a long moment. Then he kisses Blaine deeply, slowly, savoring the taste of his lips. And deep inside he knows this whole thing's being too unnecessarily romantic not to hurt someway when it'll be over. But he can't bring himself to mind. Not right now.

Blaine keeps his eyes closed, dwelling on the strong emotion coming from the kiss. He answers with the same intensity, actually surprised by how quickly their level of intimacy escalated in just one night, and parting from Leo only a few moments later, their wet lips producing a soft smacking sound as they unlock. "...that was breathtaking," he admits, resting his forehead against Leo's.

"I..." Leo says, suddenly trying to pull away from Blaine's hug. For a moment, that was just too much to bear. It was unexpected and awkward and Leo just wants to go. "I have to go, now," he stands up, gathering his clothes from the floor and covering himself with them.

Blaine pulls away from him, alarmed by his sudden agitation. "Yes, sure," he nods, trying to look as calm as he possibly can.

"So... that's it, then," Leo says, hugging his clothes to his chest, "Um, goodnight, I guess."

Blaine nods slowly, trying to smile to reassure him. "Goodnight."

Leo nods and turns around, moving a couple of steps in the dark. In the deep silence of the house, his feet make the most unnerving sound tapping against the cold tiles of the floor. He suddenly turns back to face Blaine, finding him still sitting on the couch like he left him, with his eyes on him. "Listen," he starts off, "About what you said while we were... doing it... I mean..."

Blaine clears his throat and then smiles again, this time almost embarrassedly. "We were having sex, kid," he says, "You say a lot of things when you're having sex, but they're just... things. Don't worry, I won't make a big deal out of this."

Leo lowers his eyes and mutters something unintelligible as he turns around again and runs upstairs.

Because that's exactly the problem, he thinks, hiding in his room and throwing away all his clothes as he crawls in his bed, hugging himself under the sheets. It already is a big deal, and he can't help thinking that try and not make one out of it is only going to make it worse.

PIRATES VS CONDUCTORS
CHAPTER 1

The war predated everything Kurt knew, as well as the whole actual living population of the continent. There wasn’t a single alive person that was born before the conflict had started. After a hundred years of war, whoever was born before it was already dead, and in the meanwhile a lot of people were born while it was happening, and died before they could see its ending.

Kurt, for example, had lived his whole life, up to his seventeenth year of age, firmly believing the war would never stop. It would have gone on and on until the end of the world – or, alternatively, until the end of available soldiers.

If you asked history professors and learned people about the beginning of the war and its reasons, they always knew how to answer in details. They seemed to take delight in keeping you there as they went on and on for hours about this or that king of the Iron Lands and this or that pirate captain from the Floating Lands, the conflicts they had, the battles they fought, the tactics they went by.

If you asked normal people, though, those who lived in the country or in the iron cities, those who worked in the caves in the Midlands, they only knew the basics. Some of them didn’t even knew that. They knew a war had started way before they were born, they knew that war was all about conquering the Midlands and their mines and keeping them in control, they knew it had probably started when the Iron Lands first stepped into the Midlands claiming them as theirs despite them being considered neutral territories since the beginning of time, but that was all. They didn’t knew about people fighting on the front line, they didn’t knew about generals and commanders that were nothing but strangers’ names to them, they didn’t knew about all the money the war cost to the Iron Lands, or the multitude of lives it took.

They wanted the war over, but they didn’t care about what it really was, what it meant to the Iron Lands. Some of them even sided with the pirates, believing – Gods only knew why – that they were saviours, that they wanted to free them all from the Queen’s unfair treatment.

In Kurt’s opinion, they were fools. From where did they think the iron used to forge their tools, their utensils, even their money and the posts used to build their own homes came? Of course it came from the mines in the Midlands. The Iron Lands covered a huge territory through the whole continent, while the Floating Lands were nothing but a few little islands roaming around in the sky, always changing place with every month. They hosted not more than a hundred thousand people while the Iron Lands were home to billions. The pirates ruling the Floating Lands could have easily settled to buy a small portion of the iron the miner extracted from the caves in the Midlands, but no, they wanted the whole Midlands to be theirs, despite the little use they had for them, and still people really believed the war was some Iron Lands’ King’s fault.

Sure, Kurt hated war too. He hated waking up in the morning knowing people were going to die, he hated that there was a very little he or anybody else could do to save them or make the massacre stop, but he knew somebody had to fight that war, somebody had to kill and be killed to defend the Midlands and the Iron Lands’ wealth from the pirates’ invasion, and he wanted the war over, of course, but he wanted the Iron Lands to win it. Surely, he didn’t want some uncivilized pirates from the Floating Lands to sit on the iron throne and rule the whole land by his immoral and barbaric rules.

People didn’t know how pirates truly were. Kurt wasn’t exactly learned – he was the son of an alchemist, after all, he knew almost anything about basic alchemy processes, but he wasn’t really acquainted about history or sociology – but he had read some books about them, he knew how they lived by. They almost never left their battleships, they were known not to take any prisoners, and whenever they caught someone from the Iron Lands they always tortured them to death, even soldiers who clearly knew nothing about the Steam Army strategy, in an attempt to make them reveal Gods only knew which kind of secrets they thought they could use to their advantage on the battleground.

Pirates were cruel, ignorant brutes, and they only wanted the Midlands so that they could use the iron from the caves to enlarge their fleet and finally take a move against the Iron Lands, to conquer them, slaughter all the people who adverse them and enslave the others, and those who thought pirates were fighting this war to free the people of the Iron Lands from some kind of cruel and vicious queen, clearly knew nothing about anything at all.

“Kurt?” Burt said, waving a hand in front of his eyes to try and bring him back on earth from the stream of thoughts that had clearly brought him to some place else, “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, dad,” he answered, turning to look at him with a little smile, “But you already told me everything a dozen times in the last three days. I think I know, now.”

“No, you don’t!” Burt insisted, placing both his big, calloused hands on his son’s shoulders, shaking him a little back and forth, “The mission you’re going to go on is a very difficult, very important, very dangerous one. We can’t risk for you to get caught, you will bring the philosopher’s stone to the Queen, and—”

“I know, dad, I know. If it can convince the Queen that the stone alone could provide the iron to sustain the whole land, the war will be over.”

His father had lazily searched for the philosopher’s stone for his whole life, just like every other man who considered himself an alchemist had done and still did since the beginning of the world. It wasn’t until he had found concrete evidence of his existence and utility that he told the Queen about it.

The stone had been working and improving non stop for the last eleven or twelve month, since Kurt’s dad and the Queen had last spoken about it, and Kurt had seen it at work a thousand times at least: it never transmuted into iron more than just a stone or something. And even then, the quantity of iron resulting somehow never managed to compare to the quantity of stone or dirt or even wood used at the beginning of the transmutation process.

Kurt had serious doubts that something like that could ever solve the Iron Lands’ problems to the point that the war would be useless, but his dad firmly believed that was what was going to happen, and after the countless years the old alchemist had spent working on that project he wouldn’t want to be the one to tell him “dad, no, this is clearly not going to work”.

“Exactly,” Burt said, nodding quickly. “You have to be brave and careful, son.”

“And you know I won’t,” Kurt chuckled, freeing himself from his father’s grasp, “That’s why you’re handing me over to Blaine, so he will be for both of us.”

Burt didn’t seem to find his son’s joke any funny, and frowned sternly as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Kurt, do I have to remind you about the crucial importance of this whole operation? How many lives we could save, how many battles we could spare the army with just one stone?”

“I swear, dad, if you remind me about it one more time, I’ll puke,” Kurt answered with a bright smile, “Dad, really, I know. And I understand. And I trust Blaine and his battletrain,” Kurt added, turning a bit to lovingly glance at his fiancée, waiting for him near the train, already ready to depart, “And so should you. He’s not a commander of the Steam Army for nothing.”

Burt sighed, passing a hand over his face. “Yes, and I do,” he admitted, gesturing towards Blaine to invite him to come closer. “Blaine, I entrust my son to you. Take good care of him and the valuable load he carries.”

“I will, mister Hummel,” Blaine said, smiling confidently at him. They shook hands, Kurt already by his fiancée’s side, an arm wrapped around his. Blaine turned towards him and smiled. “Now, shall we go?”

*
Blaine was a war hero whose name was known through the whole land. If there was one member of the Steam Army, only one, that commoners would have saved from the fury of the pirates’ fleets, that was him. He was a decorated soldier who had proven his value fighting bravery on the front line before he was awarded with the grade of commander, and he had the responsibility of the Warbler, the first, the biggest and the strongest among all the battletrains of the Steam Army.

At his command, the Warbler had won countless fights, shooting down dozens of pirate ships, and the soldiers he now commanded had captured hundreds of pirates that were now safely held prisoners into the Capital’s prisons, where they couldn’t hurt anybody anymore.

He was a well respected commander, a man about whom people could do nothing but talk with deference and admiration.

Yet, he clearly had no clue of what it meant to be a boyfriend. Three days had passed since they had left Lima, headed to the Capital, and Kurt had only seen him a couple of times tops. He had passed his days caged in a carriage equipped with all the comforts he might need, except of course for the strong arms of his boyfriend firmly wrapped around his body.

Blaine and Kurt didn’t exactly have a very close relationship, but that was only because they couldn’t see each other as often as they would have liked to. When they actually managed to finally spend some time together, they were always very close, and Kurt was hoping that this trip would have brought a lot more moments of intimacy between them, but it turned out that Blaine could barely leave the cabin, and in any way he preferred to have Kurt always locked up in his private cab, so to keep him safe and controlled day and night.

Kurt hated it. He was bored, tired, and missed his boyfriend. And he wanted to see the cabin, he had asked Blaine countless time to let him go there and watch him as he drove the train, but Blaine insisted it was safer to keep him in his room, and never let him out, and if he had to watch those same four walls for another instant Kurt was sure he would have gone crazy.

He couldn’t believe he had been so excited for this trip. What an adventure it will be!, he had thought while planning the departure; he couldn’t wait to be on that train, to pass through the Midlands with all their little villages, to see the high mountains on the horizon shelter the sun as it was setting while the rail led them straight to the Capital. And he couldn’t wait to see the Capital itself, with all his iron palaces, and the Queen, of course, oh, how he couldn’t wait to finally meet the Queen. He had always dreamed to just have a little taste of the adventures Blaine lived in his everyday life, and he couldn’t even look at himself, now, trapped in a stupid wagon with a stupid stone in a stupid box and nothing but the desert all around because Blaine thought it would be safer not to take the way through the Midlands.


He was sick of it all, and he was about to grab the phone hanging on the wall, the one Blaine used to communicate with him from the cabin without even having to move, to call him with the specific intent of fighting, when he heard a soft knocking on the door.

Finally! Something happening! Kurt could barely believe it, the knocking had been so soft it could have just as easily be nothing but his mind playing tricks on him. “Who is it?” he asked, standing up from the armchair he had been half-sleeping in boredom since he had woken up that morning.

“Private soldier Melchior Gabor, sir, serial number 114220316. I ask permission to come in, sir.”

Kurt chuckled lightly, covering his mouth with one hand as he tried to muffle the sound so the soldier wouldn’t hear it. He still hadn’t had the time to get used to how formal Blaine’s soldiers were. He really knew how to keep them in line. “Come in, please,” he said, smiling gently as the soldier opened the door and walked inside his room.

He was tall – at least compared to Blaine, after all – and kind of handsome, Kurt had to admit. He had pale skin and wavy light brown hair, and his eyes were a light, mysterious shade of a mixed tone in between green and grey. He was smiling warmly, standing there in his elegant uniform, as he politely saluted him with a little bow.

“I hope you’re finding yourself comfortable in here, sir,” he said. Kurt chuckled, nodding without hesitation.

“Of course, of course,” he answered, “But please, just call me Kurt.”

“I can’t, sir,” Melchior laughed a bit, “My commander would certainly reproach me if I dared.”

“Oh, but I won’t tell him, I promise,” Kurt insisted, playfully winking at him, “It’ll be our little secret.”

Melchior laughed once more, but he didn’t answer to that. He probably knew it wouldn’t have been proper for a soldier like him to play that way with somebody like Kurt. Blaine really knew how to handle his men, after all.

“Sir, I’m here because commander Anderson asked for your presence in the head cabin,” Melchior said, “Would you be kind enough to follow me?”

Kurt’s eyes immediately started to shine as a happy smile appeared on his lips. “Oh, my Gods,” he said, folding his hands over his chest, “He remembered! I asked him to let me see the cabin so many times!”

How could Kurt be so mean, how could he think Blaine had forgot about him, or was keeping him locked up in that room because he didn’t care about what he wanted? Of course Blaine cared! Of course he did, he was clearly just waiting for the right moment to call him! He was carrying the responsibility of his safety on his shoulders, and Kurt would have understood that better. He would have waited patiently for his fiancée to be sure there were no threats around, because, as it was obvious now, Blaine was just waiting for a safe moment when he could tell him to come without worry for his life.

His fiancée was a hero, a noble and honourable man, and Kurt loved him so much he couldn’t wait to finally see him again so he could show him.

“Commander Anderson also wanted me to ask you if you could bring that device you’re carrying with you on the cabin,” Melchior added, “He would like to watch it closely.”

“Of course,” Kurt answered without even listening to him. He was too happy to be concerned about that stupid stone or everything else in the world, for that matter. He was about to see Blaine! He was about to stand by his side while he drove the train towards the Capital in the blinding light of the day! He couldn’t imagine anything more adventurous or exciting.

He took the little velvet box the stone was kept in and followed Melchior out of the room.

“Weren’t there two soldiers here?” Kurt asked as Melchior led him along the wagons, walking slowly so to let him free to take a look around. He was grateful to Melchior to be so kind to him, he must’ve guessed or known that Kurt hadn’t really had the chance to explore the train before, but not seeing the soldiers he was sure Blaine had put to guard his door was kind of making him nervous.

“Yes, sir,” Melchior nodded, moving from one wagon to the other and keeping the door open for Kurt to pass through it, “Since I was going to take care of you here, commander Anderson asked them over to the head cabin. You know how it is on a battletrain, we can’t just leave men guarding an empty room.”

“Actually, I don’t really know how it is on a battletrain, since I had never been into one before three days ago,” Kurt chuckled, “But it makes sense. I guess you’re all very busy, all day long.”

“Constantly,” Melchior nodded, helping him into yet another wagon.

“Thank you,” Kurt said, actually looking around himself for the first time since they had left his room. “Wait a minute, isn’t this the end of the train?” he asked, looking outside the window.

“It would appear so,” Malchior nodded, opening the last door. Instantly, the wind started to blow inside the wagon so hard and fast Kurt had to grab one of the handles hanging down from the ceiling not to fall on the ground.

“What are you doing?!” Kurt screamed, terrified, “Weren’t you supposed to bring me to Blaine?!”

“Oh, was I?” Melchior asked, his formerly kind smile turning quickly into a way more wicked one.

Kurt felt his heart skip a beat and held on to the handle tighter. “Who the hell are you?” he asked in a breath.

He didn’t have the time to hear the answer, though. “Jesse St. James,” the man answered, hitting him on the back of his head and managing to grab the little velvet box he let go of fainting, before it could hit the ground, “Nice to meet you.”

Jesse opened the jacket of the uniform he had stolen from one of the soldiers he had found outside of Kurt’s room before throwing them both out of the windows, and put the box in one of the countless inner pockets it had, and then retrieved Kurt’s unconscious body from the ground, lifting him up on his own shoulders. He secured the sleeping boy on himself with a rope and then walked outside the train, jumping on the two-seater floating air-scooter tied to the iron handrail.

Whistling happily, perfectly satisfied with himself, he cut the rope and flew away.

*
The Warbler was the first train of the fleet and the first battletrain ever built, too. It had a body of iron, a steam turbine and four alchemy powered auxiliary engines. When it first came out, more than a hundred years prior, its only engine was coal-powered and it was replaced ten years after with a modern, more functional model, which was the one it had now.

Not the newest train of the fleet, perhaps, but the more reliable.

Blaine had driven it for five years and he wouldn't have changed it for any of those ten-engines monstrosities that industry was building nowadays. They were gorgeous and well armed, absolutely essential to fight the war, but they still couldn't compete with the flagtrain's stability. To date, the Warbler was still the best train, as far as the ratio between power, speed and endurance was concerned. Also, the flagtrain didn't need to be the best, but it needed to be indestructible because it was the only real reference point in battle. All the other conductors would look for it if they were in trouble, therefore it could not fall easily, for it was the sign that the army had still hope, that it was still fighting. And the Warbler, with his century of service, had never broken down but once, while Blaine had at least forty of the latest units in repair every week.

Blaine checked the pressure gauge and the levels of energy in the engine compartment through the control panel Hummel had installed on the bridge. Everything seemed perfectly normal. Cruising speed was good and at this pace he could hope to get to Capital City on schedule, given the pirates didn't decide to attack, which would have been unfortunate indeed.

Usually, it would have been reporting via radio to the command every twelve hours about his squadron's whereabouts and status, but the delicate nature of the current mission required total secrecy because communications between the train and the headquarters however coded could still have been intercepted, and he couldn't let it happen.

Therefore, left with really nothing to do, he realized this was a good moment to show Kurt the train, for he had been asking to visit it since their departure. He called an orderly and when he came, clicking his heels and giving a salute, he ordered him to fetch his fiancée from the cabin he had been locked in for three days and escort Kurt to him.

Knowing Kurt, Blaine doubted him would be in any way interested in what the Warbler was. Kurt wasn't exactly the kind of young man who fancied train or the art of war, in general. He was artistic, he loved art, singing and theatre. He would not understand the poetry of the pistons moving in perfect harmony, like the giant keys of a piano, pushing the train forward instead of making music. But that was one of the reason Blaine loved him so much. They were so different from one another, and still shared so much. Like a passion for music, Blaine himself used to sing from time to time, even though he was not good at it as Kurt was.

They were a strange couple, Kurt and him.

They had met by chance, in a moment when Blaine wasn't thinking about love at all. He had just been named commander of the royal fleet and he was determined to live up to the honour that had been given to him. All his efforts and energy were focused solely on lead a battle after the other and possibly to win the war as soon as possible, bringing the Iron Lands back to the peace they had long forgotten.

It was late April, some time after the fleet's victory at Kinley's point – one of the most strategic and important sites on the borders, that the pirates was about to take, opening a way not only between the fleet's lines, but to the Iron Lands as well – and a party to celebrate the astounding performance of the Queen's fleet had been thrown by a rich merchant of a city nearby. All the highest in command were there, together with all the personages of the towns all around. Mister Hummel and his son were invited to, in consideration of what the alchemist had done for the fleet.

Blaine and Kurt had never met before, but Blaine knew Burt. The two of them were talking about possible modifications on the Warbler, when Kurt had approached them, taking his father away from him with a polite apology in his direction. Blaine could honestly swear he hadn't be able to look at anything else but Kurt, that night. His eyes had followed him through the room, even when he had been expected to listen to his superiors asking about this or that detail of the battle. Every time he lost sight of Kurt's peculiar outfit, his eyes would look for it until they find it again. By the end of the night, he could recognize Kurt in the crowd by the mere sight of a button.

They didn't speak at all that night, except for saying goodbye.

Blaine had been pleased, though, to see in Kurt's eyes the same kind of longing desire that he was sure was in his own. For this reason, he had found the courage to try and court him, because all of a sudden, fight an entire fleet of pirate ships with one single battletrain left seemed easier than ask Kurt out. Blaine's visits to Burt's lab became quite frequent and so did the invitations to stay for dinner. After what felt the millionth time that he was invited to stay and he spent the time nodding politely to whatever Burt was saying while looking at Kurt and smile awkwardly every now and then, Burt had taken the problem in his own hand and asked abruptly – and a little bit sternly to add a touch of scariness – if Blaine liked his only son, for it certainly looked so. Blaine had turned red, and Kurt purple but Burt had stood his ground. “You two don't do anything but look at each other all day,” he had said. “I gave you plenty of chances to make a move, so now please do it or give up because I can't bare the lovey-dovey act any longer.”

And Blaine did it. He asked the man the honour to court Kurt and he said yes. They went out a couple of times, but it was clear since the beginning that they were meant to be together. Four years after, which means a year before this mission had became necessary, Blaine had asked Burt for Kurt's hand and they were now going to marry soon, possibly after the end of the war that both Burt and Blaine felt closer and closer with the discovery of the stone.

He was smiling stupidly at the window of the head cabin, looking not at the dry beauty of the desert but at his own mental images of how the wedding was going to be according to Kurt's fashion sense, when the door of the cabin burst open and his orderly run in, screaming his name.

“Commander Anderson,” he said, breathing heavily. “Mister Hummel is gone, sir. The room is empty and I couldn't find him.”

“What?” Blaine moved away from the window as all the wedding images disappeared from his head, his brain entering in a perfect emergency-mode. “What do you mean he is gone? Did you ask the men at his door?”

“They are gone too, sir.”

“Damn!” Blaine was already in motion before the orderly had even stopped speaking. He started running down the hall and the soldier run after him, awaiting orders. “He's been abducted. Call the security. Stop the train. Block all the exits. Now!”

The young orderly stopped and took out his radio, which frizzled a little as soon as he pressed the button. “Attention, to all units on board. We have a breach. Repeat: we have a breach. Suspected intruder. Train in red mode.”

The orderly didn't need to say his name or that it was Blaine's order. Whoever was accused of pretending a red code for a battletrain would go to the court-martial. Nobody would ever dream of playing like that, so if a red mode had been called, then it had to be real. The brakes were pulled a second after, while the orderly was still shouting about the state of emergency. The train screeched, a wave of sparkles washed over the windows as the brakes bit at the tracks. The train jumped to a stop and then, all together windows and doors shut down, leaving the whole train in the dark for a brief moment before the emergency light turned on.

Used to every single movement of his train in battle, Blaine was unaffected by its jumping and shaking, and he kept moving down the hall, avoiding things falling down from the highest shelves and soldiers throwing themselves out of the cabins and running to their duties. He shouted orders as he passed them by, taking some with him for good measure.

Kurt's door was open, obviously. He quickly checked the room but as soon as he saw his window was intact he didn't waste any more time and kept running down the hall. Whoever took Kurt had had to run that way, because they were coming from the other. He passed an awful numbers of intersections, scattering his men in each and every wagon to check for Kurt while he run forward.

There was a strange noise ahead. Some sort of enduring whistle with a knocking sound in the background. It took him a few moments to realize the whistle was strong wind coming in the train from outside, meaning that one of the exits had to be open. When he reached it, the last door was open. The shutter had closed too late and not completely. He knelt down to discover that the knocking sound was the end of a rope, slamming against the side of the train. Looking up, he saw a flying vehicle in the distance, the intruder and his precious load were gone.

“Flying vehicle, probably a scooter, going South-Eastwards” he said in his radio. “I want two squads after it.”

“Roger,” A frizzling voice said from the other end. “Squad one and two ready, sir.”

“Get him and take back Hummel and his load.”

“Roger.”

The orderly caught up with Blaine as he put away the radio. “The train is clear, sir. What are the orders, now?”

Blaine sighed. There wasn't much he could do. There were no doubts Kurt had been kidnapped by the pirates, but he couldn't just turn the train around and go toward the Floating Lands. That constantly moving place was too dangerous to walk through without a map to follow. He had to hope the squads got Kurt back or at least catch up with the scooter and followed it, so to know exactly where he was heading to. “We get the Warbler ready,” he said as he walked back to the head cabin. Once there, he unlocked the system and cleared the state of emergency. “We leave as soon as we have the coordinates.”

“Yes sir,” the orderly said, nodding.

Around them the Warbler came back to life, roaring and ready to fight if necessary, as its conductor was.

*
Jesse had driven his scooter randomly for almost two hours before getting bored and nose-diving toward the ocean, run on the surface of the water for three miles and then literally disappear behind one of the many falls generated on the floated stones, giving the slip to Blaine's soldiers, running after him on their flying vehicles. He had confused them for a while, taking them away from the Warbler and right at the board of the pirates territory, where he could orient himself and they couldn't. The game was over.

He turned off the scooter's engine and waited, hidden behind one of the huge masses of rock floating in mid-air. He watched them search for him around, but not daring to cross the border. They could, of course, try and follow him, maybe they could even catch him – Jesse wasn't so sure about that but he was willing to give the poor guys at least that merit – but without a map of the rocks' migration, they were bound to turn around with their precious intruder and find themselves trapped in a labyrinth that wasn't there before. And in the land of pirates, being a group of royal soldiers away from their battletrain was never a good idea.

Jesse had to admit they were persisting, though. They searched for at least another hour, forcing him to check on Kurt and see if he was waking up, before giving up and preparing to go back to their commander to tell him he was lost.

In the beginning, the Floating Lands were attached to the continent, separated from the Iron Lands by that same Midlands that now were the reason of the war. Then various earthquakes opened a crack in the ground, that eventually resulted into big chunks of rock the size of cities to come off the land. But instead of staying where they were, they started floating due to the alchemical energy in excess, that was also the main cause of the earthquakes to begin with. Alchemists said those parts of the land were lost, because the energy was bound to run out sooner or later. The rocks would fall into the ocean, bringing the cities with them.

People left the rocks and their cities, and went to live in the Midlands or in the Iron Lands, if they had enough money. Many of them even faced the long journey to the Capital, hoping to find a job as servants and maids, there. The Floating Stones were abandoned, awaiting for them to fall and disappeared in the deep waters eight hundreds feet below them.

But it never happened.

Somehow, the energy that was keeping the rocks in the air started to interact with the energy on solid ground, creating currents that would keep these rocks floating but push them around in no predictable patterns. Because of its constantly changing geography, the Floating Lands became the perfect place to hide for runaways and criminals and people who needed to disappear from the face of the world for whatever reason. They started to live there and developed a way to understand the migration of the stones they lived on and they built ships that could fly, powered with little stones extracted from the floating rocks. And like sailors at sea, they learned how to orient themselves in a land with very few constant landmarks.

They built their own kingdom, mirroring the one that had turned them into outcasts and they took their revenge on it by attacking the people on the ground and stealing from them. They started roaming the sky in little fleets, they became pirates and the rest was history.

Jesse waited for the royal soldiers to fly away and disappear beyond the line of the horizon before turning on the engine again. Kurt was moaning now and stirring every now and then, he needed to get to the target soon. He came out from behind his hiding place and speeded up through the path of rocks without hesitation. Jesse wasn't born in the Floating Lands but he knew exactly how to move through them. A man with his kind of job needed to be able to find his way wherever he was, otherwise he wouldn't live very long. And since he planned to have a long, happy life and then retire at a very old age in one of the tropical islands in the South to enjoy all the money he would have had, he was very good at saving his ass in every possible situation.

It took him another hour to get to where he needed to be.

Eventually, the hugest rock he had seen so far slowly moved aside to reveal a pirate ship, glorious and shiny in the dying light of the day. And behind it, about other twenty ships, smaller and somehow not as impressive as the flagship but still visibly as armed. This fleet was huge, and it wasn't the only one. Jesse knew for a fact that, twenty miles East from there, there was another one, as big as this one, and the same went from twenty miles in every direction. The pirates were indeed a power to be reckon with, because they had done the only thing they needed to do: they joined forces and they were now many, angry and merciless.

Jesse approached the flagship slowly and stopped in mid-air thirty feet from it, knowing pirates tended to shoot at anything they didn't know and that moved around their ship. A man with a purple bandana over a ruffled head of blonde hair frowned at him and squinted his eyes as if he couldn't see very well.

“Who th' hell be ye?” He asked in a deep, throaty voice before coughing and then spitting in the ocean.

Jesse made a face at his astounding lack of grammar, but he smiled anyway. “Hello good sir, my name is Jesse St. James. Your captain is waiting for me. I have something he wants.”

The pirate looked at him very intently, as if he was trying to understand what exactly Jesse was saying, which was ridiculous since it should have been the other way around. Eventually, he seemed to give up on some of the words and focus only on the ones he understood, which were very few.

He nodded and then turned his head. “Avast, thar, Cap'n, thar be a scurvy dog here who says ye be waitin' fer him,” he shouted. “He says his name be Jesse St. somethin'. I shoot him?”

He was speaking to someone Jesse couldn't see, but he could hear the clear, stern voice answering him and recognize it as the captain's voice. “Of course you don't shoot him, you idiot. Let him on board.”

“Aye, Cap'n.” The pirate nodded again and then turned to Jesse again. “Th' Cap'n says ye can come on board. Leave that sailin' thin' thar 'n use th' ladder.”

After he said that, a rope ladder was thrown overboard for him. He got the scooter closer to the side of the ship and then climbed the ladder, with Kurt's sleeping body secured to his back. Once he got on top, the blonde pirate helped him out, almost dragging him on board. “Here, ye land people be not jolly at gettin' on a ship.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jesse said, dusting off his trousers. He carefully took Kurt off his shoulders and lied him on the planks, where he moaned a little and then curled up in his sleep. The captain came forward, taking a couple of slow steps toward him and stopping a few feet away, right next to the blonde pirate who obligingly took a step back. “Captain Karofsky.”

“St. James,” the captain grumbled.

Captain Karofsky was a big, sturdy young man, with dark brown hair and a constantly pissed off expression on his squared face that made him look like if he had just eaten something nasty. He hadn't missed any limbs yet and his eyes were a deep brown that matched the planks of his ship when they got wet at high tide. In his early twenties, he was quite young to be ruling a ship as big as The Fury but he was the son of a captain, the grandson of a buccaneer and the nephew of a corsair, so he wasn't expected to be less than a sea robber himself. He had got his ship and half the crew from his father, but the rest of his men and the other ships that followed his lead he had owned himself.

Jesse didn't like pirates too much – actually, he didn't like anyone in general too much, because liking someone required a certain amount of interest toward other human beings which he lacked by nature – but he found Karofsky amusing, and he enjoyed the brief moments they spent in civilities before their business.

As a pirate, he was quite peculiar. First of all, he wasn't cursed with the usual blatant ignorance. His notorious grandfather was the illegitimate son of a baron and had been educated in the finest school before going off roaming the sea. The old man was a true pirate, but he had as well the heart of a man of letters. He loved books as much as he loved treasures and he passed his passion to his son and to his son's son after that. Even though Karofsky had a lot of the restlessness of his father Paul, which made him a troubled soul, he was much like his grandfather as far as his education was concerned. Secondly, he followed no rules but his own, and that was something Jesse could relate to.

“I was starting to think you'd never show up. You're late,” Karofsky said.

Jesse smiled charmingly as he always did. “I have my reasons, sir. Men of the Queen were after me, I had to get rid of them in order to get here unharmed and with your requested goods safe and sound in my hands. So I did and here I am. I believe this should be a good enough explanation to be forgiven.”

“I suppose it is,” Karofsky granted. “Do you have what I asked?”

“As I said, I do,” Jesse smiled again and rummaged in his jacket's inside pocket, retrieving the little box. “This is the device you wanted and the kid here was the one who had it.”

Karofsky tilted his head, frowning as he watched Kurt. “This is not Hummel,” he said.

“Actually, he is. Kurt Hummel, only son of Burt Hummel and his late wife, died during a raid of your fellow pirates ships in Lima town, approximately ten, maybe fifteen years ago.”

The captain was totally unimpressed by Jesse's knowledge. “Still, the son of the alchemist is not what I asked you.”

“No, what you asked me was to bring you the box and who had it and that's exactly what I brought you, Karofsky,” Jesse said. “If you don't like it, that's fine. Feel free to lodge a complaint to the battletrain army of Her Majesty, but don't blame me.”

In the meanwhile, Kurt was finally starting to wake up. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the point of Karofsky's sword, aimed at his neck as the captain was arguing with Jesse over his body. “Are you trying to fuck with me, St. James?”

“For God's sake, no!” Jesse sighed. “He was on the train with the box. There wasn't anyone else. I'm sorry if you are disappointed, but let me tell you, you should get your information right next time, if you don't want this kind of unfortunate situations to happen. Now, if you'd be so kind as to pay me.”

“Who are you?” Kurt said as he tried to move away from both of them and failed because his hands and feet were tied.

“Avast, Cap'n, he be awake,” the blonde pirate said, drawing Kurt's attention toward himself and the dozen of other men on the ship.

“Oh my Gods, you are pirates!” Kurt screamed, hearing the way he spoke. He wiggled away and turned to Jesse, glaring at him. “You sold me to the pirates, you bastard!”

“At least I was trying to before you woke up and delayed this transaction even further,” he answered. Then he sighed, as if to regain his composure. “Captain, if you don't mind, it's getting late and I have other things that I need to take care of.”

Karofsky wasn't convinced about the whole matter and his crew seemed to notice that. His men came closer, all with swords or pistols in hand. Kurt started screaming even louder, accusing Jesse of treachery and ordering the pirates to stay away from him because he was the fiancée of Blaine Anderson, commander of the Warbler, first battletrain of the Queen and that soon the whole army of Her Majesty would fall upon them to save him.

Nobody listened to him.

“Dave, you wanted the thing. You have it,” the voice of a woman said, apparently out of thin air. “So, cut the bullshits and let's see if it works. The kid here is the son of the alchemist, he must know something. If he doesn't we will use him to get to the man himself.”

Kurt shut up immediately, terrified by the ghostly voice. He looked up at Jesse, but he was as calm as ever and nobody seemed to mind that a bodiless woman was speaking to them. “Did you hear it too?”

“What if he's screwing with us?” Dave said to the voice, showing that he had indeed heard it.

“He would never do that, wouldn't he?” the incorporeal woman said. “He knows that we hunt down, torture, skin and kill bastards.”

Jesse smiled as if that was a compliment. “I would never dare, miss Lopez. I swear to the Gods that this kid is Burt Hummel's son and the box he brings with him is the device you asked me to retrieve.”

“Aye, fine. Gimme that.” Karofsky reached out but Jesse shook his head. “What?”

“We are both gentlemen, aren't we, captain?” Jesse titled his head. “Let's do as gentlemen do.”

Karofsky nodded to one of his pirates, a beautiful young lady with a blonde pony tail on the top of her head who came forward, dangling her hips on a pair of staggering heeled boots. “If you are a leprechaun, why are we giving you money? Shouldn't be the other way around?” She said, giving him a sachet of clinking coins. She had the most beautiful blue eyes Jesse had ever seen. It was a pity they couldn't do nothing for her blank expression, probably mirroring a severe case of vacancy in her brain too.

“C'mere, me beauty,” the same pirate said as he grabbed the girl by her wrist and dragged her away from Jesse. “Ye need to sleep, Brit, ye be knowin' that.”

Britney nodded vaguely and walked away with the man, turning to look at Jesse every now and then, probably making sure he wasn't going to disappear. “Here is your device, Captain,” Jesse said, giving the little velvet box to Karofsky. “And the kid, of course, is yours too. I suggest that you treat him well. Anderson seems very fond of him and the man's got money, if you know what I mean.”

“This is none of your business, St. James,” Karofsky growled as he nodded to a couple of pirates who lifted a screaming Kurt from the ground and took him away. “Now, get lost. I've seen enough of you face for a lifetime.”

“I would love to oblige, but unfortunately there is something else I need to retrieve from this ship before I can consider myself excused,” Jesse said with a bow. “Now, I would ask you if you keep your marine charts in your cabin, Captain, and where it might be, but I feel you won't tell me, am I right?”

Karofsky frowned, not getting what was happening for a moment. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone else – I don't want to name names, let's just say he is a renown train conductor who happens to drive the same train that was transporting Hummel, what a coincidence! – asked me to get the charts and since he too was paying, I couldn't say no, could I?”

Karofsky literally growled, unsheathing his sword. “Take him! Take him but don't kill him,” he shouted to his men, scattered all around the deck. “I wanna do that!”

“There's no need to be so touchy!” Jesse said, swirling away from the grasp of a pirate and then jumping on a barrel to avoid the sword of another. “I'll find the cabin by myself, thank you very much.”

From the barrel, Jesse jumped up on the quarterdeck and then, he turned around to fend with two pirates from up there. While the entirety of his crew flocked toward Jesse and followed him on the quartedeck, Karofsky went the other way, knowing that St. James was going to jump down sooner or later.

Jesse didn't want to kill anyone, it wasn't his style. But he didn't have nothing against wounds, especially if they could help getting him out of bad situations. So he cut people open here and there and he scratched one pirate's face from cheekbone to chin, actually making him more handsome. He walked backward, looking back every once in a while to avoid a pitiful, totally not gorgeous fall.

“I appreciate your eagerness, gentlemen,” he said after a while, “but I need y'all to back off, now.”

Suddenly, he dove on the ground, propping himself up with his free hand as he swung the sword with the other. He kicked the first man in line in his shin and he fell to the ground, bringing with him all the ones behind him. Jesse took a moment to himself to watch the scene. “Oh, that's why I love bowling.”

Then he jumped off the quarterdeck, right in front of the door of the captain's cabin.

When he landed, Karofsky was there. “Where do you think you're going?”

“I get you feel violated by me entering your cabin. I know, everybody always does,” he said, as they started fencing. Like two trained dancers, they moved in circle, every hack and perry precise and graceful, beautiful to watch. Karofsky's men stopped where they where, keeping an eye on the intruder, in case he escaped from the captain. “But I swear to the Gods and to the soul of my poor mother, that I'll be as unobtrusive as possible.”

“Shut up and surrender!”

“I'm afraid this is not possible. Would you try and order me something else? Who knows, I might even like it!” Jesse didn't lose his smile as he looked around, searching for a way out. He found it when he saw the copper bracelet on the captain's left wrist glowing red. He avoid Karofsky's hack by bending down and then rolled on the ground. When he was ready again, he aimed his sword not to the man but to the bracelet.

“Dave, watch out!” The voice of the woman screamed.

Karofsky focused exclusively on avoiding the blow and saving the bracelet. He withdrew the arm just in time, so Jesse ended up only scratching the back of his hand, but the captain got distracted and when he looked up again, St. James had already locked himself in the cabin.

Once he was inside the captain's cabin and the door was locked, Jesse leaned against for a second, catching his breath. From outside, came the voices of the pirates, already re-organizing to knock the door down. He would have to search fast if he wanted to get out of there alive and with the charts. The cabin was huge, considering that the other hundred men slept all crowded in half the space. The captain had a four posted bed with an upholstered headboard, a wooden table that had to weight as much as the ship, more books that he would care to count and a chest in a corner that Jesse would have loved to empty if he had the time.

“So many robberies, so little time,” he sighed, dramatically as he went through the papers on the table.

“St. James, you are a dead man!” The captain shouted in a deep, angry voice.

“Aren't we all?” He answered, as he threw the log book behind his back. “You know, it's a mess in here. How are you supposed to find anything?”

Under the pirates' blows, the door was already cracked and twisted. Jesse could see their dark, sometimes missing eyes from a hole they managed to open. “Alright, it's time to get out of here,” he murmured to himself. That was when he saw the marine charts spread on the table like a tablecloth under everything else, and pinned down with heavy stones at the four corners. “Here you are.”

He moved everything else aside with an arm and he rolled the charts. By the time he was done, the door blasted open and a ridiculous number of pirates started coming in, Karofsky in the lead. Jesse was out of the window already, and climbing the broadside to get back on deck. Once there, he met Karofsky again. The bracelet was still there, but Jesse couldn't try the same trick twice, so he had to fence with the man for real, this time.

“You're not gonna leave my ship alive with those!” The captain roared.

“Come on, Capitain! I bet you don't even need them, anymore” he said, slowly moving around him to get closer to the shrouds. “Let's donate to the unfortunate people who don't know their way around here.”

Karofsky lunged but he missed. Jesse had jumped and grabbed the shrouds, heaving himself up with one arm. The captain growled and followed him, but Jesse was slimmer and faster, and he moved like a monkey. The sword back in its sheathe and the charts secured to his belt, he climbed the shrouds up to the top, with Karofsky on his heels and his crew climbing next to him, knives between his teeth and all.

He looked around, feeling Karofsky's grin of triumph on himself. “It's over, St. James,” The captain said. “Hand me the charts, and we'll be even.”

“I would, seriously, if I was trapped.”

“Well, I'm sorry to break it for you, but you are.”

Jesse's face lighted up and he smiled so graciously that for a moment Karofsky was confused. This man was trapped on top of the mainmast of his ship with his whole crew after him, why was he fucking smiling? Then Jesse jumped. He let himself go in the air, overboard. They waited to hear the splash but there was none. One moment, and the man showed up again, waving on top of his scooter.

“Thank you, Captain!” He shouted, giving him a salute. “It was a blast! We should really do it again another time.”

The crew looked at Karofsky, waiting for orders but he knew they couldn't follow him now, because the ship would never move fast enough to catch up with him. Dave took his time to calm down and then just turned around, like Jesse's escape didn't even matter. “We can do without the charts, but we need to follow other paths,” he said, serious. “Prepare the Fury, we are sailing in half an hour.”

As the crew run on deck to get everything ready, the bracelet glowed again. “What about St. James?”

“The tide will bring him back to us sooner or later,” he answered the woman.

Then, he entered the cabin and locked himself in.

NOT ALL TREASURE IS SILVER AND GOLD
Il Lima Bean è un buco infognato nella strada peggiore intorno al porto, ma è anche l'unico posto dove Dave Karofsky si sente a casa quando i suoi piedi non toccano le assi sconnesse della Fury. La sua nave ha bisogno di essere rimessa in sesto e di fare rifornimento, perciò si è fermato in porto, ha dato licenza ai suoi uomini e ha deciso che per un paio di giorni potrà ubriacarsi in un luogo che non ondeggerà davvero quanto lui il mattino dopo. Gli hanno appena portato una bottiglia di rum quando il tipo arriva.
E' sempre il solito, naturalmente. In dieci anni che lo conosce non è mai cambiato, ma d'altronde lo stesso si può dire di lui, quindi non può davvero fargliene una colpa.
Quando si avvicina proiettando la propria ombra sul muro, Dave lo riconosce prima ancora che apra bocca perché la ridicola piuma che porta sul cappello dà una forma ridicola anche alla sua testa. “Blaine Anderson! Che sorpresa, pensavo fossi morto di tifo l'anno scorso,” lo saluta senza voltarsi e buttando giù di un fiato il primo bicchiere. Se, come pensa, è venuto a chiedere un favore, ci vorranno ore per mettersi d'accordo e lui non ha intenzione di passarle sobrio.
“Come prego?” Chiede lui, colto di sorpresa.
Dave si volta con un ghigno divertito che mette in mostra il dente d'oro. “L'anno scorso sei sparito per settimane. Correva voce che tu fossi disteso sul letto di morte. D'altronde era quello o la dissenteria, non morite di nient'altro voi damerini.”
“Ero stato ferito all'occhio,” precisa, punto sul vivo. “Un delinquente, un... brigante dei vostri mi ha assalito lungo la strada. Sono stato fortunato a non rimanere cieco!”
Dave non ne è per niente impressionato, anzi continua a ridere. “E dire che la benda ti avrebbe fatto sembrare un uomo finalmente.”
Karofsky ride sguaiato e beve un altro bicchiere di rum, completamente impermeabile all'oltraggio che deforma l'espressione sul viso dell'altro.
“Posso sedermi?” Chiede Blaine, togliendosi il cappello piumato e indicando la sedia dall'altra parte del tavolo.
“E' un mondo libero,” replica Dave, versandosi altro rum
Blaine prende posto di fronte al capitano e solleva una mano per fermare la procace cameriera che è già pronta a servirgli qualunque cosa voglia, se stessa compresa. Scuote la testa e le sorride gentile, sostenendo di essere a posto così. Torna a guardare Karofsky che però lo ignora senza sembrare neanche troppo in difficoltà nel farlo, perciò alla fine si risente. “Non mi chiedi nemmeno per quale motivo sono qui?”
Dave scuote la testa, mentre solleva il naso dall'ennesimo bicchiere. “Non me ne frega niente,” risponde con sincerità.
“Ma dovrebbe, perché ho bisogno del tuo aiuto.”
Dave solleva un sopracciglio e lo guarda con genuina curiosità. “Dovrebbe fregarmene del fatto che ti serva aiuto? Seriamente, Anderson, essere diventato governatore di questo scoglio ti ha dato alla testa. Usa uno di quei simpatici ombrellini di seta la prossima volta, il sole picchia da queste parti.”
Blaine non è mai stato impermeabile all'atteggiamento di Dave, non è in grado di controbattere a tono, perciò si irrita. Anche se poi tutta la sua irritazione viene esternata solo agitandosi indispettito sulla sedia, dando semplicemente l'impressione di essere afflitto da un brutto caso di emorroidi. “Si dà il caso che io sia qui in veste ufficiale per richiedere il tuo intervento in una questione della massima delicatezza a nome mio...”
“Io lavoro su commissione solo se puoi pagare, Blaine, e non ho ancora visto nessun forziere.”
“...E del signor Hummel,” conclude Blaine con un certa soddisfazione, ben sapendo che quel nome zittirà qualunque protesta. Difatti Karofsky tace e rimane immobile a fissare il fondo del bicchiere vuoto. “Ho la tua attenzione, adesso?”
Lo sguardo del capitano si ammorbidisce e diventa malinconico e un po' triste. “Che cosa vuoi?” Borbotta, allontanando da sé il bicchiere. Adesso non ha più voglia di bere.
Dal momento che adesso il capitano Karofsky sembra più propenso a collaborare, Blaine torna a sedersi composto e, ritrovata la calma, recupera mentalmente il bel discorso che ha pensato lungo tutta la strada verso la locanda. “Quattro giorni fa una delle nostre fregate si è scontrata con una nave pirata ed è riuscita ad abbatterla, recuperando...”
“Quale nave?”
“Questo non ha importanza,” commenta stizzito Blaine.
“Quale nave?” Ripete il capitano, senza cambiare tono e senza imbestialirsi, come fosse talmente sicuro che quella discussione non andrà avanti se prima lui non ottiene quel nome, che non ha nemmeno motivo di preoccuparsi.
Blaine espira dal naso rumorosamente. “Si trattava dell'Adrenaline,” risponde.
“St. James è vivo?”
“Siamo riusciti a catturarlo e a portarlo a riva ma durante il trasporto verso la prigione è riuscito a fuggire,” risponde ancora Blaine sbrigativamente.
Karofsky si mette a ridere. “Questo perché voi siete degli incapaci e lui è un gran figlio di puttana,” commenta e poi batte una mano sul tavolo e si versa di nuovo del rum. Gli è tornata voglia di bere. “Sono contento per lui!”
“Come stavo dicendo,” sospira Blaine, “siamo riusciti a recuperare una gran quantità di oggetti che erano stati sottratti agli onesti cittadini di questa città nel corso delle ultime tre settimane. Fra questi, una copia antichissima delle memorie marittime del capitano Colombo.”
“Blaine, riassumere è un'altra delle innumerevoli doti che ti mancano, non è così?”
“Per farla breve,” lo accontenta. “Il libro era custodito in casa mia, in attesa di capire a chi appartenesse. Ieri un altro gruppo di delinquenti, e prima che tu me lo chieda, si fanno chiamare Warblers, si sono introdotti nella mia proprietà per impossessarsene. Quando le mie guardie glielo hanno impedito, hanno preso Kurt in ostaggio.”
“Cosa?” Karofsky alza così tanto la voce che tutti i clienti della locanda si voltano nella sua direzione per vedere se c'è motivo di scatenare una rissa. “Dov'è adesso?”
“Sulla loro nave, la...” Blaine agita una mano in aria, tentando di ricordare.
“La Dalton,” gli viene in aiuto il capitano.
“Esattamente,” Blaine si illumina. “La conosci? Sai chi la governa?”
Dave si alza in piedi, si fruga in tasca e lascia sul tavolo più monete di quante ne deve. “Smythe,” risponde, vomitando il nome come se avesse un cattivo sapore. “E' tornato dalla Francia l'anno scorso. Nessuno ne sentiva la mancanza.”
“Smythe?” Ripete Blaine, recuperando in fretta il cappello e calcandoselo bene in testa mentre segue il capitano fuori dalla locanda. “E' il nome dell'uomo che mi ha quasi menomato. Quel delinquente! Prima mi ferisce, poi tenta di derubarmi e infine si porta via ciò che è più caro al mio cuore! Deve avercela con me senz'altro.”
“Oppure vuole soltanto quel libro e l'anno scorso gli sei solo finito tra le palle,” conclude Karofsky, molto più sbrigativo e logico. “Ha preso Kurt in ostaggio per riavere il libro.”
“Esattamente!” Conferma il governatore. “Dice che ci dà tempo fino all'alta marea per portargli il libro, e poi lo ucciderà!”
“L'alta marea è domani, cosa state aspettando?”
“Non dipende da me,” sospira affranto Blaine. “Se spettasse a me decidere, avrei già preso il libro e sarei andato io stesso a consegnarlo nelle mani di quel furfante per riprendermi Kurt, ma sua maestà dice che non possiamo cedere al ricatto di un predone del mare.”
Dave fa schioccare la lingua. “Il nostro illuminato sovrano si chiede: come mai un pirata dovrebbe interessarsi ad un libro, quelli non sanno leggere! Evidentemente dev'essere un oggetto di valore. E quindi vuole tenerselo.”
Blaine sospira di nuovo affranto. “Credo che si tratti di questo, sì,” ammette. “Per questo sono qui a chiedere il tuo aiuto. Sua maestà interverrà allo scadere dell'ora ma per lui la priorità è il libro.”
Dave grugnisce qualcosa che ha a che fare con le madri incerte di teste coronate e quindi annuisce, mentre raggiungono la Fury. “Salpiamo stanotte. Tu vieni con me.”

*

Santana osserva il governatore riverso per metà fuoribordo che vomita l'anima come se il domani non dovesse mai arrivare e tutto ciò che gli restasse da fare fosse rimettere tutti i cibi ingeriti a ritroso fino all'inizio della settimana. “Ripeta un po', capitano,” commenta, le mani sui fianchi e lo sguardo corrucciato. “Perché lo hai portato a bordo?”
“Può darci una mano,” risponde sbrigativamente Karofsky, manovrando il timone. Il mare è calmo e si vede chiaramente per chilometri. La barca di Smythe è là fuori, da qualche parte, e intende trovarla prima che arrivi la notte e, con essa, l'alta marea.
“Quello non riesce neanche a stare in piedi. L'unico aiuto che può darci è buttarsi da solo in mare adesso, liberando noi dal doverlo fare poi, quando sarà morto di consunzione.”
Il capitano sospira, lo sguardo fisso sulla linea lontana dell'orizzonte. “Se conosco bene Kurt, non si fiderà di me. Il damerino garantirà per la nostra buona fede.”
Santana scuote la testa, agitando i lunghi capelli neri legati in una strettissima coda di cavallo. “E quale sarebbe il motivo per cui stiamo facendo tutto questo? Pensavo fossimo d'accordo sul fatto che non ci muoviamo nemmeno dal porto senza vedere moneta.”
Karofsky avrebbe preferito rimandare questo dialogo ad un momento successivo, quando avrebbe smesso di essere così teso per il destino di Kurt e l'obbligo di dire al suo vice quello che stava facendo non sarebbe sembrato più un onore di cui fare volentieri a meno. “Quando lo avremo recuperato, ci metteremo d'accordo sulla ricompensa. Suo padre e Blaine non lasceranno correre, non preoccuparti.”
Santana lo osserva a lungo, in silenzio. Il suo sguardo è così serio e concentrato che potrebbe passarlo da parte a parte se solo si concentrasse abbastanza. “Stai ancora cercando di riprendertelo,” sentenzia alla fine con uno sbuffo infastidito. “Non posso crederci.”
Il capitano fa di tutto per non scollare gli occhi dalla distesa del mare e spera che questo basti ad evitare anche il vago rossore che sa comparire sulle sue guance ogni volta che si affronta quell'argomento. “Santana, non hai qualcosa da fare altrove?”
“Certo. Volevo solo assicurarmi per che cosa stiamo andando a farci ammazzare stavolta.”
“Ce la caveremo,” risponde sbrigativo.
Santana allarga le braccia in segno di resa. “Va bene, d'accordo. Guardami, non parlo più,” commenta. “Ma dovresti davvero smetterla di prendere decisioni con l'uccello. Io e il resto della ciurma che non ne possiede uno stiamo cominciando ad infastidirci. Ti dico soltanto questo.”
Karofsky vorrebbe richiamarla all'ordine, ma la verità è che con Santana questo non si può fare. Lei non risponde mai agli ordini di nessuno, nemmeno a quelli del proprio capitano. L'unico modo che si ha per farla collaborare è trattarla da pari. E' per questo che il capitano l'ha resa il suo vice. Quand'era un semplice pirata, Santana era assolutamente intrattabile e rischiava di vederla fare accordi con ogni nemico che incrociavano sulla strada. Da quando sente la Fury anche un po' sua, invece, non passa giorno senza che la donna riconfermi una volta per tutte la sua fedeltà a quella ciurma. E comunque è un valido pirata, coraggioso, temerario e soprattutto spietato. Karofsky non aveva mai visto tanti arti separati dal corpo sul ponte di comando come da quando lei comanda le cariche. Se le loro preferenze non fossero così diametralmente inconciliabili, la sposerebbe. Comunque sono quanto di più vicino ci sia ad una vecchia coppia di anziani coniugi, e va bene così.
“Andiamo Anderson!” Urla Santana a gran voce, battendo una mano sulla schiena del governatore che è verde come un cadavere e ha delle occhiaie spaventose. “Vediamo di rimetterla in sesto.”
“Io non credo di poter lasciare il ponte,” si lamenta lui, reggendosi la pancia e cercando di combattere la nausea che da quando sono partiti non fa che tormentarlo.
“Non ha alternative,” Santana gli sorride spietata. “Ho bisogno di spazio per le esercitazioni, quindi può scegliere fra accomodarsi nella sua cabina e farsi curare dal nostro medico di bordo, oppure farsi issare in spalla e buttare in mare.”
Blaine deglutisce un rigurgito acido che gli è salito su per la gola. “Credo che proverò la strada del medico.”
“Saggia scelta. Ora capisco perché l'hanno fatta governatore. Signorina Pillsbury? A lei il relitto umano.”
La giovane signorina Pillsbury esce di corsa sul ponte, camminando a passi velocissimi come un topolino, animale che ricorda nell'aspetto e nella timidezza che la costringe a stare chiusa nella sua cabina tutta la giornata. “Che succede?” Chiede preoccupata, cercando di sostenere Blaine.
“Il governatore non è fatto per la vita di mare. Gli dia qualcosa che gli rimetta a posto lo stomaco e me lo rimandi indietro di un colorito che non faccia pendant con le vele.”
“Farò il possibile, Santana, ma non sono una maga, non faccio miracoli. Il mal di mare potrebbe anche durare dei giorni interi.”
“Oddio, ti prego, no,” si lamenta Blaine con voce spezzata, accasciandosi sul medico di bordo che vacilla sotto il suo peso.
“Allora lo sopprima. Non lo so, s'inventi qualcosa, adesso è un problema suo,” conclude Santana, allontanandosi ancheggiando.

*

La Dalton sta circumnavigando l'isola in attesa della risposta del governatore. La Fury la incrocia a sud, a qualche chilometro dalla baia McKinley, un tratto di spiaggia che prende il nome dal pirata dal quale – in un modo o nell'altro – pensano tutti quanti di discendere. L'uomo ha navigato i sette mari, derubato tutto quello che c'era da derubare e poi si dice che si sia innamorato così perdutamente di una sirena da gettarsi in mare per stare sempre con lei. Alcune leggende dicono che è morto annegato, altre che la sirena era magica e lo ha trasformato in una creatura del mare. In ogni caso la sua nave, misteriosamente priva di equipaggio, è stata trovata ancorata proprio presso la baia più di trecento anni fa. Adesso la baia è diventata il luogo di ritrovo più comune tra i pirati. E' lì che avvengono tutti gli scambi più significativi, quindi sembra appropriato che il fato faccia incontrare in questo luogo i due capitani.
La Dalton è una nave enorme, ben rifinita, con una donna alata come polena. Le sue grandi ali sono spiegate, ogni piuma scolpita con estrema precisione. Tutti sanno che il capitano Smythe ha l'abitudine di presentarsi in piedi tra quelle ali imponenti. Lo sta facendo anche adesso e sorride in direzione della nave di Karofsky che si avvicina.
“Smythe!” Grida il capitano, una volta che le navi si sono affiancate.
“Karofsky,” ridacchia l'uomo, la cui marsina è così impeccabile che sembra quasi più un marinaio del re che non un pirata. “Come mai non sono sorpreso? C'è qualcosa che il governatore riesca a fare senza correre a piangere da voi?”
“Cosa devo dirvi? Non può farne a meno,” Karofsky ride, sinceramente divertito. “Vi va di fare due chiacchiere?”
Sebastian Smythe china brevemente il capo. “Siete il benvenuto sulla mia nave, salite pure.”
Viene calata una scialuppa perché il capitano possa recarsi sulla Dalton. Molti uomini dell'equipaggio si fanno intorno a Karofsky prima che possa salirci sopra e gli chiedono se secondo lui sia una mossa saggia incontrare da solo Smythe sulla sua nave, ma il capitano li rassicura, dicendo loro che Smythe è un bastardo e come tutti i bastardi segue il codice del mare. Ad un capitano invitato a salire non può essere fatto del male, a meno che egli non decida di minacciare il proprio ospite.
Smythe, affascinante come sempre, gli va incontro non appena mette piede sulla nave. E' magro, ben vestito e non è rinomato per essere bravo con la spada, anche se questa gli pende fedelmente dal fianco. Il capitano Smythe è temuto perché è stato in grado di vincere battaglie senza muovere un dito. E' un ottimo stratega, abile negli scambi e Karofsky non spera affatto di vincere sul suo stesso piano.
“Da quanto non ci vedevamo?” Esclama il suo ospite, porgendogli la mano.
“Non ho mai tenuto il conto degli anni perché speravo di non rivedervi più,” ammette Karofsky, stringendola.
Sebastian annuisce. “Neanche io pensavo di tornare, ma sapete com'è: la corrente ci riporta sempre a casa,” si stringe nelle spalle e poi sospira, invitandolo verso un tavolo approntato per l'occasione direttamente sul ponte della nave. “Penso di sapere a cosa devo la vostra visita, ma l'etichetta m'impone di chiedervelo.”
“Avete qualcosa che appartiene al governatore.”
“E lui ha qualcosa che appartiene a me,” sorride Sebastian. “Direi che siamo pari. Del vino?”
Karofsky scuote la testa. “Non berrei mai dalla vostra bottiglia.”
“Né io dalla vostra lo capisco,” Smythe annuisce, comprensivo. “Ad ogni modo, a meno che non abbiate con voi il libro e siate autorizzato a restituirmelo, temo che siate venuto fin qui per nulla perché non lascerò libero il signor Hummel.”
“Quel libro non vi appartiene.”
“Al contrario, capitano,” dice Smyth, accavallando le gambe. “St. James lo ha sottratto a me, ma dubito che il governatore me lo avrebbe restituito senza fare storie pertanto mi sono, diciamo, tutelato.”
“Sua maestà è deciso ad intervenire,” gli fa notare il capitano.
Sebastian emette una risatina che finisce in un sospiro profondo e un po' paternalistico. “Sua maestà può intervenire quanto vuole, la mia nave è pronta a rispondere a qualsiasi attacco. Ma francamente credo che per lui abbia più valore quel libro che non il signor Hummel, dico bene?”
Karofsky è preoccupato per la piega che la cosa sta prendendo, ma tenta di non darlo a vedere. “Come sta?”
“Come stiamo noi, piuttosto,” risponde annoiato Smythe e con un cenno si fa portare un'altra bottiglia e un altro bicchiere, lasciando quella offerta al suo ospite assolutamente intatta. “Il vostro amico è, volendo essere gentile, insoffribile, viziato e in generale un perfetto esempio di come i nobili e i borghesi andrebbero eliminati in fasce prima che possano rendere la vita degli altri un inferno. Capirete quindi che non ho nessun interesse a tenerlo sulla mia nave più del dovuto. Restituitemi il libro e lo riavrete indietro. Tra le altre cose, mi dicono che sareste interessato a tenerlo voi o sbaglio? Si vocifera di una tresca.”
“Quello che si vocifera non ha nessuna importanza.”
Smythe ridacchia. “Tranne quando si tratta della verità. Ad ogni modo, credo che abbiamo raggiunto un punto di stallo, dico bene? Immagino che la signorina Lopez sia già pronta ad assaltarci. Sì pulì le mani con il tovagliolo e si alzò in piedi. “Vogliamo cominciare?”

*

La battaglia infuria quasi subito.
Karofsky voleva evitarla, ma Sebastian ha deciso di non cedere – come del resto c'era da aspettarsi – perciò il capitano non ha intenzione di andarci leggero. Ad un suo cenno, Santana e metà dell'equipaggio atterrano letteralmente sul ponte della Dalton, con la donna in prima linea che agita in aria due spade corte. I primi tempi, si parla di molto tempo fa, le entrate ad effetto di Santana si concludevano con i nemici piegati in due dal ridere perché lei è magrissima, è donna e dà l'impressione di non poter aprire da sola nemmeno un barattolo di sottaceti, figurarsi uccidere un uomo. Poi lei ha iniziato a sbudellare chi le si parava davanti e a contare in testicoli il successo di ogni attacco. Più alto il numero, più grande la vittoria. Prima che Karofsky le dicesse di smettere, la donna se li portava dietro in barattoli, conservandoli in formalina.
Anche se non può più farlo, perché il suo capitano ne era profondamente disturbato, può comunque avventarsi come una belva sui poveri malcapitati che ancora non la conoscono e quindi non fuggono di fronte alla sua persona. Mentre i suoi uomini le combattono intorno, lei si apre un varco, un colpo dopo l'altro fino a raggiungere il capitano. Uno dei marinai di Smythe le fa lo sgambetto e la manda a rotolare lunga distesa. Santana se lo sente addosso l'attimo dopo e fa in tempo a girarsi per fermare un colpo di spada con le proprie incrociate a qualche centimetro dal viso. L'uomo è più forte di lei, ma lei è più agile, così quando lui fa pressione sull'arma per tagliarle la gola, lei lo colpisce alla schiena piegando una gamba. L'uomo grida di dolore, espone il collo che la spada di Santana passa da parte a parte. Quando l'osso si spezza, l'uomo le ricade addosso come un pupazzo, riempiendola di sangue da capo a piedi. “Vaffanculo,” Santana spinge con tutta la forza che ha e rotola via dal cadavere, pulendosi la bocca con il dorso della mano, altrettanto sporco anche quello. Rabbiosa, tra un calcio al cadavere prima di ricordarsi che era diretta altrove. Ovunque sul ponte, la gente sta combattendo. Brittany, la sua bellissima e bionda Brittany, atterra su uno dei nemici appesa ad una delle cime. La sua spada trapassa il cranio da sopra ed esce dall'occhio. Anche da lontano, Santana lo vede letteralmente esplodere e spargere sangue ovunque. Brittany resta sul posto un po' più a lungo del necessario, nel tentativo di estrarre la lama rimasta incastrata. Poco più avanti, Puck sta mietendo vittime come non faceva da settimane. Dopo la morte di Lauren, la sua compagna, si era come spento ma, come Santana, la promessa del sangue lo ha risvegliato da ogni torpore. Santana sa che quando si avventa sul nemico e lo disarma tagliandogli la mano all'altezza del polso e quindi affondando la lama nello stomaco, girando fino a spegnere ogni luce negli occhi di chi ha per le mani, Puck si sente vivo come lei.
Qualsiasi tristezza possa averla colta, qualsiasi dolore può essere cancellato nel sangue altrui.
Quando raggiunge il capitano, non senza difficoltà, perché gli uomini di Smythe continuano a spuntare da tutte le parti, costringendola a fermarsi e ucciderli, lui sta giusto togliendo la spada dal torace di un uomo ai suoi piedi. “Dov'è Smythe?” Chiede.
“E' dentro, dobbiamo trovare Kurt,” sospira Dave.
Santana annuisce. “Pensaci tu, io trovo il bastardo.”

*

Kurt sta strillando da ore. Letteralmente da quando la battaglia è iniziata, e forse anche da prima. Solo che non lo sente nessuno perché il clangore delle spade copre qualunque cosa, perfino il disco che ha messo sul grammofono. Grammofono che quel bruto di Smythe pensava potesse essere una distrazione sufficiente alla sua prigionia, ma niente potrebbe esserlo! Il disco finisce e lui lo rimette, ma sono tutti troppo impegnati ad ammazzarsi tra loro per venire a vedere cosa succede.
Non è carino prendere in ostaggio qualcuno e poi ignorarlo, lo ritiene un atto offensivo. Non è così che si fa! Il braccio del grammofono torna a posto per la decima volta, così lui prende e lo rimette da capo mentre un uomo passa urlando di fronte al suo oblò e finisce in acqua con un gran tonfo.
“Mi scusi?” Grida lui, affacciandosi per quello che può – nessuno ha pensato a chiudergli la finestra tanto non ci passerebbe e, anche passandoci, di certo non può tornare a casa a nuoto – si sbraccia per tentare di attirare l'attenzione dell'uomo. “Mi vede? Sono quaggiù! La smetta di agitarsi! Vi stanno attaccando, vero? Potrebbe avvisare qualcuno che sono qui?”
Ma l'uomo continua ad urlare e a muoversi convulsamente finché poco a poco affonda, mentre una chiazza di sangue si dissolve nell'acqua.
“Che maleducato,” protesta Kurt, tornando a sedersi sul letto. Non poteva che essere altrimenti, d'altronde. Smythe è un uomo orribile e fastidioso, e la sua ciurma certo non può essere da meno. Kurt si sente oltraggiato, offeso e ritiene che una grave irregolarità sia stata commessa al codice cavalleresco. E' stato ingiustamente prelevato dalla propria casa e sbattuto in questa stanzetta del tutto priva di comodità per poi essere completamente ignorato. Smythe non si è neanche sprecato a venire di persona a minacciarlo, a fare sporche battute a doppio senso o a tentare di imporsi su di lui con la forza. Questo non è il modo di trattare con i prigionieri del suo livello.
E' allora, mentre sta per lasciarsi andare al dramma, che sente i passi nel corridoio. “Finalmente!” Esclama, lisciandosi la giacca sui fianchi e sistemandosi la sciarpa al collo. “Sono qua! Salvatemi! Aiuto! Fate presto!”
“Kurt! Siete qua dentro?”
Kurt si acciglia. C'è qualcosa in quella voce che gli suona familiare, così si ferma e resta in ascolto. “Chi è là?”
Dall'altra parte della porta, Karofsky alza gli occhi al cielo. “Allontanatevi dalla porta, sto per buttarla giù.”
“Guardi che le ho fatto una do–“ Kurt non fa in tempo a finire la frase che la porta viene abbattuta ed atterra, fra i suoi strilli, a pochi centimetri dai suoi piedi. “Ma siete impazzito? Ma cosa vi salta in mente? Voi siete.... siete voi!”
Karofsky alza di nuovo gli occhi al cielo e si chiede per quale motivo lo sta facendo. Poteva rimanere nella locanda, lasciare Kurt a Sebastian e vivere una vita felice lontano da questo strazio. “Sono io e sono qui per salvarvi,” dice, guardandosi velocemente intorno. “Possiamo rimandare la chiacchierata a più tardi.”
“Possiamo anche non farla mai, per quanto mi riguarda.”
“Ottimo,” Karofsky gli tende la mano. “Andiamo, vi porto via di qui.”
“Io non vado da nessuna parte. Sto aspettando di essere salvato da mio marito, il governatore Anderson.”
Il capitano sospira. “Sono qui per conto del governatore e di vostro padre.”
Kurt emette una risatina sarcastica. “E vi aspettate che io ci creda?” Chiede incrociando le braccia al petto. “Voi siete qui per vostro tornaconto e io non muoverò un passo se siete voi a chiedermelo.”
“Non ho tempo di convincervi Kurt. Posso dirvi questo, però. Il re attaccherà la nave tra poche ore, ma il suo obbiettivo non è salvare voi, bensì eliminare Smythe. Sono stato abbastanza chiaro?”
Kurt lo guarda con sospetto, anche se adesso c'è una vena di turbamento nei suoi occhi. “Il re non farebbe mai una cosa simile.”
“Il re farebbe questa cosa e molte altre, ve lo assicuro. Ora, volete per cortesia seguirmi? Che motivo avrei di rapirvi?”
“Per chiedere un riscatto! Devo dirvelo io?!”
“Io non rapisco nessuno!” Protesta Karofsky, il quale in effetti si guadagna da vivere come un pirata alla vecchia maniera: assaltando navi e rubando bottini, e lasciando stare le giovani donne o i giovani uomini che incontra lungo la strada.
Kurt batte il piede in terra. “Con me lo avete già fatto!”
“Stavo cercando di dichiararmi!” Sbotta Karofsky “Ma voi siete duro di comprendonio!”
“E voi siete un bruto!”
Karofsky ringhia, stremato. “E va bene! Come volete voi!” Sbotta, caricandoselo in spalla così velocemente che Kurt non può nemmeno reagire.
“Che cosa state facendo? Mettetemi subito giù!” Urla isterico l'altro ragazzo, tempestandogli la schiena di pugni. “Come vi permettete? Io sono Kurt Hummel-Anderson, degli Hummel di Lima. Mio marito è il governatore Blaine Anderson! Avete capito?”
Karofsky fa un respiro profondo per cercare di mantenere la calma mentre percorre a ritroso il corridoio della nave per tornare sul ponte e da lì alla Fury.
“Ve la vedrete con mio marito! Con mio padre!” Strilla Kurt, agitando le gambe e rischiando di scivolargli dalle spalle. “Con il re in persona!”
“Volete stare zitto un momento? Sto cercando di capire dove si trova Santana.”
“Lasciatemi andare! Subito!” Borbotta Kurt. “Voi state violando delle regole!”
Karofsky naturalmente lo ignora e continua a camminare finché non intravede un paio di lunghe gambe spuntare aldilà di una porta. Santana è piegata in avanti, un braccio sollevato dietro di sé e pronto a sferrare un colpo di spada.
“Santana ce ne stiamo andando,” Le dice sorpassandola.
Lei gli solleva addosso un paio d'occhi sconvolti e delusi. “E questo?” Chiede, indicando Smythe che tiene inchiodato al pavimento premendogli la punta dello stivale contro il collo.
“Lo avrai un'altra volta. Muoviti!”
Con un ringhio, Santana lascia andare il capitano, che non può fare a meno di ridere appena smette di tossire.

*

“Ho dovuto ritirarmi!
“Mi avete sollevato di peso, come un sacco! Siete un bruto!
“Io non so se hai una vaga idea di quello che sono stata costretta a fare!”
“Voi mi dovete delle scuse!”
“Tu mi devi un risarcimento!”
Karofsky si porta le mani alle tempie, massaggiandole. “State zitti! Tutti e due!” Urla all'improvviso, non riuscendo più a sopportare il cicaleccio continuo di Santana e Kurt che è iniziato non appena hanno rimesso piede sulla Fury. Solleva lo sguardo solo quando è sicuro che quei due hanno smesso di gridargli addosso come scimmie inferocite.
“Santana, vai a prendere il governatore, così che le due piaghe possano riunirsi,” le ordina.
Lei lo fissa intensamente per qualche istante, quasi fumando dal naso, ma poi cede. Anche perché una parte di lei non vede l'ora di liberarsi sia di Hummel che di Anderson.
Nell'attesa, Kurt decide che può mettere il broncio. Karofsky lo ignora, aprendo il diario di bordo per cercare di dare un senso a questa orrenda giornata. Per qualche minuto lo scricchiolio della sua penna d'oca sul foglio di pergamena è l'unico rumore nella stanza, se non si conta il rotolare avanti e indietro di una biglia sulla scrivania per colpa del movimento della nave. Kurt la prende al volo quando gli passa davanti per la quarta volta e comincia a giocarci. “Che fate?”
“Scrivo.”
Kurt si sporge per controllare, ma al contrario non riesce a leggere niente della grafia dell'uomo, e forse non riuscirebbe neanche guardandolo per il verso giusto. “E' vero quello che mi avete detto?”
“Che cosa?” Karofsky intinge il pennino e continua a scrivere.
“Beh...” esita Kurt, strusciando un piede a terra e facendo girare la biglia sul palmo della mano. “...che stavate cercando di farmi capire qualcosa, quella volta.”
Karofsky sospira e alla fine alza lo sguardo su di lui. “Cambierebbe qualcosa? Siete sposato, ormai. Allora non lo eravate.”
Kurt sta per dire qualcosa, ma non fa in tempo. La porta si apre e un Blaine molto preoccupato fa irruzione nella stanza, attirandolo subito a sé. “Oh grazie al cielo stai bene! Sei tutto intero? Ti hanno fatto qualcosa?” Chiede a raffica.
Kurt annuisce, un po' distratto forse, ma poi alla fine riesce a scuotersi e a guardare Blaine, facendogli un sorriso. “Sì, sto bene. Non preoccuparti.”
Blaine lo guarda con occhi adoranti, gli accarezza una guancia ed emette un mugolio intenerito e innamorato che fa salire la nausea a Santana.
“D'accordo, abbiamo capito,” li apostrofa con disgusto. Quindi gli indica la porta. “Andate, c'è una scialuppa che vi riporterà a terra.”
Kurt si volta, prima di uscire. “Capitano Karofsky?”
Il capitano alza lo sguardo.
“Grazie per avermi salvato.”
Karofsky sorride, ma la sua felicità dura poco.
Appena la porta si chiude, Santana lo guarda come volesse scuoiarlo. “Bravo, ridi. Lo hai salvato, sei contento?” Esclama. “Ora quello può tornare con quello gnomo ridicolo di suo marito e tu puoi continuare a a viaggiare da solo come un cane.”
Karofsky sospira. “Non potevo fare altrimenti.”
“Oh, potevi fare tante di quelle cose, Dave! Ma fra le tante, potevi aspettare che finissi di fare il mio lavoro!” Protesta lei, le mani sui fianchi e il suo accento spagnolo che ogni tanto fa capolino fra una parola e l'altra, ora che è arrabbiata. “Stavo per ucciderlo e tu cosa fai? Tu mi dici che ce ne andiamo! Ma certo! Lasciamolo vivere! Sentivamo proprio bisogno di uno come Smythe in giro per il mondo. Ma mi stai ascoltando? Ho dovuto ritirarmi! Ritirarmi! Io! Io non mi sono ritirata nemmeno quando eravamo in svantaggio! Non mi ritiro mai io! Mi devi un risarcimento e–“
Karofsky solleva soltanto un dito ed indica il forziere alle sue spalle, dal quale escono monete, gioielli e altri oggetti preziosi. “Prendi tutto quello che vuoi, poi esci da questa stanza e ti prego, ti scongiuro, ti supplico, non farti vedere prima di domattina.”
Santana sorride, quindi gli lascia un bacio sulla tempia e si appresta a portar via tutto quello che è in grado di trasportare. Il forziere vuoto che si è portata dietro le tornerà utile.

Kurt osserva il proprio riflesso nello specchio dell'anticamera e si sistema il cappuccio rosso della mantella sulla testa, in modo che cada perfettamente. Ha la pelle bianca come porcellana e le guance rosse come due mele mature. Non c'è nessuno nel raggio di chilometri che sia bello quanto lui e questo, insieme alle sue straordinarie doti artistiche e al suo ineguagliabile senso dell'umorismo, lo rende la creatura più desiderabile di tutto il paese.
“Mi raccomando, non dimenticarti il latte,” gli dice suo padre dalla cucina, “tua nonna ne ha sempre bisogno e con questo freddo non potrà certo uscire.”
“Certo papà, non preoccuparti.”
Suo padre è un uomo apprensivo, perciò non lo lascia mai andare se prima non lo ha controllato dalla testa ai piedi. “Sei sicuro che ti va di farlo? Fuori c'è un tempaccio, la strada è lunga, potrebbe succederti qualcosa.”
“Non preoccuparti, papà,” ripete lui, prendendo il cestino intrecciato, coperto con un bel telo a scacchi rossi e bianchi in tinta con la sua mantella. “Starò via solo qualche ora.”
“E' carino da parte tua portarle la spesa senza che nessuno te l'abbia chiesto, sei davvero un bravo ragazzo,” mormora suo padre orgoglioso, dandogli un'amorevole pacca sulla spalla. Kurt si limita a sorridere, poi prende il cestino ed esce.
La casa della nonna non è molto lontana, ma per raggiungerla bisogna attraversare il bosco. Kurt lo ha fatto molte volte in passato, ma oggi ha un motivo davvero speciale, anzi due.
S'incammina lungo il viottolo canticchiando ed è così bravo che gli uccellini sui rami spogli degli alberi si riscuotono dal torpore invernale e cantano con lui una deliziosa melodia.
Passa un'ora, e Kurt raggiunge il cuore del bosco dove c'è una radura che d'estate è piena di fiori e d'inverno è una distesa morbida di neve bianchissima. Ha camminato così tanto che gli fanno un po' male i piedi. Così si siede e si toglie gli stivali di pelle che sono costati una fortuna. Alle sue spalle sente frusciare i cespugli, ma fa finta di niente.
“Dove vai tutto solo, Hummel?” Dice all'improvviso una voce e, dopo qualche istante, un'ombra immensa lo copre tutto e lui sorride.
“Dalla nonna, Dave,” risponde tranquillo, alzando maliziosamente gli occhi sul giovane che gli sta davanti.
Dave è alto e forte, ma ha gli occhi sottili e furbi, e un paio di orecchie pelose sulla testa che vibrano quando è emozionato. Vive nella foresta perché si vergogna di farsi vedere e ha paura del giudizio della gente, ma Kurt pensa che non ne abbia alcun motivo perché è affascinante e bello e di certo nessuno gli resisterebbe. Però, finché non trova da solo il coraggio di uscire allo scoperto, Kurt è ben disposto ad andarlo a trovare.
“E cosa c'è sotto quella mantella, Hummel?” Chiede Dave.
Kurt scioglie il nastro che tiene legata la mantella e gli sorride. “Perché non vieni a vedere?”
Dave lo stende delicatamente sul prato innevato e, un bacio dopo l'altro, passa un'altra ora.

Con il cappuccio della mantella un po' storta in testa e qualche filo d'erba tra i capelli, Kurt si mette di nuovo in cammino per raggiungere la casa della nonna. E' così felice di aver incontrato Dave e di aver passato del tempo con lui che si mette a ballare ed è così bravo che anche i cerbiatti e i coniglietti e tutti gli altri animaletti escono dalle loro tane invernali per ballare con lui.
Passa un'ora, e Kurt è quasi alla fine del bosco ma a furia di ballare si è stancato di nuovo, così si siede sulla riva del fiume e osserva il tiepido sole d'inverno riflettersi sulla superficie ghiacciata.
Il cacciatore, che a quell'ora passa sempre di lì, lo vede e gli si avvicina.
“Dove vai tutto solo, Hummel?” Gli chiede anche lui, una mano stretta intorno alla tracolla del fucile e l'altra sul fianco. Il cacciatore è molto bello. Ha le spalle larghe e gli occhi attenti, i capelli scuri un po' impomatati e la mascella volitiva. Anche se non è proprio altissimo, ha il viso gentile e delle braccia possenti.
“Dalla nonna, Blaine,” risponde Kurt, con un sorriso.
“E cosa c'è sotto quella mantella?”
Kurt scioglie il nastro che tiene su la mantella e gli sorride. “Perché non vieni a vedere?”
Blaine lascia il fucile, stende delicatamente Kurt sul prato e un bacio dopo l'altro, passa un'altra ora.

Quando Kurt arriva alla casa della nonna, ha le guance tutte arrossate, lo sguardo sognante e la mantella è tutta macchiata d'erba. “Nonna?” Chiama a gran voce, aprendo la porta. “Sono io, ti ho portato la spesa!”
La casa è silenziosa e sembra vuota, ma Kurt lo sa che non è così. Si toglie la mantella rossa e la appende con cura all'attaccapanni, quindi si avvia lungo il corridoio e chiama ancora. “Nonna, ci sei?” Ma non risponde nessuno. Quando arriva in camera, Blaine ha appena finito di legare Dave alla testiera del letto.
Kurt spalanca gli occhi, oltraggiato. “Potevate almeno aspettarmi!” Protesta fingendosi offeso e lasciando il cestino sul tavolo insieme a quelli delle settimane precedenti.
“Ci stavi mettendo una vita ad arrivare,” si giustifica Dave, mentre Blaine scivola con le labbra lungo il suo collo e lo fa rabbrividire. “Coraggio, vieni qua.”
Kurt finisce di spogliarsi e li raggiunge sul letto che è grande abbastanza per ospitarli tutti. Blaine si volta a dargli un bacio e, per un attimo, lui non capisce più niente.
“Glielo dirai prima o poi a tuo padre che tua nonna è partita tre mesi fa?” Ride Dave.
Kurt si stringe nelle spalle e si sistema tra di loro. “Forse, vedremo.”
E un bacio dopo l'altro, passa un'altra ora.

ANYTHING IS GOOD IF IT'S MADE OF CHOCOLATE
Kurt batte nervosamente il piede a terra, anche se fa di tutto per non farlo notare e apparire la creatura più rilassata all'interno del bar. Per evitare di ribaltare il tavolo con il movimento inconsulto del proprio ginocchio, accavalla le gambe e poi si piega elegantemente a bere dalla cannuccia.
Si è presentato con quasi mezz'ora di anticipo quindi la sensazione di aspettare da ore non dovrebbe turbarlo, eppure guarda le lancette dell'orologio come se all'improvviso si fossero messe a girare vorticosamente e non la smettessero più. Devono pur dargli il tempo di arrivare!
Ogni volta che la porta si apre e il campanello suona, lui si volta di scatto con gli occhi che brillano e il corpo teso, pronto ad accogliere con calore chi gli fa battere il cuore in questa maniera indecente, ma quando si accorge che è l'ennesima cheerleader o un'altro ragazzotto biondo con le spalle troppo larghe per avere anche un cervello, sul viso gli compare una smorfia infastidita che sfiora quasi il disgusto e torna a girarsi, torcendo il corpo intero, per riprendere a bere. Ha già consumato due caffé, un altro paio di falsi allarmi e, se è vero che l'infarto è ereditario, sa già qual è il suo destino.


Kurt si è girato così tante volte che fargli una sorpresa sta diventando complicato.
Se ne sta in piedi dietro la colonna e ogni tanto sbircia per vedere se sta davvero bevendo e quando, finalmente, è pronto ad andargli incontro, ecco che qualche altra coppia di fidanzatini spalanca la porta del bar e attira di nuovo la sua attenzione. Se continua così, si farà Natale.
Alla fine decide che deve rischiare, anche perché comincia a prudergli tutto e non è una cosa molto romantica. Contando quanto è puntiglioso Kurt, non gli sembra il caso di presentarsi lì e poi correre allo stipite di una porta per grattarsi ben bene la schiena. Di sicuro Kurt gli toglierebbe il saluto per sempre. Aspetta che l'ultima ragazza che è appena entrata si sieda e poi si costringe ad uscire dal suo nascondiglio. Per una questione di probabilità, nessuno dovrebbe entrare adesso e distrarre Kurt dal suo milionesimo cappuccino.

Il bigliettino gli compare davanti agli occhi quando meno se lo aspetta. E' semplice, non troppo colorato e ha tre cuori applicati proprio al centro. La scritta, in caratteri neri ed eleganti, dice: "Se ti amassi quanto dico di amarti, ti amerei ben poco. Perciò te lo scrivo."
Kurt mugola estasiato e poi si volta e sorride quando il muso del gorilla si sporge verso di lui. Kurt gli prende la testa fra le mani e lo ringrazia con un bacio.
Dave si toglie la maschera e sorride, un po' imbarazzato dagli sguardi dei presenti e un po' orgoglioso per il sorriso di Kurt, che lo afferra per il colletto del costume e lo tira giù per dargli un bacio vero.
"Hai tirato di nuovo fuori il costume da gorilla?" Gli chiede.
Karofsky si stringe nelle spalle. "Mi piacciono le tradizioni," commenta.
Poi si siede e come hanno fatto negli ultimi tre anni, dividono i cioccolatini a forma di cuore.

ARE YOU THERE OR ARE YOU GONE
Everything started with a simple fever.

Then, it became a flu. The first case was in New York. It was followed two weeks after by the second one in Washington. And then the third one came, on the West Coast, in sunny California. News channels started reporting some vague information on a seasonal flu that now was confining people all over the United States in hospital wards. Reporters said it was just a variation of a weaker form of Spanish flu, for which the World Health Organization had a perfectly working vaccine. There was nothing to fear.

To a world that was scared to death by the H1N1 virus just six years before, it should have sounded like an alarming bell. Unfortunately it didn't.

When it turned out the first case has not been the first at all but the tenth – maybe even more – and that it has never been flu, but a mutation of the rabies virus that boiled your brain, it was too late for everyone.

By the time the first cases appeared in Canada and South America, closing the borders was completely useless.

At the beginning, the disease took two weeks to incubate. Subjects were highly feverish and in a strong state of confusion for days. They started to lose appetite and show signs of restlessness and exhaustion, followed by the quickly decay of their mental faculties. The end of it was a short state of coma, in which they fell during their sleep. After that, they would either die or wake up a few hours later with no knowledge of who they were and prey of such a madness, forcing them to attack, bite and eat other people like deranged animals.

Eventually, restraining them proved to be impossible. Subjects at the final stage of the disease had an unusual strength – probably adrenalin induced – and no self-preservation instinct, which means they would pursue their chasing even if beaten or wounded, and they were in no way affected by tranquillizer of any kind.

One bite was enough to be infected. So, the disease spread fast.

The governments of the world tried to contain the outbreak but acted too late and failed. Through airports the virus reached every state of America and then crossed the Ocean. Within a month Europe and Asia were already infected too. The world population was quickly reduced by 60%. But the mortality rate of the disease was actually very low. So, people who weren't healthy, unfortunately were hardly just dead.

Millions of diseased creatures started roaming the streets of the cities around the world, while the army evacuated as many people as possible. Sometimes it succeeded. Most of the time, it didn't.

Now, what's left of the human race lives in guarded places called oasis. Small communities of about fifty people, usually located in strategic facilities that are easy to defend or have a practical use, like small airports, hospitals, abandoned malls, schools. They were gathering points for evacuations. When those failed and there were nowhere else to evacuate to, they became homes for the people who remained.

A world state of war have been declared right after the collapse of the human race, six months after the outbreak. So, oasis all over the world are ruled by the army. They serve as shelters as much as headquarters for the military expeditions aimed at exterminate zombies, while ONU and other international organizations try to put back together a world in pieces.

A few makeshift labs in different parts of the world are trying to come up with a vaccine, but with no results as of yet. So, at the moment, the resolution depends totally on the army. The plan is to maintain the current number of healthy people, however low, and reduce the amount of zombies by incursions in the infected areas. Where possible, great cities have been bombed, sometimes even leveled. Everyone's desire to preserve the human culture and history was lost the very moment the risk of losing the human race itself became real.

As for the origin of the virus, speculations have been made.

Most people think the virus is the result of a very badly conducted experiment that got out of control in a lab near New York, where the patient zero was. However, a thorough investigation that would confirm such hypothesis can not be done, since right now there is no way to track down the movements of the virus or the possible labs involved. Lately, the recent discovery of cases in France, Japan and Australia contemporaneous to the one in New York and kept hidden from the governments of the respective countries, has fed a second line of thought supporting the idea that the outbreak has been the result of an attack by a still unidentified terrorist group. However, in default of any kind of claim, the experiment failure is still the main hypothesis.

Right now, people just try to survive another day.

*
Strangely enough, the new group arrives in the late afternoon.

Usually, the search and rescue squad leaves to reconnoiter at dawn and stops searching by three o'clock in the afternoon, weather they find something or not because patrolling for survivors in the dark is too dangerous. You have to be able to see zombies to shoot them dead for good.

In the beginning, when this was only a very big mess and nobody really knew what was going on, the squad would always come back with survivors. In time, they became fewer and fewer until there were no more survivors at all.

This is the first group that's been found in months.

They are six, four men and two women. The squad found them one mile north of Bellefontaine, in a city park not much bigger than the place they are now. They are malnourished, one of the men coughs like crazy and the youngest female has got a fever, but she says she is not infected.

According to what they say, they have been living in some hunting cabin, feeding on what they would find in the bushes nearby, too scared to go find something better in the empty shops of their abandoned city. They were a lot more. They lost five people in the past eight weeks.

Five people who didn't die.

As of yet, the group has not been allowed into the little community of survivors that has gathered in the tiny mall of Lima, Ohio. There is a strict routine newcomers have to undergo before they can cross the borders of the oasis. And even after that, nobody really feels safe around new faces until at least six months have passed. You can't never be too sure when just one bite turns you undead.

The six are confused and look around suspiciously as much as the people of the oasis look at them from behind the secure railing that marks off the place. It's like looking at wild animals at the zoo. If zoo still existed. Dave is there with everyone else, but it's not boredom that brought him there. He needs to speak with the squad commander, so he has to wait for the man's speech to end.

“You will be placed in quarantine for about three weeks,” the commander is saying, standing in front of the group of newcomers. He is embracing his shotgun and two of his men are aiming at the group. “This is how it goes. If you don't turn, then you will be free to stay. If you do, we will shot you in the head. We won't wait any more weeks. We won't wait for the disease to take its course until the final stage. Basically, we won't wait. At the first signs of the plague, we will put you down. We look at it as both a way to keep everybody as safe as possible and an act of mercy.”

After voting, the people of the community decided they would rather die when still holding their humanity than waiting to lose it day after day to the disease and turn into some flesh-eating monsters. Dave knows of this choice and he has actually voted for it, but he can understand the confusion and the horror on those people's face. It's because they come from outside, where all that counts are the people with you. If you are surrounded by zombies, you cling to all the human beings you have around and who were lucky enough to survive like you, no matter the relationship you have with one another.

You find strength in the humanity you still share.

But in oasis things are different, or at least they are here. People in Lima live in community but they are not a community at all. Every rule and every routine aims to keep the status quo. Everybody loves so much the outward safety of the oasis that tend to remove everything suspiciously dangerous before it can actually prove to be so. People here don't live hoping in a better place, but for the place they already have to stay as it is. Dave has already seen it happen too many times before. He and Kurt have experienced it on their on skin.

Burt was shot two minutes after a creature bit him. Kurt didn't even have the chance to say goodbye when his father still understood him. Dave was there, next to him, restraining him before he could go running to his dad and risk to be shot too. It was devastating.

At least, everybody was sure Burt has been bitten. Finn was put down two weeks after, on account of a confused state that was really suspicious, but never really proved to be the result of the disease. People were just scared of what it might have been.

“What about Candice?” The woman asks, holding the feverish younger one by the shoulder. “She is sick but not with the disease. It's just a common cold. She needs medicines.”

The commander looks at the girl, whose cheeks are flushed. She trembles and coughs every now and then. She really seems just normally sick. Besides, everybody always does. “If she gets through the incubation period, we will give her something. But not now,” he says. “Antibiotics slow down the disease. They would alter the result of these three weeks.”

“What if she gets worse?” One of the man cuts in. “You would let her die of flu when you can cure her?”

The commander doesn't even flinch. “It's three weeks, sir. Or the woods again.”

The man and the woman huddle around the girl who coughs again. None of them speaks again, so the commander nods to his men and starts leading the group toward a small, squat building made of concrete, a few feet away from the bigger structure of the mall. “If you make it,” he says, opening the door so they can go inside “in three weeks, you will be given a safe place to sleep inside the mall, a job, protection and access to a radio frequency to try and see if your family and friends – if you have any left – are safe and sound in some other oasis. Until then, you will stay here.”

One after the other, the six newcomers enter the quarantine building. It is an old warehouse, big enough to contain three or even four times their number. But aside from some makeshift beds and a supply of food, there is nothing else in there. They might as well die of boredom before the incubation period ends.

When everyone is inside, the commander looks seriously at them through the door. “This is your last chance,” he says, holding the door. “If anyone of you has been bitten, say it now. Or you will be closed in here with them until the quarantine ends. And by then, you will be all as good as dead.”

He is looking at the young girl, who hides herself behind the woman. “Nobody's infected,” the woman says, angrily.

The commander shrugs. “I just hope you are not lying,” he says, and then he bolts the door. He and the soldiers start to head back to where the other people are. Everybody is leaving, there is nothing to see anymore. Dave waits for him to dismiss his men and then approaches him.

“Commander, can I have a word?”

The man looks at him for a moment, as if to recognize him and then nods quickly, his expression as cold as stone. “Tell me you bring good news, kid,” he says. “'cause all I have seen coming all day is shit.”

Dave starts walking with him down the road that would bring them back to the mall. “Something bad happened, sir?” He asks politely, crossing his arms behind his back.

“Not bad, just something,” the man answers. “Something happening is already bad enough.”

David understands he is talking about the new group they found in Bellefontaine. “Do you think they might be infected, sir? They seemed okay to me. Except for the girl.”

“Would you tell me your sister is infected if you needed a place to stay?” Dave stays silent. The commander sighs and pats him on his shoulder. “My point exactly. So, what's that you wanted to talk about? If you want to enter the squad, again, it's two weeks since the last time you asked. You are still too young.”

“No, it's not that, sir,” he says. Then he looks around to make sure nobody is listening. “Did you see Kurt on your way back?”

The commander frowns. “I haven't seen him all day. Wasn't he supposed to be out on the fields?”

“Yes,” Dave nods. “He was. I left him there this morning. But it's been almost ten hours, now. I'm starting to worry. He always takes the wrong turn. I'm afraid he got lost, or something.”

The commander remains silent for the longest time. “Kurt works inside the oasis borders, isn't he?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, you have nothing to worry about. Borders are safe. He would never be so stupid as going out on his own, am I right?” The man continues, looking at him straight into his eyes. “He will be back by the curfew. And if he's not, we will look for him tomorrow. Alright?”

“Sure, sir.”

Dave watches him leave and follows him with his eyes as he goes back to the darkening silhouette of the mall. Evening is approaching and Dave doesn't believe a single word the commander said. What he read on his face was neither calm nor the belief that Kurt is okay.

The commander already thinks the worst, as he usually does.

Dave can only hope Kurt really got lost during the afternoon and wait for him to show up at the noise of the hurricane siren set on the roof of the main building. It rings every day for ten minutes at five o'clock. People are supposed to get inside the borders of the oasis during this period time. If they don't, they stay outside, with all of the related undesired consequences.

Unfortunately, the siren comes and goes and there is no trace of Kurt. Dave waits for him on the border for ten minutes after the noise stopped, right next to the soldier who is going to mount guard tonight. The sun sets and he has to acknowledge the fact that Kurt is out there and that he is probably in danger. He meets the commander's eyes for a brief moment.

For the man, his boyfriend is already dead.

“Me and the rescue squad will look for him first thing in the morning. I'm sure he got lost and he hid somewhere safe,” the commander says. His words sound reassuring, but his hand on Dave's shoulder invites him to be strong, which is something Dave is not willing to do at all, for the moment. You only are strong when there is something to pull through. But Kurt is okay.

He nods to the commander, though. He doesn't want him to think he has something in mind, because he actually does.

*
Going out is easier than he has thought.

There are just two soldiers along the perimeter. The commander has no men to spare and they all have to rest at night to be ready the morning after. Night shifts are very short and soldiers change continuously, so everybody gets to sleep but the borders are covered the whole night through.

Dave knows the routine because he has been studying it for months, planning as he was to enter the squad.

The oasis is a circle. Each guard walks half of it. They meet at the center of every semi-circle every forty-five minutes, for four times. Then, two other soldiers come to take their place. So once every hour, half of the perimeter is clear. Maybe not long enough to get inside the oasis if you are a brainless creature only driven by hunger, but enough for him to climb the metallic net and jump over it.

He is all dressed up in black, which makes him feel totally stupid, but apparently action heroes in movies are right. Black clothes work just fine when you need to hide in the shadows, and they are many tonight since it's crescent moon.

He waits for the guards meeting to happen, then slips the other way. It takes him at least five minutes to find the right place to jump over the net and land on the green grass outside. Only when he feels the cold metal of the net against his back he realizes that there is nothing protecting him here. Last time he was dangerously close to a zombie was almost a year ago, during the evacuation; when the army almost failed it.
The van in which he and ten other people were traveling to get to the oasis had to stop because the street was blocked by cars of people who had tried to exit the city by themselves. Most of them had died, and their cars were now stopping them from using the highway.

Zombies showed up all of a sudden, literally out of nowhere.

One or two of them just threw themselves against the half open window of the van on his side. If he closes his eyes, he can still see their putrescent claws trying to grab him and smell the stink coming from their rotting wounds. They say you can tell how long a zombie has been dead by its smell. Like you need a more specific time-of-death evaluation beyond the simple fact that what it's clearly a corpse is wondering about and wants to eat you.

Dave understands the need to find normalcy in the hell they are living in now. Analyzing everything, giving order to something that lacks of it helps people to cope with the walking dead and stuff, but sometimes things get too far. He doesn't care about smelling the dead to guess when they died. Finding a cure, that would return everything to normality.

He looks around and sees nothing but the vast expanse of the country around Lima. The mall is outside the city – or what's left of it – and that is what makes it a perfect shelter. Cities are good places to find supplies but they are also dangerous since the majority of deaths happened there and usually dead people just stay where they are – this at least hasn't changed – even if there is nothing left to eat or pray on. Also, cities are harder to defend, especially when you can't enclose just one portion of it without having the zombie colony of the whole neighborhood surrounding you night and day.

After their group has settled in the mall, the army has pulled a net all around it, creating the oasis. A smaller building has been used as a warehouse to stock supplies and then another one has been needed to keep people in quarantine. The place quickly became a tiny city with places to go and things to attend to. A small portion of land that has not been covered in concrete like what once was the mall parking lot has been recently prepared to try and grow some vegetables and wheat. The chance of being rescued and brought to a bigger and better supplied place somewhere in the country has got thinner and thinner every day, especially because there aren't places like that on Earth anymore. So their little colony might as well start to be all-sufficient.

Kurt has been assigned to the fields two weeks ago. He is not happy about it, but he has no other choice. Everybody needs to do something to contribute to the maintenance of the oasis and it's the commander the one deciding the tasks. Dave is basically a drudge. He helps whoever needs an extra pair of hands. It's a tiring job, especially because there is always something to take care of in a place like this. He would love to work in the fields, instead. It would be so much more relaxing.

Anyway, Kurt spends all day taking care of the delicate seeds they have planted recently, preparing new soil and building a greenhouse, so they will be able to grow something during winter. He should have been there today too, so Dave decides to start looking for him there. The fields are inside the net, but quiet far from the mall and you can't see them from it. This is not very safe. According to the commander's orders, nothing can be done out of sight-range from the mall. But they had to make an exception for the fields, because of the concrete everywhere else. So, it takes Dave almost twenty minutes to get there, given that he has to avoid the guards too.

The fields are silent and a little spooky too. Tomatoes are slowly growing and the shadows of their lines extend towards him like long, slim fingers making him shiver. He never got really used to all this silence. When hell hasn't broken loose yet, his house was in the town center and he would fall asleep at the whirring of cars passing by. Silence in the streets has slowly became the first sign of the disaster and he has grown afraid of it. The first nights at the oasis, he has slept with his mp3 player continuously turned on because the lack of sounds around him would make him imagine those creatures crawling just outside the windows.

He looks around, hoping to spot Kurt as quickly as possible, so they can be back home before dawn. He is not sure they will be able to go back in without being noticed and the idea of ending locked up in the quarantine warehouse with some possible infected strangers doesn't make him jump for joy, but this is a problem he will face only when he actually has Kurt with him.

Dave starts walking around, first checking the fields and then quickly moving toward the greenhouse, which is only half finished. Sometimes he murmurs Kurt’s name softly, but he doesn't hope it will help. He just needs to hear someone's voice. The greenhouse is made of wood and some old plastic sheets. They're trying to find some more during recons but, apparently, plastic is a luxury now and it's not easy to find.

Luckily, the door is not bolted. He opens it and quickly gets inside. The moon shines through the many holes in the roof so he can see quite clearly. The place is almost empty, except for some tables and a couple of plants that are too delicate to be left outside during the night. Having four walls around makes him feel safe enough as to call Kurt aloud but no one answers.

He doesn't know what keeps him inside the greenhouse. Why he doesn't turn around and go looking for Kurt somewhere else. He just keeps walking toward the end of the room where all the tools lockers are. He moves slowly, calling Kurt every now and then. Maybe his brain has already registered the sound moments before he actually hears it, but there's a soft sniffing somewhere in there.

“Kurt?”

The sniffing stops, but he has heard it. He reaches the first locker and stays close to it. He tries to calculate the chances that there is actually a zombie behind it. But they don't cry or hide. They just growl and scream.

“Who's there?” He asks again. “Kurt, is that you? It's Dave.”

This is when the sniffing starts again and from the little sob that comes right after, Dave just knows it's Kurt. He turns around the locker with a quick movement to win over his fear to end up face to face with some undead and for a moment he just stands there, staring at an empty wall. He needs to look down at the next sob to spot Kurt curled up on the floor.

The weight on his chest disappears almost immediately. He doesn't know what he would have done if he had to go back to the mall alone. “It's okay,” he says softly, even smiling a little. He squats next to him and strokes his hair ever so gently. “I am here now.”

Kurt says nothing. He just stands there, hugging his legs and looking down at his shoes covered in dirt. Some time ago, he wouldn't let it happen, but now he's got just one pair of shoes and planting vegetables doesn't exactly help in keeping them clean. Sometimes it is in the smallest details that you really see how the things around you changed.

“Why are you here?” Dave asks. “Didn't you hear the siren?”

Kurt nods slowly and sniffs. “Dave, I don't think you should be here, right now. You really should go back to the Mall. They will be looking for you.”

“Nobody knows I'm out,” Dave smiles proudly. “And I will think of a way for us both to sneak back in. Don't worry, we're gonna be fine.”

Kurt stares into nothing for the longest moment. He moves his lips but he makes no sound and it takes him quite some time to find the words. Enough time to make Dave worry. “I can't go back there.”

“Of course you can,” he says uncomfortably. Kurt's behavior is giving him the chills. “We just need to figure out–“

“I've been bitten.”

Those words make no sense to Dave. It is the red, swollen mark on Kurt's neck that gives them a meaning. The bite is undoubtedly human, 2 inches long, uneven and already turning purple at the edges. The skin has been torn apart, probably when Kurt has tried to escape. Dave grabs Kurt by his shoulder, careful not to touch the wound on his nape. He tries desperately to imagine a possibility where Kurt's wound has not been infected, but of course this is not possible. Every wound does. Especially one like this, so deep Dave can see the muscle. It must have bled a lot.

“How did it happen?”

Kurt takes his time to work around the strong dizziness he's been feeling since he's got bitten. His head spins and the wound is pounding ferociously. “I was working in the field,” he says. “I was digging the soil to plant those cauliflower seeds we found last week. It literally came out of nowhere. I... I don't know. There must be a hole in the fence, but I didn't see it. I just had the time to stand up and it grabbed me. I couldn't...”

Kurt stammers and then shuts up. There is not much else to say. The creature has grabbed him and then bit him. Sometimes they are so strong, you can't yank free no matter what you do. They have the same strength of those dogs that once they have sunk their fangs in you, you can't make them open their mouth unless you knock them down.

“Where is it, now? Is it in the oasis?” Dave asks.

Kurt shakes his head, his eyes fixed on the floor. “I killed it,” he says. “Good timing mine, hm? I thought about the hoe in my fucking hand when it was too late.” Kurt's voice comes out in a growl as he throws something he has been holding in his hand. The handle of the hoe hits the door of another locker, making an incredibly loud and tinkling sound. “This place was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to keep us alive.”

Dave hugs Kurt as he starts to cry and places a kiss on the top of his head. Kurt turns around and hides his face in Dave's chest, sobbing so hard, Dave feels his heart clench. “Everything is going to be alright,” he murmurs over and over in his hair.


Probably not. But right now, it feels like they can use every bit of hope they can get.

*
They manage to sneak back into the borders of the oasis easier than Dave thought. He guides Kurt down the same road he took to find him, and watches out for the soldiers patrolling the borders to pass through the wire net unnoticed.

Sneaking inside the actual mall is harder – the building hardly has any open spot, every exit is locked at night and they have to pass through a broken window, risking to be seen or heard and obviously to be wounded by the shards of glass still sticking out of the wooden window frame – but they manage to do that too, and Dave allows himself to breathe in and out again only when they’re safe in their room.

What they call “home” now, was once a small clothes shop. Every time somebody new arrives at the oasis and manages to pass the quarantine and become part of the community, one of the old shops gets cleaned up, its windows get covered with paper for some privacy and the room gets arranged as a dorm, with a couple of beds (or only mattresses, when beds can’t be found) and a drawer for clothes and underwear.

Kurt moved in with Dave after Burt’s death, and had been living with him ever since. He barely remembers the room he used to live in with his dad anymore. Everything surrounding the confusing days he passed through before and after Burt’s death seems blurred, and most of the time Kurt just doesn’t want to remember, and prays to forget.

He prays even now, sitting on the bed in a corner of the room, while Dave quickly fills an old bag with their clothes in silence. God, make me forget, he begs, looking at his boyfriend moving back and forth from the drawer to the bag on the ground and then back to the drawer, I know we’re not exactly in good terms, but please, just make me forget everything, and I swear, I swear…

“Kurt, stop it,” Dave says, and Kurt has to lift his gaze up on him without finishing his vow. Dave is looking at him with his eyes filled with tears, fists clenched around the fabric of an old checkered shirt he just rolled into a ball to make it fit better inside the bag, “If you keep crying like this, they’re gonna hear us.”

Kurt touches his own face – his cheeks are burning hot – and feels the tears under his fingertips. He really was crying. He didn’t notice.

“I’m sorry,” he says, swallowing his sadness with all the pain torturing him, “I don’t feel well.”

“I know,” Dave nods, sitting beside him and letting the shirt unfold on his lap as he holds one of Kurt’s hands between his, playing with his fingers to distract them both, “It’s going to get better, believe me. Once I’m finished with this,” he says, nodding at the bag still half empty on the floor, “I’m gonna sneak into the pharmacy and fetch some antibiotics. Then, I’m gonna clean up this mess on your neck, and we will be set.”

Kurt looks at him, resisting the urge to cry again. “Set for what?” he asks, “What are we gonna do, Dave? Fuck… I should just fucking kill myself,” he looks away, trying to free his hand from Dave’s hold, “I have no right to put you in this position. I don’t want to—”

“Would you just shut up?” Dave asks, and he doesn’t even sound angry, or frustrated. Just incredibly sad. He keeps holding Kurt’s hand, almost clinging to it as he keeps talking slowly. “I don’t want you to die.”

“It’s gonna happen, anyway,” Kurt says harshly, wiping away new tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

“I don’t care,” Dave insists, “I don’t want you to die. Not now, not like this. We were supposed to be happy.”

“We were never supposed to be happy, Dave,” Kurt shakes his head, “The fact alone that we fell in love with each other when the world was already fucked is enough to say that we were only supposed to end bad,” he looks away, biting at his lower lip as he tries to stop new tears from coming, “I honestly can’t imagine an ending more appropriate than this, actually.”

“Kurt, for Christ’s sake,” Dave almost moans in pain, tugging at Kurt’s hand to force the boy to look back up at him, “I don’t care about any of this shit. We were supposed to be happy because we fucking love each other, and that’s enough to hope for some fucking happiness.”

Kurt doesn’t answer, because all he would like to do now is to ask Dave where he lived up to now. If he noticed that people have died, that they keep dying, that they are dying even in this very moment, and that they will keep dying no matter what they do, or think, or how hard they try not to see.

“I don’t care if it’s impossible for you to survive,” Dave talks in whispers, playing with Kurt’s fingers again, “I wanna try, anyway. But I can’t, if we stay here. So we’ve got to go.”

Kurt tries to calm down, taming the wave of rage mounting in his chest with every sting of pain that makes the wound on his neck burn. “Where?” he asks in a low voice, leaning over Dave and resting his burning forehead against his shoulder, trying to find some refreshment against the mildly warm fabric of his t-shirt.

Dave takes a deep breath, searching for Kurt’s eyes. He thought about it for the whole time while they were walking back to the mall, and he only knows one other person, beside him, who wouldn’t be able to kill Kurt on the spot after he knew he had been bitten. “Blaine,” he answers in a weary sigh, holding Kurt’s hand.

Kurt backs off a little, shaking his head. “No, Dave,” he whines, “We can’t. I’m already putting you in danger, and that’s enough. We can’t drag Blaine into this. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“It’s our only hope,” Dave insists with a sigh, “He lives alone, he has a house of his own, he’s not subject to the rules of an oasis. And he loves you, Kurt, almost as much as I do. He’s going to help us. We have to go there.”

Kurt lets out a soft sob, covering both his eyes with his hands. “This is so unfair,” he murmurs, shaking his head, but he can’t say he’s really surprised about it. After all, life often is.

*
Dave tries to be as quick as he can, though he has to move carefully, because he told Kurt to wait for him outside, near the parking lot reserved to the jeeps used by the army. He had to give his boyfriend something to do, because he knew that, if he left him alone to wait for him in their room, he would have gone out of his mind. Kurt is too nervous, too scared and too sad to think straight. Dave understands him, it’s not like he himself wouldn’t find more comfort in just letting himself go and cry his heart out until it remains nothing of it, but he has to keep his mind clear. He has to think. He’s got too many things to do.

The pharmacy door’s lock opens with a soft click, and Dave holds his breath as he opens the glass door and sneaks inside. The pharmacy is dark and silent, and Dave walks between the stands searching for everything that could be useful, trying not to lose too much time deciding if he should take something or not, and how much he should take of it. The pharmacy’s not patrolled, usually, but it’s located in a very central spot of the mall, and it’s almost four in the morning. Soon, the first people are going to wake up and start walking around the building, and Dave can’t risk to be seen.

Plus, they can’t steal a car with the sun up in the sky. They have to do it now, and they have to do it quick.

Dave grabs some antibiotics, a couple of rollerbandage, disinfectant and some band-aids, he puts it all in a plastic bag and then moves to the fast-food they use as a kitchen and a dining hall. There’s not much that can be eaten without cooking it first, but he manages to grab some bread, assorted fruit and a couple of bottles of water. That should be enough for their trip – he puts everything in another plastic bag and then walks away.

When he manages to pass through the broken window and reach the parking lot, it’s already half past four. The sun won’t be up for another hour or so, but he still has to medicate Kurt and then find a way to leave the oasis, so he doesn’t have time to spare.

“Kurt?” he calls out softly, wandering through the labyrinth made of all the parked cars, “Where are you?”

“I’m here,” Kurt answers, leaning out of one of the cars’ windows and waving slowly. He’s shivering all over.

Dave approaches him walking faster, and kisses him on his forehead. It’s burning. “You chose this?” he asks, nodding to the car.

Kurt shrugs, looking away. “I was cold, I waited outside as long as I could, but then I just had to get in. I just chose the closest car.”

Dave nods, looking at Kurt as he moves from the driver’s seat to the passenger’s one, and only then he throws the plastic bags inside the car, and jumps to gets in through the glassless window. “Here, take one of this,” he says, reaching for one of the plastic bags and retrieving the antibiotics, “For your fever. And then take your shirt off.”

Kurt swallows a pill with a sip of water, chocking a bit. “I can hardly swallow,” he says, massaging his throat with his open hand, “It hurts.”

“Be strong,” Dave encourages him, brushing his cheek with his index finger. “Now, come on, take that shirt off and let me take a look at the wound.”

Kurt nods and puts the remaining pills and water away, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He looks down at his own hands, feeling more ashamed and embarrassed than he did when he and Dave had sex for the first time. It was a hot night, months ago. They had drank some beer to gather enough courage, and when Dave had asked Kurt to take his shirt off he did it with hungry, shiny eyes.

Now, he asks for the same thing, but his eyes are dull, only sadness filling them. The look that Kurt used to long for is already gone, washed away by tears.

Kurt folds the shirt and puts it away on the backseat, and then moves closer to Dave, showing his neck. The wound is swollen, bright red around the little cuts made by the teeth of the zombie who bit him. The circular area surrounding them is purple, almost black around the edges. It looks bad. And it smells even worse, when Dave bends over to lightly sniff at it.

He sighs, parting from Kurt to fetch one of the plastic bags. He retrieves the bandage and the disinfectant and kisses Kurt on his forehead, trying to reassure him. “Now this is going to burn,” he warns him, pouring some disinfectant on a square of folded bandage and starting to clean Kurt’s wound out. The boy hisses, clutching his fists around the fabric of Dave’s t-shirt and holding onto it. “I’m sorry,” Dave says, paying more attention to what he’s doing, trying not to hurt him too much.

Kurt shakes his head, breathing slowly in and out. “It’s okay.”

It doesn’t take much, anyway. There’s only so much Dave can do, a couple of pills and some disinfectant can’t do any miracle, and Dave knows it. He knows there are ways to slow down the change, he knows the cleaning the wound every day helps, as well as taking antibiotics and eating simple, healthy food, but he also knows it’s going to happen, anyway. Kurt will die, and then undie, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the process.

He covers the wound with a bandage and fixes it up to Kurt’s skin with a couple of band-aids, and then parts from him with a sigh, retrieving an apple from the plastic bag in the backseat. “Eat,” he says, passing the fruit to Kurt.

He instantly makes a face, backing off a little. “I’m not hungry,” he answers, shaking his head, but Dave insists, holding one of his hands between his fingers and forcing him to take the apple.

“You’ve got to eat,” he insists, firmly but gently making Kurt’s fingers close around the rounded fruit, “It’s gonna keep you strong. And alive. Please, Kurt,” he says, and he’s got tears in his eyes, and Kurt can’t really say no to that.

He sighs, taking a bite of the apple and settling better on his seat. He can already see the sun lightening up the sky from behind the mountains on the horizon. The light of a new dawn never scared him that much.

He’s so concentrated in watching the sun slowly coming up and eating his forcefed breakfast that he only notice Dave started the engine when the car is already moving. He turns to his boyfriend, eyes filled with surprise as curiosity shakes away the bad taste the apple has on his tongue. “You started it,” he says in a low voice, blinking and swallowing another bit of the apple, “How?”

Dave grins, shrugging. “I made it work,” he answers, “When things started to get really ugly, down in the city, before I arrived to the oasis, I lost my father soon. That much you already know,” he explains, as Kurt nods, easily remembering how sad and weary Dave was the day he arrived at the mall, alone, “I had to learn how to survive, someway. My neighborhood wasn’t safe, so I ran, and when I couldn’t run anymore, well…” he shrugs again, barely smiling at the memory of his first clumsy attempts to make cars work like he always saw in the movies. It actually took some time for him to understand he could start engines that way, but he couldn’t do it if he kept making random wires contact. He had to find the right ones.

“You still surprise me,” Kurt comments with a small, weary smile on his dry lips, “I thought nothing in the world could anymore.”

Dave turns to him, chuckling softly. “You surprise me too,” he says, mocking him a little, “You managed to eat your apple.”

Kurt looks down to the applecore lying on his palm and smiles, but he can’t help tears from falling. “Yeah, so it seems,” he says, his voice unsteady as he sobs softly.

Dave holds out a hand to him, brushing his cheek, and Kurt leans on it with a soft sigh, closing his eyes. “You’re strong,” Dave tells him, and Kurt can hear in his voice he really believes it, “You’re gonna make it.”

It’s a lie. But Kurt needs something to believe in, and this lie sounds so painfully sweet to him he has no other choice than to blindly believe it too.

*
Dave has been driving since the break of dawn at a very high speed to put as much distance as possible between them and the mall. By his reckoning, it is going to take the search and rescue squad at least a couple of hours to realize they are both gone. First, someone has to report Dave's missing too and before doing it, they have to search for him in every possible place, because the last thing the squad needs are false alarms. Sure, the commander knows Kurt has gone missing and so he is probably going to put two and two together and understand Dave has gone after him but even with that, Dave hopes they have enough head start to reach Blaine's house.

They are not going to be safe there, especially if Dave's wrong and Blaine doesn't want to take care of Kurt together with him. But since Dave is pretty sure he will, then at least they will have a place to stay, somewhere to hide Kurt while the disease takes its course. Dave is aware this is desperate. There is no way out from the disease and the sooner he will cope with that the better. Still, he wants to give Kurt a chance; even if it is just the chance to live a little longer. He wants to keep his death at bay as long as possible. Nobody really knows how long a sick person can be kept alive and self-aware before the deterioration calls for a killing. Maybe they will be able to keep Kurt with them long enough for some doctors somewhere to find a cure. Who knows, it can even happen.

Kurt is dozing on and off from sleep. Sometimes he leans on the window and just drifts off for a few minutes, sometimes Dave turns his head to look at him and finds him looking sadly at the street beyond the windshield. His temperature is still too high. Dave knows this is not good. If the pills don't work, Kurt must sweat it off. Another reason why they need to get to Blaine's as soon as possible. Taking Kurt away from an all in all healthy place won't make him any good.

“How do you feel?” He asks him, smiling a little.

Kurt feels Dave's eyes upon him, but he doesn't turn his head. “Like someone who is going to die soon.”

Dave tightens his grip on the wheel and tries to stay calm. Kurt always reacts angrily or sarcastically to things he doesn't like, and this is the worst of them. So he can allow him a little anger, as long as he copes with his efforts to keep him alive. “Whatever is going to happen, it won't happen any time soon,” he says.

Kurt stays quiet for a moment and then he just smiles a little, but it is not a happy smile. Actually, it's the saddest thing Dave has ever seen. “I appreciate that.”

“Appreciate what?”

“That you never say that I am not gonna die,” Kurt answers. “That would be patronizing me, and it just wouldn't work.”

Dave doesn't want to answer to that. Since the moment he found him, he has calibrated the things to say and how to say them. He knows it would be foolish to tell him everything is going to be alright, because it won't and they both are aware of that. However, he hates telling him lies as much as the truth, because things said aloud become suddenly too real to handle. So, instead of focusing on the worst part, that is the future awaiting them, he is determined to stick with the things they can do to avoid it as long as possible.

“I think we are getting close,” he says, changing the subject all together. “His house should be around here, I guess.”

“I don't know,” Kurt shows the first sign of real interest, sitting up straight to give a better look to the countryside. “How far are we from Worthington?”

“We just passed it,” Dave says. “That was actually one of the few roadsigns still standing.”

“Then, it must be around here. Whenever I drove to his house, I would always look for Worthington, so I'd know I didn't get lost.”

That was the past. A long lost one, where a zombie outbreak was really just the biggest fear of a bunch of characters in a horror movie. Back then, Kurt's biggest problem was how to win Nationals and had Rachel shut up about it. His whole world revolved around the show choir rehearsals, French tests and a hipster, talented boyfriend, with whom he was proudly fighting the sexual orientation prejudice in his school.

Kurt and Blaine were a couple for a little more than year, then things started to change between them, and they slowly grew out of each other in a very safe and rather not painful way. One day they had just stopped being in love with each other and gone back to be just friends. Back then, Dave was nowhere to be seen.

He and Kurt met again a few months after Kurt and Blaine broke up, about the same time the patient zero was found. That's why Kurt says they were doomed from the beginning

It wasn't love at first sight.

Actually, it wasn't for Kurt. Dave had loved him for most of his years at McKinley, so when he saw him again after being away in another school for almost a year, he wasn't surprised to find himself still madly in love with him like the first day. Kurt was simply marvelous – quite unbearable sometimes, but still very charming – and now that he had worked out his own issues and coped with the fact that he was indeed gay, Dave could afford himself the luxury to be in love without feeling guilty, which led to him being friends with Kurt as a way to know him better. Something he hadn't be able to do when he was still struggling with his own sexuality.

Their love has come slowly, one baby step at the time while the world was heading towards its end. Sometimes when he thinks about it, Dave finds it incredible romantic. Like they were getting together no matter what. They survived both their families' death, the hunger and the fear, the knowledge of them being now completely alone in this world and forced to live on their own. At some point, it has appeared like nothing could stop them. Like they were ready to survive everything.

It makes him cringe now, knowing it's not everything, after all.

As he looks at Kurt, who is now busy trying to make out the silhouette of Blaine's house, Dave thinks about their first real kiss. It always makes him smile because there is nothing sweet about it. In fact, they were arguing badly over something really stupid. They were both stressed for a lot of other things too – something you can somehow expect from two teens caught up in the middle of a zombie apocalypse – and Dave was also very attracted to Kurt's lips curling. So, what happened was that they screamed at each other for the longest time, until Dave got fed up with Kurt's nonsense and kissed him, pushing him into the wall behind. When they parted, he was expecting a kick in the balls at least and was prepared for it. But Kurt just stared into his eyes very angrily for a moment, and then pulled him down by grabbing his hair.

They never stopped since then.

If he tries to remember what was the argument about, Dave can't quite recall. But he bets it was football. They always fight about football, since Kurt finds it one of the things the world can do without now, while Dave strongly agree with the line of thoughts of the search and rescue squad that uses sport as a way to blow off some steam at the end of the day. He plays with them every once in a while. Or at least, he did.

“Kurt?” He says, wondering if this could be a good way to make conversation. “Do you remember what we were arguing about right before our first kiss at the oasis?”

Kurt doesn't answer. He just calls his name. “Dave...”

“I can't remember. It was football, wasn't it?”

“Dave!”

Dave finally turns to him and finds him holding his head against the windows of the jeep. “What?”

“Stop the car.”

“Did you find the house?” Dave asks, looking around. But there is nothing around here. Just the desolate outline of a countryside that was already as unadorned as it is now.

“Just stop the car! Please.”

That is when Dave hears the desperate tone in his voice and hits the brakes. The car has barely the time to stop moving that Kurt opens the door and just lets himself roll out of it, like he has not enough strength to stand up and get down properly. He falls on his knees and throws up, making the most hideous sound Dave has ever heard.

“Kurt! Kurt, are you okay?” Dave runs around the car and kneels next to him, holding his head as he bends over again and vomits something black, gelatinous and bloody that doesn't look like what he just ate at all and for this reason it is so much more worrying. Dave is not a doctor, but he knew the disease as much as everyone else, so he can tell it's too soon for Kurt's internal organs to be shutting down; but it's the infection nonetheless and probably the very first reaction to the shock of the bite, aside from the fever. Something that must be taken seriously.

He has hoped it would start at Blaine's house.

With every retch comes the sound again. It's like whatever stuff Kurt is pushing out of his body is making a hell of a mess along his throat to keep coming. Kurt can't keep it down, but the effort of throwing it up is giving him pain. The sobs that cut his breath every in between retches are enough proof of that.


When he finally calms down enough to sit down on the burning tar of the road, Dave opens his arms and Kurt immediately crawls into them, hiding himself in his embrace.

“It's okay, babe. It's over,” Dave says, trying to sooth him as the sobs become hiccups and then tears.

Kurt's feverish body is shivering against his own and he can't do anything but holding him closer, hoping it is enough, for the moment.

*
Blaine has lost both his parents during the outbreak. He doesn’t even know how it happened, he just knows they were on the missing person list that the general in command of the Dalton oasis has read to all the living and healthy people assembled in the hall of the school the day it was finally possible to count and identify who made it there and who didn’t.

His parents didn’t.

After a month of being considered missing, the army usually took you for dead and stopped searching for you. They would take down the photos and the names from the wall showing missing people so to remind to both soldiers and civilians who could still be found during patrols outside the oasis’ perimeter, to replace that information with the ones regarding the newly missed people, and if one of the photos was of somebody you held dear to your heart, you just had to accept it.

Missing people almost never came back.

Blaine has lived with this knowledge since the first day, so he already knew what to do: he had to leave the oasis and come back home, to take back into his life the only thing that remained of his family.

And he has done it.

When he sees the jeep approaching down the dirt road that connects the highway with his house, he can’t help but frown, worried, as he leans against the shovel he was using to cover his garden with fertilizer. His two cows have been generous with him, and even if they hadn’t he would have had to use whatever they could give to him, since he run out of chemical fertilizer more than six months ago and he needs his garden to grow vegetables fast.

It’s one of the army’s cars, and he’s annoyed to see it as always: first of all, he doesn’t like to be distracted while he’s working in his garden. The food serves not only for him, but also for the other families still living here in the countries in their old farms. Sometimes, when they can’t live only on what they’re producing, Blaine helps them, because his garden, his cows and the chickens are healthy, and he’s alone. He sometimes has food to spare, and he does it willingly.

He always thought that this farm was nothing more than one of the countless, silly obsessions of his father, one of the most hated by his mother, also, but after he lost them both he knew there was no other place he could accept to live. He’s been living here for more than a year now, and he has no intention to come back to the oasis, despite what the soldiers that every now and then come visiting him – both to rest during their long trips from an oasis to another and to check on him – tell him. This is his house. This is where he chose to live. His survival begins and ends with this place. If he loses the farm, he can just as well die.

That’s why he walks towards the street wearing his best annoyed face, still holding the shovel in one hand, ready to use it. He already had to, in the past, when a group of soldiers – probably judging him out of his mind – tried to force him to come back.

He understands something’s off when he tries to see the uniforms the men must be wearing, and fails. They’re wearing normal clothes and that can be easily seen even from the distance still parting them, so they can’t be soldiers.

Then, why are they driving that jeep? Why are they driving at all, actually, and unescorted, moreover?

“What…” he starts asking, protecting his eyes from the sunlight with his free hand, but he stops abruptly when the jeep’s finally close enough to recognize who’s driving it.

It’s Dave. And there’s Kurt by his side.

When Blaine sees them, his heart instantly starts to beat faster. They shouldn’t be here, they shouldn’t even be traveling, they should be safe in their oasis, working and living their life behind the protected borders of the mall. The last time he heard from them, through a letter that the soldiers had delivered to him during one of their visits, they seemed happy, ready to move on with their lives or what was left of them.

They just shouldn’t be here now, that’s all Blaine manages to think when the car stops on the driveway and Dave comes out of it in a quick jump.

“Dave!” he calls out for him, and if he didn’t already suspect that what had brought them here couldn’t be anything but something bad, the tense, worried expression on his friend’s face would have made it clear in just one look. “What happened?”

Dave comes closer to him and grabs him by his shoulders, squeezing a little. “Blaine, I need to talk to you,” he says in a whisper.

Blaine tries to look past his shoulders, to see what Kurt’s up to. He lifts himself up on his tiptoes, but Dave’s hands on his shoulders bring him down again. “What’s happening, Dave?” Blaine insists, now looking at him with a sort of desperate anxiety in his eyes, “Why are you here?”

Dave bites at his lower lip, trying to find the right words to tell him. There’s no such a thing, though, and Dave knows that, as much as he can keep searching for them, he will never succeed, so he’s ready to just bluntly tell his friend what happened, when he hears a strangled noise from behind his back.

He turns around, and Kurt’s climbing down the jeep, his body shaking violently, his legs unsteady. “Dave,” he calls out, his voice barely managing to escape his inflamed throat, “I can’t…”

He doesn’t manage to tell what he can’t do anymore, because he falls on the ground unconscious, the burning red mark on his neck perfectly visible even from where Dave and Blaine stand.

And there’s no need for explanations anymore.

*
When Kurt starts to wake up again, Blaine and Dave are talking. He can hear their voices, but they sound so distant he couldn’t get a word not even if he wanted to.

Right now, he doesn’t want to, anyway. He can’t open his eyes, his eyelids seem so heavy he could just as well be dead, for what he knows.

The mere thought is enough to trigger him into remembering how he felt right before he fainted. He doesn’t know how long he has slept, it feels like ages, but the feeling is still so strong it could only be a couple of minutes.

He couldn’t bring himself to breath. Something so simple, something that he has always done automatically for his entire life, and all of a sudden he couldn’t do it, he couldn’t even remember how, or believe that up to that moment he had done it without even thinking about it.

His chest wouldn’t move. The air wouldn’t pass through his nose and mouth. His lungs just wouldn’t pull it in.

It seems over now – he’s breathing regularly, he can feel it, he hears himself do it – but it was terrifying.

Kurt realizes he never saw anybody change into an undead, so he doesn’t really know what it’s like. Back at the oasis, nobody asked, mainly because nobody wanted to know, and secondly because to every unnecessary question the commander answered always in the same way: you don’t need to know, so why should I tell you?

He actually agreed with the commander’s reasons. They were all terrified enough already without knowing the details. But now that he’s in this situation, well, he misses the details the most. He wants to know what’s going to happen to him, how’s the changing going to be, how it’s going to feel. If he’s gonna feel the pain, if stopping to breathe will be as hard and painful as it felt before.

Because if it is, if it’s gonna be this hard, Kurt’s not sure he wants to go through this. He’s not sure he doesn’t want to take the easy way and just leave painlessly and gracefully while he still can.

“I can’t believe it happened,” Blaine says. Kurt still can’t open his eyes, but at least he’s starting to focus enough to understand what they’re talking about, “How are you feeling?”

“What kind of a question is it, Blaine?” Dave answers, sighing sadly, “I’m broken. Fuck… I don’t even know what to do. I don’t know why I came here, I don’t know what I’m hoping for. I just needed to take him to a safe place, you know?”

Kurt finally manages to open his eyes, at least a bit. In the darkness of the room, Blaine and Dave can’t see him, but since they’re sitting beside the candlelight he can see them.

Blaine nods, but his voice is sad and low when he speaks. “You know, though, that there’s no such a thing as a safe place when you’ve been bitten. Eventually…”

“I don’t wanna hear anything about it, okay?” Dave interrupts him, waving a hand in mid air and shaking his head, “I just can’t bring myself to think about it. Whatever it’s going to happen, I swear, I’m gonna take it like a man, but right now… it’s still too soon.”

Blaine holds out a hand and pats him on his shoulder, trying to reassure him. “I understand,” he nods, forcing a little smile, “I do, really. I’m gonna help you. As much as I can, I’m gonna help you both.”

Dave looks at him, and in the dim light of the candle Kurt can see tears trembling in his eyes. “Do you mean we can stay?”

Blaine nods again, and Kurt sees one of the tears in Dave’s eyes roll free down his cheek. He instantly turns around, not to show Blaine he’s crying, but Blaine says “ow, man, come on, you know you can feel free to cry with me around, it’s okay,” and the next thing Kurt sees is his boyfriend turning around and leaning against Blaine’s shoulder, crying his heart out while he tries to keep his voice low, so not to disturb his sleep.

Kurt wants to cry too, but he’s got no shoulders to cry on right now. And since Dave’s trying so hard not to wake him up, he think he should at least reward his efforts going back to sleep again, so that they’re not in vain.

Not these too, at least.

*
They settle down, somehow. Blaine gives them a room – his parents’ old room, since he doesn’t use it anyway – and offers them discretion and protection.

Some days are good. Some days, Kurt feels better. He wakes up and comes out of the bed and helps them to take care of the house, the garden and the animals. And he laughs and jokes, and if it wasn’t for the bandages to change, the pills to swallow and the sporadic indispositions, Dave wouldn’t even remember he was bitten.

When he’s not sick, Kurt’s just like his old Kurt. He’s witty and snarky and he can talk for hours about how much he hates zombies for killing Vivienne Westwood. “Really,” he says, “I could forgive them everything, but not that! Just look at what I’m forced to wear,” he comments, pointing a finger against the simple t-shirt and anonymous jeans he brought with himself from the mall.

When he’s not sick, Kurt’s still funny and always smiling. He still answers like his old self. He’s still able to make a face and a disgusted noise when Blaine cooks lion’s meat for dinner – a lot of animals set themselves free from every zoo in the world soon after the outbreak, now they can be found roaming freely almost everywhere, the world divided equally between the zombies and them – and tell him “I can’t believe it, Blaine, you just killed Simba, how can you live with this?”, and then laugh when Blaine answers “I don’t care, he killed half of my chickens, he deserved it.”

When he’s not sick, Kurt still recognizes Dave, and still talks to him like he cares about him. About them. They still sleep together, they hug. Kurt asks for kisses and Dave covers him in them, on his forehead, on his cheeks, on his temples, wherever he can safely reach. Then Kurt cries because he wants more and he can’t have it, and Dave wants to cry too because he wants just the same thing and he can’t have it either, but he doesn’t. Dave never cries, not in front of Kurt, anyway. Especially when Kurt’s not sick. Kurt doesn’t have to see him sad. He doesn’t need it. The only thing Kurt needs is to be told that everything’s gonna be alright, that he’s gonna have all the help and support he needs. And this, as long as they’re together, is never gonna change.

When Kurt’s not sick, everything’s easier. Dave can still imagine, pretend, that things are just like they were a month ago.

But then, some days are not so good at all. Days in which Kurt wakes up and his eyes are empty. Days when Dave can’t sleep, he lies there beside his boyfriend listening to the feeble sound of his breath getting weaker and weaker, and then disappear, and then start again, leaving him in tear because Kurt didn’t even notice.

This would probably be the worst thing of them all, if finding a worst thing among the others was actually possible. That sometimes Kurt doesn’t even notice. That he’s changing so violently, and there are days in which he’s not even aware of it. Days in which he kneels on the floor and keeps throwing up blood and rotten insides for hours, and then, after he finished, he just stands up and lies down on the bed, and his eyes are just as cold and empty as they were before.

There are days – horrible, horrible days – in which he growls and shakes and snarls so much they can’t keep him in the house, because somebody could hear him. Those days are the worst. The days in which Blaine, with his eyes filled with tears and with shaking hands, grabs the keys of the basement and leads them there. And Dave has to chain Kurt to the wall and stay away from him, guarding him like a rabid dog from the distance, to prevent him from setting himself free and bite everything on his way.

There are days that are so hard to pull through, that Dave wishes he had the guts to just kill Kurt.

Days like this.

Kurt started bleeding in the middle of the night, and he hasn’t stop up to now. He has bled from his nose and gums and ears and eyes for hours. His fingers are rotting one after the another. They keep them wrapped in bandages soaked in disinfectant, but it’s not enough. Nothing’s ever enough.

They started bleeding too and Dave had to unfold them to check on them. Kurt didn’t want to look, and he made the right choice. They’re starting to come off his hand. Swallowing all his tears, Dave could onl fold them up in new bandages, without telling him anything.

They didn’t have to bring him to the basement, today. Kurt was himself. He was just falling apart.

Now, he’s sleeping. They had to give him something to help him, because he kept murmuring that his insides were giving him hell, and after he took the pill he fell asleep almost instantly, drained from the day of suffering.

Dave walks in the kitchen and lets himself go on one of the chairs surrounding the table. Sitting right in front of him, Blaine is meddling with the radio, searching through the frequencies to find the right one.

“How’s he?” he asks, concentrating on the little numbers appearing on the led.

Dave shrugs, resting his head over his crossed arms on the table. “Asleep. Finally.”

“And how are you?” Blaine asks, this time looking at him with that spark of compassion in his eyes that Dave’s starting to love and hate at the same time.

“Fine,” he answers. Blaine knows it’s a lie, anyway. “You didn’t find it yet?”

“Almost there,” Blaine says, and soon after that the buzzing coming from the radio starts to turn into words. They both listen closely, in perfect silence.

“To whoever still lives and listens out there, this is the seventy-second bulletin from Toronto oasis,” a pause, some buzzing, Blaine meddles with the knob to set the frequency better and, in a couple of seconds, the metallic voice coming from the device is filling the silent air of the kitchen again. “The alive population has decreased of another 2.5% in the last seven days. Paris, Shizuoka and New Delhi are lost. The last oasis fell on Monday, Thursday and a couple of hours ago, as far as we know. The British Museum oasis in London is out of food. If there’s a nearby oasis that is getting this message: they need supplies now.”

Dave sighs, covering his face with both his hands and rubbing it to keep himself from burst into tears. “Why do you even listen to this shit?” he asks, “It’s always bad news.”

Blaine shushes him softly, waving a hand in mid-air. The voice starts talking again. “The fifth clinical trial for the cure has ended yesterday. The result was a failure. The cure isn’t working yet. I repeat: the fifth clinical trial for the cure has ended yesterday, and the result was a failure. The cure isn’t working yet.” The man speaking takes a couple of seconds of silence, holding his breath. “God…” he says after a while, “We’re almost there. It doesn’t work, but it will. Just… hold on. Whoever you are, wherever you’re lost… hold on.”

The communication is cut off right after, and the voice fades away to make room for the low, regular buzzing of the radio.

“Yeah,” Dave snorts, standing up and turning the radio off with a frustrated slap, “Yeah, that was definitely worth listening,” he says, leaving the kitchen and walking upstairs.

Blaine sighs, putting the radio away and then sitting back on the chair, rubbing his eyes and then resting his chin on his palm as he looks at the dark night outside the window.

They have to hold on. If Dave can’t, Blaine’s going to have to do it for him too.

*
When the soldiers come is past lunchtime. Dave and Blaine have spent good part of the morning tending to Kurt, who's not having a good day at all. He has woken up feeling sick already and thrown up the little he had for dinner the night before. Since then, he has been restless and nervous like never before. Everything seems to bother him a great deal, resulting in fits of rage or tears, depending on how much pain is involved.

Dave had really hoped there would not be any visitors today because they are the last thing Kurt need right now, but of course the soldiers' jeep shows up behind the hill like it has done for the past six weeks.

Since the Lima Oasis found out Dave and Kurt were missing, not a day has passed without the soldiers coming over to ask Blaine if he has seen anything. Dave doesn't know if it's because they suspect something or if they are just sure he is going to see them sooner or later.

When it happens, Dave and Kurt have to go in the basement, and be as quite as possible until the patrol squad goes away. Dave is so sick and tired of doing this. He wonders why the command has decided to grow a heart just now and keeps looking for them instead of giving up right away like he has always done for every missing person since the colony's institution.

“They're coming. You better get going,” Blaine says, watching from behind the curtains of the kitchen's window. He takes the shovel next to the door to give them the impression he has something to do and he can't waste too much time with them. “I'll try to keep them out of the house. You just keep quiet.”

Kurt is sitting on a chair and he shivers badly. “I don't wanna go downstairs,” he says. He's nervously passing his fingers through his hair and every time he does, a lock of it comes away.

Dave quickly crosses the room and put a little canvas hat on Kurt's head, both to stop him from tearing at his hair and not to see his scalp quickly revealing underneath it. Sometimes he feels the only one worrying about things like these and he doesn't know if this is a good thing or not. “I know, honey. But it won't be long, I promise.”

“We just got out from there,” he protests.

Last time they got in the basement was yesterday. Dave closes his eyes and tries to bear the wave of sadness that clings to his heart and squeezes it at the thought that Kurt is confusing the events, now. He has been suspecting it all along, because Kurt is having problems keeping track of time lately, but he had just hoped it was the pain confusing him, not his mind losing its way in the disease.

“It wont' be long, babe. I swear,” he repeats. He gently grabs his wrist and takes him toward the door that leads to the basement. Eventually, Kurt obeys and follows him. As they close the door, they hear the jeep stop and Blaine greet the soldiers in the most cheerful way he manages to pull out.

The basement welcomes them with nothing but foul air and cold drafts. They brought in there some furniture from one of the upstairs rooms that nobody uses, but it is not enough to make this place cozy.

Kurt walks around and he hugs himself, his eyes glued to the floor to avoid looking at the chain on the walls and at the stains on the floor, each marking one of his previous attacks.

Dave leans on the door and listens. He can tell Blaine is on the porch, casually leaning against one of the columns to block the entrance of the house. He hears him pointing out to the soldiers what a beautiful day it is and that they haven't seen any zombie today. They actually never see zombies around here. The house is too deep in the country for the nearest city's zombies to venture there.

“Dave, I'm sick,” Kurt murmurs, hugging himself more. His teeth are chattering and he feels awfully tired. The simple act of walking is wearing him out but he doesn't wanna stop moving because he is not sure he will be able to stand up again if he just sit down for a moment. “I'm really sick.”

The soldiers are talking too much. Ten minutes have passed and they are still here. Dave didn't hear the main door open again and their voices are muffled, so they are still outside, but he doesn't like them being around for so long. He turns to see Kurt walking around restlessly and swinging his head a little obsessively, which is always a bad sign. “Why don't you go over there and sit on the couch,” he suggests, whispering. “You can take a nap, so time will pass more quickly.”

“I am sick,” Kurt repeats. He doesn't really speak, though. He just murmurs the first one or two words, then goes on mumbling the rest of the sentence, if there is any. Dave knows what it means when Kurt starts doing that and he can't really let it happen now.

“Oh God, no.” Dave goes down the stairs as quickly but silently as he can. “Listen, babe, listen to me.”

Kurt turns to him, following the sound of his voice but when he looks at him, his eyes are empty. Dave can see the light in them dimming by the second. “Something is not right,” he says, completely lost in whatever time or place is in his mind. “I feel strange.”

“I know you do, but listen. Listen to me, Kurt, please. Just, focus on me. ” Dave takes him by his shoulders and gently forces him to turn. He tries to keep eye contact with him, but Kurt always looks away, his head hanging like it is too heavy for him to keep it up. “Kurt, I know it's hard but please, just look at me. Do that for me, okay? Just fight it back a little longer. As soon as they're gone, I will let you rest. I promise you.”

Kurt whines, giving up on words all together. He just stands there, barely moving except for the constant swinging. These are the worst moments because suddenly he looks exactly like one of those creatures, even though he has been talking and moving just the moment before. His brain just turns off for a while, sometimes several minutes at a time, and the periods are getting longer and longer. It makes Dave's heart hurt so much seeing him like that.

He brings himself to hug him and strokes his skinny back and pretends to ignore the feeling of his spine getting more and more distinct every day. Dave is ashamed and he hates himself for thinking this, but Kurt is starting to gross him out, let alone scare him. His body is deteriorating, there aren't other words to say it, which means Kurt is not only falling a part but he smells too. What it has been only a vague foul odor around his neck, it is now expanding to the rest of him and it is as bad as it can be. It would remind Dave what is going on, even if it weren't so painfully clear. Sometimes a voice in the back of his head tells him this must be the limit, that the disease will not let him go further without getting dangerous for him too. But he just shuts it down and keeps going.

“Everything is going to be alright,” Dave says, looking at the door above them, swinging back and forth together with him, so at least he can pretend this is something they are doing on purpose. “Just hang in there a little longer. Blaine is sending them away.”

But Blaine is not. Actually, he goes back inside and asks the soldiers if he can offer them something to drink and he does that in a loud, clear voice, going on forever about homemade orange juice to make sure Dave can hear him an know what is going on.

“Shit. Why can't they just leave?” He whispers.

Dave is about to gently move Kurt to the couch when he suddenly becomes aware of the humming sound he is making. It is actually a low growl, coming from the back of Kurt's throat and giving him the chills. “Please, Kurt, not now. Please, just—”

But it is useless. For the moment, he is gone.

Kurt snaps at him, growling louder. His eyes focus on him but they are empty. Dave is quick at grabbing both his wrists before he can jump at his neck and bite. At this point, it's fear more than caring that helps him restraining Kurt quickly. The chains are fastened about six feet from the ground and hang from there keeping Kurt from moving more than three feet away from the wall. Kurt doesn't understand it, anyway. He keeps pulling and pulling like if he is not even chained. Whatever force governs his mind right now, it only tells him to walk toward Dave. And he will until his body eventually shuts down and he falls asleep.


Hopefully or not – he doesn't even know anymore – Kurt will wake up himself again.

Dave passes a hand over his face. He feels tired as if he hasn't slept for ages. He knows Kurt is making too much noise right now and that if the soldiers hear him, they will come downstairs and put him down. But he doesn't know what to do and maybe, just maybe, a tiny part of him desperately wants to give up. If it happens like this, it is not too bad. It is not, is it?

Kurt's growls seem to grow louder and louder. They will come, he just knows they will, and then it will be over. He closes his eyes and covers his ears, realizing he doesn't want to see or hear what is about to happen. How bad is it that he won't do anything to stop them, but he has not the guts to watch?

Nonetheless, when they touch his shoulder, he springs on his feet and yells.

“Wait! Don't hurt him!”

Blaine smiles sadly at him. “Don't worry,” he murmurs. “They are gone.”

It takes Dave a few moments to realize what's going on. He stares blankly at Blaine's face and then looks around and sees Kurt hanging from the chains. He passed out. “What...?”

“You were zoning out, I guess.”

Dave rubs his eyes and tries to pull himself together again. “It's been a tough one.”

“I know.” Blaine sighs and then sits next to him on the couch. They stare into nothing for the longest moment, both avoiding Kurt's slouched figure. “Dave, I don't know how to say this, but... We really need to do something. We can't keep going on like this. It is not fair for anyone.”

Dave nods, slowly. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he can actually say something. “For a moment today, I thought I was ready to... you know,” he swallows hard. He can't even say the word, how can he go through with it? “But I'm not, Blaine. I look at him and I see what little is left of him in there. But at least it's something and it's still there and I can't let it go.”

He starts crying and Blaine holds him close, trying to soothe him. Dave hasn't cried much since they've been here. All his tension and sadness was just bound to explode sooner or later.

“I know it's going to happen,” Dave says after a while, sniffing. “And I know it's going to happen soon. But as long as he will open his eyes and recognize me, I will never have the strength to do it.”

Blaine strokes his hair and sighs. “You know, there is still something we could try.”

Dave looks up confusedly. “What do you mean?”

Blaine has been thinking this for days now but he hasn't said a word because he didn't want to give Dave false hopes. “We can't stay here anymore,” he says, staring at him. “Kurt is not getting any better and every time the soldiers come, we risk a little more. If he goes on like this, in a week or two his conscious periods will be less than the raging ones. And if it happens, you know the next step is the coma.”

The mere word brings back tears to Dave's eyes. “There is nothing we can do about it. Medicines don't work on him anymore.”

“We can't do anything. But maybe other people can,” Blaine says. “In a couple of days we can be in Canada. The radio says their vaccine is almost working. Maybe it can't turn people back, but it can make them better.”

Dave doesn't answer and, for the longest moment, they both stay quiet.

“If we pack now, we can leave in the morning,” Dave says eventually, clearing up his throat. “Kurt should be awake by then.”

“We take the jeep, so he can lie in the back seats,” Blaine nods, sharing his disenchanted tone of voice as they both stare at the door of the basement without seeing it. “And we can take turn driving, so we won't need to stop.”

Dave just nods. They really can try.

*
Dave puts the last suitcase on the jeep and slams the trunk closed.

He walks around the car to reach the passenger's seat. Kurt's feeling well today and he even manages to smile under the peak of his cap, shading his face from the burning sun. Dave even smiles back and pushes his nose with the tip of his finger to tease him. “Alright, we can go,” he says and Blaine nods, starting the engine.

At the sound of Kurt's voice asking for some music to listen to for once, everything seems suddenly so very possible. And it doesn't matter if it's probably not.

They just need to believe so.

A BEAUTIFUL SUNSET MISTAKEN FOR DAWN
PART I
The waiting room was small and clean but so unadorned it gave away its true nature. The legal alchemical facilities were warm, luxury environments, not at all unlike those beauty salons where people went to enjoy some relaxing time, being given massages and experiencing colorful and warm bath in those chromotherapy rooms that were the last trend in beauty care.

There were very few maladies that alchemy could not cure – all of them being rare, almost naturally extinguished diseases that only still remained in filthy places like the Dump – so people weren't scared to go to the hospitals anymore because nothing could really kill them. Therefore, health facilities had become friendly places; each diagnostic room was finely decorated, there were real cafeterias inside the buildings and waiting rooms came with all comforts and sometimes shops too, exams and operation rooms where considered along the same lines as said shops, so that hospitals had become parts of malls where people could hang out like in any other places.

That was the reason why that waiting room was so strikingly different.

Its bare walls and very few ornaments, its small size and hidden location spoke of poverty and urgency, of a place quickly set up and ready to be quickly dismantled if needed. It was a place that was there in that moment but hadn't been there the day before and whose next location would not be revealed until the very last moment.

It had taken Kurt nearly a month to find this one. The alchemist was very secretive about it and she only spoke through ciphered messages on the city's walls. Kurt had had to find out how to contact an outlaw alchemist – that kind of knowledge wasn't exactly on the newspapers – then learn their secret language and follow one of them throughout the city slums and out of the city walls as she left messages for the people who needed her to understand. It hadn't been easy and, with Dave being busy with work, Kurt had had to do all the research on his own, so it had been long too.

Now, he and his husband were sitting in the little waiting room of an illegal alchemist's lab together with ten other people who were asking, like them, for things legal alchemy was forbidden by law to give them or were too poor to afford a real alchemist in a real facility. Like the woman whose baby had been crying non stop since the moment they arrived. The baby couldn't be more than five or six months old and judging by his flushed cheeks and lucid eyes he was feverish.

Sitting next to Kurt, Dave was trying not to stare at all those poor and suffering people, among whom he could easily pick out the few coming straight from the Dump. He had never been there himself but he knew how people looked liked in that part of the city. They were usually skinny – almost famished – boys and girls, with tired eyes always covered in old traces of ordinary make up and a generally sick appearance. Exactly like the girl sitting in front of him right now. She had long and dirty blond hair and she was shivering badly under an old, gray blanket. Her boyfriend held her hand and tried to soothe her by whispering nonsense to her ear.

Dave searched for Kurt's hand too and held it lovingly, looking at the way their fingers entwined. “Are you nervous?” He asked.

Kurt took his hand and played with his fingers nervously; a fair enough answer to his husband's question. “I am,” he said, looking down. “I have so many questions, and none of this is even guaranteed!”

Dave circled Kurt's shoulders with his strong arm, holding him closer but not too much, as to not be inappropriate. Public displays of affection were allowed only if limited to hugs and holding hands; kisses – of every nature – were not forbidden, but still frowned upon and strongly discouraged. “Everything is going to be alright. We are only going to do it if it's safe for you and if results are sure to come,” he tried to reassure him. “I am not putting your life in any danger, especially if these two conditions are not fulfilled.”

Kurt immediately shook his head. “That’s not what I’m worried about at all,” he said. “I know this is right, but I was stupidly expecting something different, and that made me wonder what else I'm expecting that will turn out completely different.”

He had been dreaming about this day for a very long time, now. In each one of his dreams, they were waiting for a doctor in a far away but beautiful clinic, along with other people like them. Instead, this place was gray and sad, and somehow these gloomy surroundings affected Kurt's mood, as he felt like the place where they were going to conceive their baby was supposed to be completely different. But again, he knew very well the place and method didn't matter. The only thing that counted was their will to have a child and they weren't lacking that.

“So you were actually expecting something,” Dave let out a nervous chuckle. “I didn't know what to expect before, and I don't know what to expect now. But seeing you so scared is scaring me, too. I know you said this is right, but you do know we can still go away, don't you?”

Kurt turned to him, his eyes slightly darker than before. “We have no other choice, Dave,” he murmured, looking around to see if someone was listening but everyone was minding their own business, too busy with their problems to care about Kurt's. “You know that. This is the only chance we have.”

“We could still, you know, adopt. It would be less dangerous and... I don't know.” Dave hugged him some more and rubbed his arm, while the baby started crying again. “This place is making me feel uncomfortable.”

“I want my own baby,” Kurt looked down to their hands, the ghost of hundreds of previous conversations between them lingering in his mind. “I thought you agreed with me on this.”

“I do! I do, Kurt, you know I do,” Dave answered, quickly. “I'm just worried for you, for us. And I don't know if this is the right choice, but you know I'm with you, whatever you decide.”

Kurt sighed and tried to calm down. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, after all; even if a small part of himself was screaming in fear, the other – much bigger and way more stubborn – was going to do as it wanted, no matter the risks. Kurt had always been ruled by his own heart. And his heart wanted this baby more than anything he had ever wanted.

“I know this place feels weird and it makes me uncomfortable too, but they say she is good and that she has helped many people! I want to stay and at least talk to her.” He stopped because the baby's crying was turning louder and louder and two people started coughing at the same time, neither of them seemed feeling very well. Kurt met the eyes of the child's mother, who was busy cradling her baby. In them he saw the same kind of desperate hope he had seen in his own, looking at himself in the mirror lately. “I want to take this chance if she can give it to us, no matter how nervous I am. Or how scared. This is the only thing I want, Dave.”

Dave gave him a little smile and lightly patted Kurt on his small and fragile shoulder. “Alright, then. Let's just hope she receives us soon.”

As if summoned by Dave's words, the alchemist opened the unlabeled door that led to her laboratory, seeing a very old and fragile-looking lady out. She was a very beautiful Latino woman, with slightly dark skin and beautiful but cold and distant eyes which burned like fire under the red hood of the cape she wore. She didn't smile to the old lady but still the woman smiled kindly to her in return, like she was very happy and satisfied.

Santana Lopez was once one of the best alchemists of the city but some time before she had done something that she shouldn't have and she had been banished not only from the order, but from the city as well.

The truth behind her banishment was littered with rumors, so much that Kurt had only learned half of it, because the people she was helping now and loved her were very reluctant to speak about it and for everyone else, she was as good as dead. The only piece of information he had managed to scrape was that she had been involved in male pregnancy; one of the worst sin against Gods, which also happened to be the very reason he had been so determined to find her.

He had never met her in person, though. And Kurt was finding out that she was younger and way more beautiful than he had expected her to be. Her past and her work had suggested she was one of those old wrinkled women who had tried her luck at the end of her life and career, but the Santana Lopez he was looking at now was nowhere near her thirty and didn't have the look for the job at all, which made him – and probably Dave too – more nervous than he was already.

He didn't have the time to consider how or if this had changed his heart about the whole matter, because the alchemist glanced over the room and her gaze landed on him and Dave who were the next in line.

“Come inside,” she ordered, and then went back in her laboratory, without waiting for them. The door closed behind her, yet another barrier you had to be willing to pass if you wanted to see her.

Everybody had looked up when she had opened the door, but nobody dared to speak to her. So, Kurt and Dave stood up to follow her in utter silence, which was the clearest sign of the great reverence everybody had for her. Dave had experienced the same kind of silence only in presence of Priests.

Dave was very nervous because that woman scared him a lot. Not only because, as any other alchemist, she was probably capable of things he could not even begin to explain, but also because she was so much stronger than the women – and compared to Kurt, also the men – he was used to see and deal with in the City; modest and fragile creatures, lacking that fierceness she introduced herself with. She also dressed differently from other women he knew. Her pants were clearly manly, as it was the shirt she wore under her long red cape which seemed more for concealing herself when she walked down the streets than a symbol of her position, like it was for a normal alchemist.

Her firm behavior and her cold eyes did very little to make him feel comfortable, when they entered the laboratory. She was surrounded by a scary and powerful aura that could just have been charisma but, with the little Dave knew about alchemy, could just as well have been mere black magic. “Good evening, Miss Lopez,” he greeted her politely, anyway. He looked around to find a chair where Kurt could sit but, finding none, he gently led him in a corner and stood there next to him, trying to comfort him out of the same awkwardness he was feeling.

“You can just call me Santana,” she said offhandedly, turning her back to them as she was busy cleaning something she supposedly used to help the old lady before, in a little steel sink. “We do without surnames and titles down here. We are all a bunch of common names.”

Dave cleared his throat, as Kurt searched for his hand again and let his husband speak as the protocol bound him to do in public, even though he was the one concerning the whole process they came to ask for. “We are very grateful that you accepted to receive us today, Miss Santana,” Dave said, with a little bow of his head, while Kurt was doing the same next to him. “It really means a lot to us.”

“Yes, I guessed as much,” she said, nodding vaguely. Then, she turned around, drying her hands on a rag and weighed the two of them up carefully. None of them had thought to dress any less elegant than usual, so they looked quite out of place in her laboratory. “You know, the temple of the Priests is right behind the corner, comfortably inside the city walls,” she continued, an half annoyed half patronizing smile curling her lips just slightly. “Or if you are not religious, which is not so uncommon nowadays, I can give you the address of one or two alchemical labs more suitable for people of your kind.”

Dave frowned. “We already know where the nearest temple is, and we're perfectly aware of numerous alchemists' addresses in the whole city,” he said, curtly. “We came to you, though, because our request is of a kind that calls for your particular intervention.”

She slowly raised an eyebrow and looked at him, totally unimpressed. “Then, what kind of 'particular' intervention brings a young upper-class couple like you to my door?” She asked, putting the rag away and leaning against the sink. “Do you need drugs? More gold? I must inform you that contrarily to what someone might have told you, I - or any other alchemist for that matter - can't bring loved ones, human or pets, back to life. At least not without a considerable amount of time, money and only to give back to you a pathetic, idiotic copy of what you lost.”

Dave frowned even more, struggling to keep his composure. He wasn't known to be a staid man. He raged easily for the smallest thing. And now, on top of all his nervousness, tension and fear, this woman was being highly inappropriate and kind of unnerving. “We're not here for this, thank you,” she said. “We came to ask
for... a change. We heard you're the right person for that.”

At these words, Santana's smile faded and her gaze turned distant and cold again as it was a few moments before. She sensed that they were there for something big, but she had to be careful because the agents where everywhere, and with elections due in a couple of months both candidates were eager for some good arrest. For what she knew, those two could mean trouble.

“Yes, I perform changes,” she said as she reached a long table in the center of the room. It was crowded with alembics and little bowls full of all kind of ingredients, that she carefully moved aside to make room for a big, old-looking book. “What kind of change do you need? Skin color, hair color? I can even change the color of your eyes, it is not that hard,” she continued, flipping through the pages and making a list of all perfectly legal alchemical processes.

“No,” Dave started shaking his head before she could even finish. “It's not something so simple. And, honestly, if it was for such a trivial matter we would have asked some chemicals to a regular alchemist. We wouldn't have bothered to come here, with all the risks that a situation like this implies for us. So, please, just listen. We know you can do what we're asking for.”

Santana sighed. Usually agents lacked in desperation, while these men had plenty in their eyes. Plus, while the big one could have been an officer, the other one surely wasn't; with his delicate features and his worried expression, he seemed more suitable to rule a house than work for the government. It couldn't hurt to at least let them speak. It didn't mean she was also going to say yes.

She closed her book and nodded, her hands inside her sleeves. “I'm listening.”

Kurt cleared his throat, looking down as he spoke. “I'd like for you to change me, to...” he dared to look up at her “to change my body so I can bear a child of my own.”

Santana's eyes turned even colder and more distant at the sole mention of that. She turned around quickly and resumed cleaning and moving around things that didn't need to be moved at all. “What you ask is not within the common lines of the recognized alchemy,” she said nervously and annoyed. “I assume you know what it means.”

She actually didn't. Nobody ever knew what it meant or what they were even asking for. Nobody understood the extent of the crime it represented. Changing a male body so that it was fit to bear a child was a magnificent alchemical process, the proof that men and nature – that men and Gods, in her opinion – could work together and create something, create life. And yet the Priests considered it a sin, something to punish. According to her, that was only because they couldn't do the same with their prayers.

She had lost a career over her convictions. She didn't want to lose anything else, if it wasn't worth it.

“That's why we're here!” Dave said. He was starting to get really upset. This woman didn't understand anything. Or she pretended to, which was even worse.

Kurt placed a hand on Dave's in order to keep him quiet and keep talking calmly. “Actually, we don't know exactly what it means,” he explained. “We heard you're the right person to ask to, but we don't know what it will take. So that's why we're here, now. We'd like to ask you a couple of questions, to see if this can work for us. And then we're going to decide on what to do.”

Santana didn't like the bigger man. Or at least, she didn't like his way to bark at her every time she didn't answer exactly what he wanted to hear. Even though she could relate to his way of reacting, because she would probably do the same if the roles were reversed.

Anyway, she had said she would have listened, so she was going to. But first, they needed to be told this was going to be no piece of cake. She had known too many rich people who were persuaded that alchemy was fairy tale magic, able to accomplish everything they could imagine, with no more consequences than a sprinkle of fairy dust over their precious satin dresses, to let them go on without saying a word about it.

“Before you ask me anything, know this,” she said, looking seriously at them. “What you want from me is not only against the law of Gods, but also extremely dangerous for a few reasons you might understand and for a lot more you don't, even if you should. It is not certain and not abiding. Given that, ask your questions.”

Kurt moistened his lips and opened his mouth to ask something, but Dave was faster. “Is it going to be dangerous for Kurt or the baby? Are they going to risk their lives or suffer? Is the baby going to...” he searched for the right words “to be fine?”

That was not even remotely the point, but she was expecting those kind of questions. People always wanted to know if they were going to suffer; as if suffering was the worst that could happen. “As far as your husband is concerned, the risk for him only depends on the medical assistance he will have after the process. Men are not supposed to give birth, so during his pregnancy he might experience ugly discomforts that won't be fatal to him if treated right,” she explained as clearly as she possibly could. “The baby, however is a different matter. Usually everything goes well, but it's an unstable process which sometimes leads to unstable results.”

Dave instantly shut up because what he wanted to say now was that if there was even the remote possibility that the child was going to have problems, then the risk wasn't worth it. But he knew how much it meant for Kurt and that the choice ultimately depended on him. So, he kept his mouth closed and waited.

Kurt nodded, assimilating the information. “I want to know what is the process going to take practically,” he asked furthermore. “What will you have to do to me? How does it all work?”

Santana appreciated that the man wanted to know all the details and she was determined not to hold back on anything, no matter how unpleasant. What she wasn't sure about it was that he or his husband could handle the information. “I will make a concoction that will help your body relax and give up all the possible restrains that would hamper the intervention,” she answered. “Then I will perform the alchemy on you. In order to create something – which is to say an uterus to contain the baby – you will have to give up something else. The process will settle itself with my help, but this basically means that all your internal organs will be redistributed, removed when possible, dislocated, changed to fit in a smaller space. Everything will be back to normal after you give birth.”

Dave opened his eyes wide. He was terrified. “This seems painful,” he cringed. “What does it mean he will have to give up something else? What will he lose?”

Santana shook her head. “We cannot say, at the moment. But the human body is prone to adapt to survive,” she explained, pointing at the anatomical graph hanging on the wall behind her. “So whatever he loses, he won't need it to survive and if he does, what remains will be modified to bear the new condition. I'm here to make sure of that.”

Dave didn't like it at all and he felt in no way reassured, but once again, it wasn't his call. Kurt nodded again. If he was reconsidering, he didn't show. “I see,” he said, thinking about it thoroughly. “What is the ritual consisting in? What will you have to do to get the process done?”

“I won't need to cut you open, if this is what you are afraid of,” Santana said, with barely the hint of a smile on her cherry-red lips. “In fact, I won't touch you at all. It will be the energy of the process to get in contact with your own energy and work with it, which will result in your body to mutate. What you'd have drunk before will help you bear the pain.”

“So, he's going to drink something, and then what?” Dave finally cut in, unable to stay quiet any longer. “Am I going to be by his side? Will we do it here? We need to know everything. I won't let you do anything if I don't know exactly every single step of the process.”

Kurt looked at him. “Dave, please.”

“No, I want to know,” he insisted, stubbornly. “I need to know.”

Santana was totally unaffected by Dave's nervousness. She actually didn't care much. As an alchemist – for such she still considered herself – she wasn't compelled to show empathy to her clients unless she was working in a medical facility. But she wasn't and she had actually never had.

“We would do it in here or somewhere else, that depends on how much time will pass until our next meeting,” she answered. “If you want, you can stay with him, but you won't be allowed to touch him because your energy would interfere with his. The process will last from half an hour to one hour and half and I can only start it. Once it is started, it can't be stopped. After that you will have a very short window of time to get him pregnant before the process, unstable as it is, goes reverse for good.”

Kurt opened his eyes wide and blushed furiously because he had never heard someone talking so shamelessly about such a private matter. Let alone a complete stranger. Dave was shocked too. He didn't blush like his husband did, but he was quite outraged. “What-- what do you mean? How much time will we have?”

Santana shook her head for what it felt like the millionth time, completely blind to their widen eyes. “Again, I don't know exactly. It's different for everyone, but you will want to do it as quickly as you can. It's probably better if you take a room around here. Not the perfect place to make a baby, I agree. But time plays an important role in this.”

“A-- a room?!” Kurt was really shocked now. He covered his mouth with both his hands and looked at her almost horrified. Inns in that part of the city were no places for them; just filthy appendixes of all the brothels crowding the Dump nearby. He was not going to conceive his baby there.

Dave caught his discomfort and shared it with him. “Why don't you leave this to us? Thanks.” He inhaled and exhaled, and then he tried to lead the conversation elsewhere. “How much will it cost? We are aware the services you offer are not cheap.”

“And this one in particular is not cheap at all,” she confirmed. “Considering the risks with the Priests and the results, plus all the materials I will need, it's gonna cost you one hundred thousand.”

“One-one hundred thousands?!” Dave's eyes grew even wider and he turned pale. “We don't have all that money! It's... it's too much!”

Kurt bit his inner cheek, panic striking him more strongly now than it had before when Santana was telling him how his body was going to change. Money seemed a way bigger problem now that he knew the exact amount of them they will need. Being the one who managed the house, he knew very well their financial situation and they didn't have so much money. He actually wouldn't know how to collect it all, Dave's job being their only mean of support. Even using what they had cached over the years, they couldn't withdraw such a conspicuous amount from their bank accounts without declaring the reason for it. Lying wouldn't have worked either, because rumors would have easily spread.

“How much did you think it would cost?” Santana asked, half surprised half annoyed by their naivety. “We are talking about making him able to do something nature hadn't originally planned him to do. Things like these don't come for free.”

“Not for free, but not for a fortune either,” Dave said. “There's no way we can afford it at this price. I'm sure there must be a way to make things a little less expensive.”

“Please, Miss,” Kurt cut in, on the verge of tears. “We want this to happen. We want this chance. You may be right when you say that the Gods didn't plan for me to be able to get pregnant. But maybe, if they really didn't want this at all, they wouldn't even made people like you able to provide a service that makes male pregnancy possible. If you could consider taking a step toward us, maybe lowering the price a little, we could consider taking a step toward you and try to gather as much money as we can. Please.”

Santana was not in any way moved by his tears, but she had a soft spot when it came to the Gods wanting her to do what she did, which was exactly what she herself thought. Alchemy existed because Gods made it possible, so thinking about part of it as illegal or unnatural had no sense whatsoever for her.

“Alright. I can lower the price to sixty thousand, which is hardly more than half the price and I barely get something out of it.”

Sixty thousand were not in any way more affordable than one hundred, but they were something less, at least. It was a hope Kurt was going to cling to as much as he could. He instantly smiled, the tears in his eyes turning from sadness to joy. “Thanks. That's really kind and generous of you.” He felt the need to hold her hand in gratitude but somehow she didn't seem the kind of person who would have allowed him that. “We appreciate it a lot, really.”

Dave didn't say anything. He had no idea where Kurt thought he could find sixty thousands dollars. He averted his eyes and just held Kurt's hand when his husband searched for his.

“I will get what is needed,” the alchemist nodded. “And as soon as you have the money, we can proceed.”

After that, there wasn't much left to say. Santana saw them to the door, as she had done with the old lady and soon they were out in the warm air of June.

*
By the time they reached the house it was past midnight.

They had to go to the alchemist after sunset, to avoid the risk to be seen or recognized by someone they knew. They even took their second carriage, the old one they never used anymore and was always parked in the garage. The driver was surprised, but well trained enough not to ask questions. He was an old, wise man who had worked all his life for Kurt's family and had been part of Kurt's dowry when he had married Dave. He had no interest in ruining his masters' life.

Dave opened the door for Kurt and they walked inside. The house was dark and quiet, the few servants who worked for them had gone to bed already and the only sound they could hear was the peaceful, almost soothing buzzing of the communication system coming from the media room.

The house was beautiful, and way bigger than Dave's job would have allowed. It had belonged to the Karofsky family for generations, and passed from father to first born over the years. Kurt had come to live there during his engagement period with Dave, as the tradition wanted. Dave's parents had lived with them after the marriage for five years before they both died within a month of each other.

It was a two stored house with one of those traditional big foyer that were so rare in more recent houses and a little but lovely backyard where Kurt was growing red roses. But it had too many rooms for the two of them alone. It was time for them to have children.

Dave helped his husband out of his coat and put it carefully on the hanger by the door. He was pretty sad and discouraged for the talk they had with the alchemist, who made it all seem harder to accomplish - not to mention expensive – than what they had originally thought. He was expecting the process to be quite complicated and he was ready to make all the sacrifices that would have been needed. But the price she asked was too high. Now, he felt like they didn't stand a chance and he was worried that Kurt could take it badly. He had put so much in it.

Instead, Kurt was so madly in love with the idea of having a baby of his own that he would not let anything discourage him, as crazy and complicated as it could be. They hadn't spoken on their way back, and he waited for them to be inside the house before breaking the silence.

“We should start thinking about what we need to do, now.”

Dave sighed deeply. He saw it coming. He took off his coat, putting it with his husband's and then unbuttoned the first buttons of the neck-high shirt he was wearing. “Which would be? I'm telling you, Kurt, I'm not sure this is actually something we can do at all. I don't want you to get too much emotionally invested.”

Kurt looked up at him, instantly worried. “What do you mean? Of course we can. She said it is possible.”

“She also said we need an amount of money that we don't have right now, Kurt. And I don't know how we could find it. We could use our savings, but you know that every withdraw must be justified to the bank,” Dave said, sighing again as he sat down on his favorite armchair near the fireplace. “...Then I don't like what she said about you changing inside.”

“I need to, in order to bear our child. I know the idea is upsetting,” he stroke his tummy, thoughtfully, “but it makes sense if you think about that. The baby will need space.”

Dave looked at Kurt's hand drawing circles on his tummy and swallowed. He realized he had never really thought about how it would work in practice. The idea of internal organs moving was upsetting enough as it was, but a baby actually being inside Kurt for nine months was suddenly even weirder.

“I know, but she made it seems painful.“ He looked at him with sadness in his eyes. “I don't want you to feel any pain. I don't even know how you are supposed to give birth after I... you know.”

“I suppose they will do what they do when women have troubles giving birth.”

Dave shivered from head to toes and tried to take the thought out of his mind. Even with the generally clean and almost never invasive use of alchemy in medicine, C-section were still pretty bloody affairs. “Alright, then, we have to keep... we've got to keep our minds on the task. Be focused,” he said. “Maybe I could ask for a loan. I mean, outside the banks circuit.”

“I don't think that is a good idea. Those kind of deals are really dangerous.” Kurt shook his head as he went to the drinks cupboard and poured himself something to drink. “We can't take that risk with a baby on the way.”

Dave frowned a little. “I can handle it. I promised I'd take care of you and our family. It's not that hard. I'll ask for a loan and then I'll keep for myself a bit of the business' profits. In six or eight months we will be set.”

“What if something goes wrong with the business? All kind of things can happen,” Kurt went to sit next to him on the couch and lifted his legs, so he could put his feet on his husband's lap. Dave started massaging them right away. “It's better if we don't have debts of any kind. Maybe we can sell this house and live in the summer house.”

What he called summer house was actually a little building, not much bigger than a cabin, Dave's father had used when he'd go fishing during week ends. It was not far from the city and they went there for a week or two every summer so Kurt could sunbath and Dave could take over his father's hobby, but still run back to his office in a couple of hours if he needed to. However, the summer house was not meant to be lived in for real. It didn't even have a proper kitchen.

Dave made a face. “In the summer house?” He asked. “That's too small and basically on the seaside, outside the city walls. You can't really live there, with a baby to booth. Please, be serious. There must be another way, Kurt. Somebody we could ask, something we could do...”

Kurt stayed quiet for a while, lost in thoughts. Then, after a few moments, he reached out to the coffee table for one of the many phone receivers that were scattered all around the house. He turned it on and opened to the phonebook, quickly browsing through it. “Maybe there is someone.”

Dave raised his eyes on him and arched an eyebrow, moving his hands up Kurt's legs to massaging his ankles. “Who? Someone you know?”

“You know him too.” Kurt smiled, finding the name he was looking for. He checked on line the number he had to see if it was still the same. It was. He looked up at Dave. “What about Blaine?”

Dave frowned even more. He never liked the guy. “What? What about him?”

The number was connected to Blaine's personal profile on every social network and to his business' site. Kurt quickly browsed through them. He hadn't seen Blaine for months now, but nothing seemed changed in his life. “He buys and sells stuff all the time!” Kurt answered. “He is an art dealer. Some of the things my dad left me are really valuable. We can see if he can buy them for a good price.”

Dave got instantly grumpy. He even stopped massaging him, which was the ultimate sign of his annoyance. “I don't like that guy. I never did,” he grumbled, hardly resisting the urge to cross his arms on his chest and be completely pouting. “He was always hovering around you, even after we married. We don't need to bring him in this.”

Also, Dave didn't want to bring him into that and let Blaine know Kurt wanted something he could not provide. The man was rich behind what it should have been legal and the last thing Dave wanted was to give him the chance to take his fat wallet out of his fancy, expensive pocket and make Kurt dreams come true.

Kurt and Blaine had gone to school together when they were younger. They used to sing together in the choir of their neighbor temple and hang around with the same people, even if Kurt was one year older than Blaine. By the time Kurt was allowed to meet his assigned husband, at fifteen, the two of them lost touch with each other until Kurt's wedding, to which Blaine was invited.


Since then, Blaine had come visiting once every two or three months. A courtesy Dave could easily do without.

They had been very close during their childhood and a small part of their teen years too. So, even though they somehow grew out of their friendship as it was before, they still cared for each other a lot. Too much, according to Dave who was madly jealous of the charming way Blaine had with Kurt.

However, Kurt didn't take Dave's worries seriously. Mainly because it had never been that way with him and Blaine. “Blaine Anderson and I are just friends, Dave. You know that already.”

Dave had heard him saying that a million times already and of course he believed that, because Kurt had never given him reasons not to, but still Blaine's name made his hands tingle. “Of course I know, but still I don't like him,” he said. “And most of all, I don't like what he became after he lost his fiancée. Losing him made him reckless.”

Gods had not been very good with Blaine, whose assigned husband had died at the age of thirteen, before they could even met. According to the tradition, only the Priests could assign one person to another, which meant you could not marry anyone else, unless the Priests found it for you.

That never happened for Blaine, who had been alone since then.

Kurt put on a very sympathetic face, like every time he thought about Blaine's situation. “You should be more understanding,” he scolded him. “His fiancée's death was hard on him. He never really recovered. As a matter of fact, we should see him more often, instead of letting all these months pass between visits. Plus, he really can help us with this.”

Dave didn't look too convinced. “I don't know, Kurt. I don't think we can trust him. It's not...” He looked for the best way to say it, since Kurt was already glaring at him. “You know, with all the rumors about where he goes and who he meets, I don't think he matches the criteria of discretion we're searching for, in this particular situation.”

“Blaine would never say a word.” Kurt gave him a little smile. “And then, it would be just a matter of days, until after we have the right amount of money. Once I'm pregnant, people can even talk, if they want to. Nobody will be able to do anything about it.”

Dave sighed and pondered the whole matter. Blaine was famous for a lot of unfortunate reasons, but most of all he was famous for how rich he was and how convenient his deals were for both parts involved. So Dave guessed that, if they really had to sell something, he was the best choice. “What were you thinking about selling?”

Kurt had been thinking about it since the very moment Blaine had come into his mind. His family wasn't rich but there were a few old and precious items that had belonged to his father and were now part of his inheritance. One in particular was very unique. Kurt felt sad at the thought of parting from it, but he was willing to do it for his child. “My father's Book,” he answered, in a low voice. “It's the most valuable of my possessions.”

Dave looked at him, shocked. “Are you serious? It's... It's our Creation Book. It was your father's. You love that book. It's the book we would have given to our child, if it was the case.”

The Creation Book was a strong and essential part of the tradition. It contained the story of how the Gods, after seeing the human race suffering for love, had decided to find the perfect match for every soul, bringing harmony and peace in the lives of all. Every man and woman who wanted to live by the Gods, followed the lessons the book contained.

Each family had his own copy, traditionally brought as part of their dowry by the wife or, in case of a same sex marriage, by the submissive element of a couple, which was chosen by the Priests between two babies at the moment of their assignation. Being a submissive - differentiation that only existed in a same sex marriage - meant taking upon himself all those assignments traditionally more related to women, like the house care and a more motherly role toward children.

For what they symbolized, Creation Books had always to be very valuable and precious pieces of art. And having belonged to his father, Kurt held his own particularly dear.

“Well, we are giving it away so our child can come into this world,” Kurt said. “It's an act of love toward him or her as well.”

Dave sighed and brushed his face with both his hands, smiling lightly. “You have already decided, haven't you?” He asked as he looked at him, already knowing what Kurt was going to answer because he knew him too well not to.

Kurt looked straight into his eyes. “I really want this, Dave. And I think we can do it.”

Dave let out a little chuckle. He was lucky to love Kurt for his stubbornness among other things, or they would have been arguing their entire life. But he liked too much the light in Kurt's eyes every time he strongly believed in something. He patted his knees with his hands and nodded. “Alright, then. Let's do this,” he said, dragging him into his arms. “But it's better if you don't call him now. It's almost two in the morning, not a good time to call art dealers. Or anyone for that matter.”

Kurt made a little noise of happiness. “I'm calling him first thing in the morning.”

Dave kissed him sweetly on the top of his head. “It's good to see you so happy.”

Kurt beamed as he look at their reflection in the lucid surface of the glass coffee table. In nine months they were going to be even happier.

LEONARD KAROFSKY-HUMMEL VS THE WORLD

Leonard is a pretty smart little kid. He has always been kind of a weirdo for one of his age, but Dave really thinks this is pretty obvious since he is Kurt’s son too, after all. He is not noisy, he is not spoiled, he is not a crybaby and he never had a thing for strangeness just for the sake of it. He is not that kind of eccentric Kurt is, he is just a little… uncommon. Maybe. Which Dave thinks is a great, great thing, because being uncommon can be good and no one knows it better than him, but really, his kid scares him, sometimes. Just slightly.

“I’m not sure I understand,” Dave says, searching for his son’s eyes while the boy just stares at his milk and cereals, swinging his legs under the table. “Leo?”

“It’s just that,” he pouts, his voice a little whiny, “all my friends’ parents are married. Or, maybe they were married and then got divorced, but they were married before. What if you and daddy get divorced without being married first? Doesn’t it sound totally not cool to you too?”

“Hey, hey!” He stops him, putting down his coffee cup and bending over him to talk in a lower voice, so Kurt, still hidden in the bathroom for his Sunday morning beauty treatment, won’t have to hear them. “What does being cool have to do with being married? That was decades ago, Leo. I thought the world had moved forward, by now.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Leo gabbles, moving uncomfortably on his chair. “It’s just that it sounds pretty cool. The flowers, the dresses, the people, the music, the food…” he sighs, shrugging. “I wouldn’t mind if you and daddy got married. Then you could have rings to throw away when you divorce.”

“Leo, please!” Dave says, looking at him with his eyes wide open, “Kurt and I are not going to leave each other or you alone anytime soon. Now, tell me who told you this divorce bullshit.”

“David Karofsky!” Kurt yells, magically appearing in the kitchen with his face still covered in a disgusting green mask that is so dry already it seems it is going to fall any minute now. It looks like his very face would fall behind it, and Dave and Leonard averts their eyes simultaneously, horrified by the exact same thought. “How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t use the B-word in front of our son?”

“I wasn’t!” Dave immediately says, lifting his hands up in the air like he has to show they are clean, “I swear.”

“He was, he’s a liar.” Leonard mumbles, going back to his cereals, but only after he is sure his father noticed the angry look he gave him. Dave just doesn’t know. When did his son lose his mind?

“Dad won’t never use that word again with you, baby,” Kurt smiles, sitting at the table and starting to drink his excessively sugared coffee. “Now, what are the plans for the day?”

“Is staying home and sleep an option?” Dave asks, tentatively, biting on his lower lip. He is so tired he could sleep for days. His kids at school are such a pain. He thought McKinley’s football team was shit when he joined it? They were geniuses compared to the kids he is coaching now. They are so clumsy and whiny and confused. At the end of the week, the only thing Dave wants is to fall on his bed, bury his face in his pillow and sleep two days straight so he will be in top shape when he has to go back on Monday and start hating everything all over again.

Obviously, the fact that he wants to sleep doesn’t mean he will be able to. At all.

“Of course not,” Kurt answers, biting at the enormous cookie he is holding with both his hands. “What about the park? It’s a wonderful day for a walk. The sun is shining, the air is fresh, birds are singing in the air—”

“And you wanna go out singing too, don’t you?” Dave smiles, looking at him with tenderness and a little bit of mockery.

Kurt’s skin, under his beauty mask, gets slightly pinker, as he quickly swallows his cookie.

“Well, maybe,” he admits with a tiny laugh. “Wanna join me?”

“I’d rather listen,” Dave says, and Leonard snorts, leaving his cereals where they are and rapidly getting up.

“So, are we going out?” He asks, he is clearly not entirely happy.

Kurt frowns, just slightly worried. “Is everything okay, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice as soft and reassuring as it could, but Leonard just shrugs, leaving his question unanswered.

“Are we going out?” He asks again instead, and Kurt uncertainly nods.

Kurt listens to the sound of Leo's feet stomping on the stairs and on the carpeted corridor of the second floor. He carefully waits until he is sure the boy is safe in his room, getting ready to go out, before turning to Dave and frowning at him again. “What's wrong with him?” he asks.

Dave rolls his eyes, finishing his coffee. “I know nothing,” he says, and he doesn’t leave Kurt the time to ask something else because he gets up and runs away in their room – hopefully, not to hide himself in their closet – leaving Kurt with what is left of his breakfast and his beauty mask ready to fall down.

*

The weather is nice outside and, as he looks at the bright blue sky over Schoonover Park, Dave can even forget how tired he was when he woke up this morning. Kurt is walking beside him, under the trees that cast nice long shadows. Dave is holding his hand so he can keep his eyes closed while humming like the bird he is. Leo is running ahead, kicking every stone and chasing every butterfly he meets on the way. Sometimes Dave looks at him and wonders how he can have so much energy. He doesn't remember being half as lively as he is when he was a kid.

“Dad!” He calls, waving frantically. “Come over here! I want to show you something.”

Kurt smiles but does not open his eyes. Both he and Dave always know which one of his dads Leo is calling. “Your son wants you,” he says instead, releasing Dave's hand so he can go.

“He's always my son when he wants something, isn't he?”

Kurt laughs. “Pretty much, yes.”

“Dad! Come on! You're so slow!”

“Now go, your little monster is waiting,” Kurt pushes him a bit in the general direction of Leo's voice.

“Open your eyes, Fancy,” Dave calls over his shoulder. “I don't want you to fall on your face.”

Kurt glares at him. “Call me that again and you know what you won't see for a very long time.”

Dave laughs and Leo rolls his eyes at the two of them. “Is that another way to say that you will be sleeping on the couch again?” He asks, looking up at Dave.

“This is none of your business, little man,” Dave answers him, ruffling his hair. “So, what did you want me to see?”

Leo points a chubby little finger at the lake shore, where some very sharp dressed people are gathered.

“It's a wedding,” he explains, as if the very white and very puffy dress of the bride wasn't a clue.

“Yes, I see that.”

“She was on the boat over there,” Leo continues, pointing at the little white boat filled with flowers. “She came through the lake, you know? The man took her by the hand and helped her off the boat. She is very clumsy, so he had to take her in his arms, eventually. She is always laughing and seems very happy.”

Dave looks at him, curiously. “How long have you been watching them?”

“A while,” Leo shrugs and drags him closer to the scene. “Her name's Sandy. Her mom keeps calling her, that's how I know. Those are all their brothers and sisters and cousins and stuff. And there's a violin somewhere. She danced with the man.”

“She's really beautiful and you're right, she seems happy. It is a very nice wedding.” Dave doesn't exactly know what he’s looking at, but he learned long ago that whatever his six years old son feels the need to tell him, it must be listened and watched closely.

“I think they're going to have a party on the other side of the lake,” Leo explains, tilting his head a bit as if pondering the situation. “And maybe they will leave after. When it's dark, I guess.”

“I think so,” Dave doesn't know what else to say. “Come on, let's go back, now. You know your dad, he's probably wondered off, singing silly love songs. Someone could find him too cute and take him away from us.”

He starts walking but Leo doesn't follow him. He goes the other way instead and sits on a big rock near the lake. Dave stops in midstep and watches his son as he grabs a stick from the ground and starts playing with it.

“Don't you wanna come?” He asks. Leo shakes his head without looking at him.

The man sighs, knowing what comes next. He glances over to check on Kurt, who is literally swirling around the meadow while he sings some melody from The sound of music, and he is so taken with it that he hasn't even noticed the group of people watching his impromptu live performance.

Dave decides that he can spare a moment for his son without Kurt running away with the first traveling circus that offers him to sing all day, and reaches Leo who still won't look at him. He is playing with five or six giant ants that are bringing back some food they have probably just stolen from the wedding buffet. Leo is pursuing them with the stick and they are running around, trying to escape him.

The kid seems pretty sad, so Dave comes close to him and crouches beside him.

“Hey buddy, what's up?”

“I don't really wanna talk to you right now,” Leo says in a very low voice.

He is dangling his feet back and forth a little, kicking the rock with the new red shoes Kurt bought for him in New York, last week. Kurt buys him a new pair of shoes every time he gets the chance, which is a lot more than it should be legal. Leo is the only kid in the neighborhood to have a closet only for shoes. Dave has prevented Kurt to dress their son as a little miniature of himself, but there was nothing he could do against the shoes’ invasion. Kurt can hardly control himself.

“Did I do something wrong?” Dave asks, caught by surprised.

“You didn't even listen to me when we talked about marriage this morning!” Leo says, pouting.

David sighs because now he knows it is going to be hard. “Can I sit with you?” He asks, then.

“Well, yes, I suppose,” Leo nods. He keeps playing with the ants that are now aliens from another planet, coming on Earth to force people to marry.

Dave sits with his son and looks at the ants with him. “What do you know about marriage?”

“It is what two people do when they love each other and want to live their lives together!” Leo answers, his voice going all the way up as it always does when he is excited to know something and wants to say it as fast as he can.

“People can love each other and live their lives together even if they don't marry,” Dave explains. “Do you think me and your dad don't love each other? Is this that you're worried about?”

Leo makes a very sad face. “You two fight a lot.”

Dave and Kurt made a promise never to fight in front of the kid, so what Leo has seen and heard are only bland arguments about who is taking the car or who is picking Leo up from school. Sometimes they do fight badly behind closed doors, though, and now Dave fears Leo heard more than he should, jumping to the wrong conclusions. “Sometimes people fight but it doesn't mean they don't love each other. It just means they disagree on something.”

Leo shakes his head. “But this has nothing to do with marriage! Why don't you want to marry my daddy? You're going to leave him and you don't want to make him believe you'll love him forever?”

Dave's heart skips a beat. He is really sensitive about his feelings. He knows he is not very good at showing them, so he is always making sure Kurt and Leo know how much he loves them. “I will never leave you or your father. What does make you think that?”

“Why can't you just answer my questions?! “ Leo cries, his voice slightly breaking from frustration. “Why do you answer with another question? I'm not stupid, you know? And I'm not a kid anymore, I can understand things of life!”

He looks at his father with very stern eyes. Dave should feel ashamed, but Leo is so cute that the only thing he manages is not to laugh. “You sure do,” he says. Then he sighs and strokes Leo's ruffled black hair. “It's not that I don't want to marry him, we just never talked about it. Nothing would change, you know? I love him, already. And I plan to keep on loving him for the rest of my life, so a marriage is not really necessary.”

“But I know he'd be so happy!” Leo insists, looking at him. “Don't you want him to be happy?”

“Of course I do,” Dave sighs. He watches the wedding party head for the reception on the other shore of the lake. He doesn't know how Leo came up with the idea of him and Kurt getting married. “Wait,” he suddenly says, not a bell but a whole orchestra ringing in his head. “Did he tell you that he wants to get married?”

“Well... no, but you know him!” Leo glances over at Kurt, who is now chirping with the birds and dancing like a Disney princess. People are actually singing chorus parts with him, like in one of those group scenes in Broadway musicals. Strange things always happen in the background if they stop long enough for Kurt to make them happen. “He has his head always in the air. He would never tell you.”

“And don't you think maybe that's because he doesn't really care about getting married?”

Leo lifts up a very skeptical eyebrow. It looks so much like Santana's “bitch, please” stare that Dave has a hard time not laughing again. “He's been planning weddings since he was younger than me,” he says. “He's got an entire book filled with photos, notes and possible playlists. He's always sketching dresses, too!”

The kid has a point. “You're right. I just thought he wasn't interested anymore,” he explains. “We already have each other and a house. And we've got you, of course.”

Dave doesn't know why he’s talking about matters like these with a kid, but Leo seems always so mature than sometimes he just forgets he is only six years old.

“Daddy would be so happy,” Leo says again. “I know he would. And I want so much to see you two married! It'd be so cool! I could invite all my friends, so they would see!” He throws his little fist in the air and smirks.

“Would see what?” Dave asks, suddenly concerned. “Did they tell you something?”

Leo shifts awkwardly on his seat, eyes back down to the ants again. “They say it's not normal when parents aren't married. It's okay if they're not married anymore, but if they never were? It's strange.”

When he and Kurt adopted Leo, Dave knew it was going to be hard, them being gay and all. The other kids would be asking a lot of questions and making a lot of jokes on Leo, so he made sure to be ready to face every possible situation. But sometimes kids go beyond imagination and they can be so mean he actually hates them. “It's not strange,” Dave says, firmly. “People sometimes make different choices. It's that why marriage is suddenly so important to you?”

“I just want to see you married and I want to have a normal family. Is that too much to ask?” Leo jumps off the rock and opens his arms as wide as he can with a very dramatic outcome.

David feels bad because most of all, he wants his son to feel normal. He remembers how it feels when something about you is different from everyone else. You just want to fit in. “Do you really want me to marry your dad?” He asks.

“Yes!” Leo cries in frustration. “Yes, I do. I want you to propose to him. But you must do it the right way, not like you always do!”

David automatically blushes under his son slightly judgmental glare. “What are you talking about?”

“You actually never asks for things,” he says. “You just go and take what you want. That's not cool, dad.”

Dave doesn't agree at all with that. He ask for things. Most of the time, at least. “So, what do you suggest?”

Leo lights up with a smile. “You can sing!” He says immediately, as if he has been waiting only for this moment to come. “You never want to do it, and Daddy's always asking you to!”

Dave shakes his head. “No way. I can't.”

“Have you ever tried singing to someone with all your heart?” The kid asks.

“I can't sing for your father!” Dave panics instantly because he knows where this is going and he so does not want that. “He's a fu... a freaking wonderful singer.”

“I know, he's always singing,” Leo nods, looking again at Kurt who is still performing. “And I mean always. But I never heard you.”

“That's because I play football.”

“What does this have to do with singing?” Leo groans in frustration.

“Nothing, that's the point.”

Leo puts his hands on his hips, looking at him with exasperation. “Daddy said you were in the show choir with him.”

“That's not correct,” Dave says nervously. “I was in glee club only for a couple of weeks and just because the coach thought me and my teammates needed more coordination. I never sung, just did some really easy dancing. And your father wasn't even in there at the time.”

“I don't believe you,” Leo says stubbornly. “Daddy says you can sing, so you obviously can.”

Leo is in that phase when kids think whatever comes out of their mother's mouth is the truth. And since Leo doesn't have one, he settled for the closest figure, who's definitely Kurt.

David tries to get out of this the easy way. “Listen, I'd love to, but I really can't,” he says, smiling apologetically. “I'm only good at sports. Perhaps I can throw him a ball with something written on it or I can even throw him somewhere if you think that's could be of any use. But I can't sing.”

“You wouldn't throw daddy!” Leo says, outraged.

“That was just a figure of speech,” David sighs. The story of his life.

Leo doesn't waste any time looking at him with all the perplexity those words have given him. “I don't know what that is but that's not important! He wants you to sing, I know that. It doesn't have to be a concert. Just the proposal. It'd be so awesome!”

Leo is like Kurt, so stubborn that he only has things his way or not at all. And since the not-at-all part seems out of question, Dave can only surrender. “Fine. I'll sing,” he gives in.

Leo squeals happily and starts jumping around like a madman. “You're gonna get married! You're gonna get married! My dads are gonna get married.”

It feels really good to see him acting like the kid he is now and then. Dave smiles. “Now, now, calm down. Your father didn't say yes, yet.”

“Oh, he will,” Leo stops abruptly, nodding with confidence. “Don't worry about that. So, you will need some pretty flowers and an engagemement ring.”

Dave giggles. Leo always mispells words like this because he wants to speak like a grown up but he has no idea what he is saying most of the time. “I will try and find one of those engagemement ring. Leave it to me,” he says. “So flowers, ring, song, that's it?”

“No, of course not!” Leo answers, looking at him like he said the worst of atrocities. “You two must have dinner first. You can choose between cooking something for him with all your love, or take him out to some expensive and classy restaurant.”

Last week Dave set two different meals on fire, so it is kinda of a Hobson's choice. “I'll go with the fancy restaurant,” he says. “We don't want to poison dad.”

Leo shakes his head, his tight black curls swinging back and forth. “No, we don't,” he says seriously. “Then, you'll have to organize the marriage. But don't worry, I'll help you. I know everything about it. I read daddy's notes on that book of his! And I watched a lot of wedding tv.”

Dave takes a mental note to check on him when he watches tv. For some reason, what he has just said doesn't sound completely right. “You should really watch more cartoons.”

Leo shrugs. “They're boring. They’re made for little kids,” he pouts. “I'm not one anymore.”

Dave rolls his eyes. “God, you really are the miniature copy of your father.”

“Is that so?” Leo says. He acts like the information doesn't really affect him, but it does and turns his cheeks an adorable shade of pink.

“Yes, you are. A very precise copy. I don't know what to do with the two of you sometimes.”

“I just care about this wedding,” Leo adds, making circles in the sand with his right foot. “I want it to be really awesome.”

“I'm sure it will be spectacular with your precious help, little wedding planner.” Dave tickles him on his belly and Leo laughs, running away to hide behind the rock and out of his father's tickling fingers.

“Daddy's right, you know?” He says, peeking from behind his cover just to run away again when Dave moves to catch him.

“About what?”

Leo laughs uncontrollably with excitement like kids do when being chased playfully. “He says you look like a prince, but you're actually the trapped one, and that makes you the princess.”

“What?” Dave grabs him and tackles him easily on the ground, tickling him to death. “I'm not a princess. That's clearly your father. He's the one with all the creams and the pretty dresses.”

Leo curls up in a ball and laughs until he's out of breath. Dave lets him go, and then they both lie down, panting heavily. After a while, Leo turns on his side and looks at Kurt who finally stopped singing and is now sunbathing on the grass not too far from them.

“Daddy really looks like a prince, though, doesn't he? He's so beautiful.”

Dave turns his head and looks at Kurt with the same loving eyes as his son. “Yes, he is. The most gorgeous prince of the whole freaking kingdom.”

*

Leonard helps him to chose the right restaurant, obviously. That is because the last time Dave invited Kurt out for dinner it was at Breadstix, and Breadstix is not exactly the first place you have in mind when you think about what’s fancy and classy, so Leo just takes the lead and makes a list of five or six potential candidates, half of which Dave doesn’t even know.

“What about this one?” Dave asks, pointing out one of the names without even paying attention to which one he’s choosing. He has probably made the wrong decision, anyway, because Leonard immediately looks at him in horror, eyes filled with disappointment.

“That one’s the worst!” he almost screams, his little hands lost in his hair, “I only put it there to test you! You are such a mess.”

Dave can’t help it, he just has to laugh. Leo’s taking the whole matter so seriously. Just looking at him when he screams in frustration and passes the whole day drawing different kinds of decorations for both the place they’re going to get married in and the restaurant they’re going to use for the wedding reception can be so funny Dave can’t hold back laughing.

He never thought about this that way, but sharing this little secret with Leo while Kurt doesn’t even suspect what they’re doing just feels so good. Dave and Leo never had secrets of their own, secrets they could not share with Kurt, so every moment Dave passes with his son planning the wedding is so precious to him he almost doesn’t want it to ever end.

“So, where do you suggest to go?” Dave asks, smiling softly, “I trust you completely.”

Leo puffs his chest out, smiling victoriously, and an hour and a half later they’re in front of the restaurant he chose, which looks a little intimidating even from the outside.

“It seems like I’m going to have to wear a tie,” Dave sighs, and Leo looks at him with an arched eyebrow and the eyes of someone who’s already reaching the limit of their patience.

“That wasn’t even in question, dad,” he answers.

The very moment they step inside the place, a pretty blonde waitress comes near them, smiling gently. “Can I help you?” she asks, slightly tilting her head.

Dave uncertainly scratches the back of his own neck, almost looking away from her, while his son heavily sighs, shaking his head. “Can we talk to the owner?” He finally manages to ask.

“Yeah, sure,” the pretty girl smiles ever wider, “He’s in his office. This way, please.”

On their way to the owner's office, Leo grabs the hem of his father’s shirt and pulls it. “Let me do the talking,” he whispers, lifting himself up on his tiptoes to virtually get closer to his ears, so he doesn’t have to speak louder.

“What?” Dave asks, opening his eyes so wide his face almost hurts.

“You even had problems asking the waitress where could we find him!” Leo answers, almost jumping up and down in frustration, “You’ll ruin everything! Let me do the talking.”

Dave really wants to talk back at this, just to remind his son he’s just six and has no right to talk this way to his own father, but it’s too late, the pretty girl stops in front of a door with a big, golden name plate saying “Mr. Donovan” and there’s nothing Dave can say right now without looking like a fool in front of her.

“Here we are,” the waitress says, “Something else I can do for you?”

“We’ll be alright, thank you.” Dave answers, managing to smile a little. She nods and disappears the second after, and there’s nothing Dave can do but knock on the door and wait.

“Come in,” the soft voice of an old man speaks from the inside, and Dave opens the door to find the said old man sitting in a giant armchair behind an equally giant antique desk, smiling happily as if he was expecting them. He is so little and strange he almost seems unreal, with his big white mustaches covering his lips and those thick eyeglasses that make his eyes look like they’re twice their size. “Hello. Do I know you?”

Dave tries to speak faster than his son, but Leo doesn’t really have rivals when it comes to talking, so he doesn’t manage to be fast enough, and has to step back while his son makes a step toward the old man and then literally climbs on his desk, sitting on his heels in front of him.

“Hello, granddaddy,” he smiles, “Can I ask you a favor?”

Dave almost chokes on his own breath. “And that would be ‘do the talking’ for you?” he asks, looking at him while Leo shrugs. “Get immediately down from there!” he tries, frowning a little to look more intimidating, but his son is not scared of him even slightly, and Mr. Donovan keeps laughing like he has been doing since the very moment he first heard what Leonard had to say. So Dave's scolding is soon forgotten, and Leo can stay wherever he wants without anyone forcing him to come down.

“Sure you can, little boy,” Mr. Donovan answers, with a smile on his face so big not even the mustaches can hide it anymore, “But first, let me ask you one thing. What’s your name?”

“My name is Leonard, and I’m six years old,” Leo immediately answers, showing his age with his fingers, “My daddies are going to get married soon, so I wanted to ask you if we can use your beautiful restaurant for the singing proposal my daddy’s going to perform. My other daddy really likes fancy places like this one, so it would be perfect, you know?”

“Leo!” Dave tries to stop him, reaching for him and grabbing him by his shoulders to take him down of the desk, “You’re being rude and that’s not how you ask someone to do you a favor.”

“Oh, please, leave him be, leave him be!” the old man says, laughing again, “He’s so cute and smart. Besides, isn’t courtesy just something adults invented to make the kids feel like they’re not prepared enough to live with them?”

“I am very sorry for my son,” Dave insists, bowing a little.

“Daddy, didn’t you hear?” Leo says, elbowing him in his leg, “He said he’s alright with me!”

“Leo!” Dave insists, raising his voice, but Mr. Donovan laughs again, so happily that it really seems pointless to keep scolding the kid.

“I’d be very honored if you propose to your future husband here in my restaurant, mister…?”

“Karofsky,” Dave answers, blushing a little and staring at his feet, “My name’s David Karofsky, sir.”

“Mister Karofsky, then,” Mr. Donovan nods and smiles, standing up behind his desk and leaning over it to hold out his hand to Dave. “It’ll be a pleasure for me to host your marriage proposal. Would you be so kind to let me offer my collaboration, and would you promise me you’ll let me know whatever you might need to make that moment really magical?”

Dave blinks a couple of times, his lips partly open, barely breathing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I… you're saying it’s alright if we do it here?” he asks, while Leo jumps up and down and screams a little, clapping his hands in joy, “It’s just— we had something a little peculiar in mind, so maybe you want to know… but I can’t really tell you right now, ‘cause we still have to talk to someone, and…”

“It’s alright, it’s alright!” Mir. Donovan smiles, waving one of his big yet thin, pale hands in the air, “Just give me a call when you know exactly what you want to do, and I’ll make sure everything’s set by the time you arrive.”

Dave nods again and shakes the old man’s hand, thanking him for his kindness and generosity, before saying goodbye and leaving the room, holding Leo’s hand just to be sure he can't run away as he seems so eager to do, excitement running through his little body, making him squeals and jumps like he’s been given the most beautiful present in the world.

“I’m confused,” Dave says in a low voice, leaving the restaurant, “We came here to ask if we could use the place, and we ended up being asked to use it as we please. I’m still not sure on how it happened.”

Unseen, Leo grins, satisfied.

*

It’s almost evening when they arrive at Puck’s pub. The place is quiet, at the moment, but Dave knows that, as soon as it actually opens for the crowd, it will be pretty messy around here; it often happens on Friday night, when Puck usually digs up his guitar from wherever he keeps it hidden during the rest of the week, and entertains his clients with some good old style pop music.

That’s why Dave wants to hurry up: he doesn’t want to get stuck in the crowd with Kurt waiting for Leo and him at home, not having an idea of where they are and what could they be doing, and he definitely, definitely doesn’t want to end up listening to Puck playing guitar for the rest of the night.

Still, he’s scared. He can’t find the courage to walk in and just ask Puck to play for him while he proposes to Kurt. He imagines that this sudden fear comes from the fact that asking Puck will make everything so real. Talking to Mr. Donovan was a first step, but talking with Puck? Maybe even setting a time and a day? That’s terrifying.

“Daddy!” Leo calls him, bored and tired of waiting, “I’m hungry and I have to pee! I wanna go home! Please, let’s just do this, okay?”

Dave sighs, trying to relax at least enough to just move already. “Okay, buddy,” he finally says, swallowing hard, “Let’s do this.”

The inside of the pub is practically empty, except for Puck – who’s doing his sound check on the little stage at the back of the big room – and a waiter cleaning up the bar for the evening. Dave and Leo wait for Puck to notice them, and it doesn't take him a lot of time, since he’s obviously bored to death – God only knows how long he’s been rehearsing – and is just waiting for an excuse to look up and leave his guitar on the stage to find something more interesting to do.

“Hi, Puckerman,” Dave smiles, lifting a hand and waving a little while Leo shifts uncomfortably in his place.

“Well,” Puck laughs, quickly approaching him with his arms wide open, as if he wants to hug him, even if, when he’s close enough, he just pats him on his shoulder, knowing that Dave’s never been very fond of excessive body contact. Well, with everybody but Kurt, at least. “Look who’s out of his fancy neighborhood to visit some good old friend. And how’re your wife and kid?” he asks, clearly not noticing Leo almost hidden behind Dave.

“Wife’s fine and singing somewhere in the country,” Dave answers, moving aside just enough to show Leo’s there too, “And the heir’s here,” he says, as Leo manages to wave and smile despite his upsetting condition.

“Hey, you!” Puck says, his smile growing wider as he sees the kid. He bends a little to hug him and then lift him up in his arms. “Whoa, you’re growing fast,” he comments, still holding him while Leo laughs, trying to wriggle his way out of his grip. “So, what’s the occasion?” Puck asks, turning back to Dave, “Should I offer you champagne?”

“Yes!” Leo immediately answers, lighting up in an excited smile, “Can I have some?”

“No, you can’t,” Dave glares at him, before turning back to Puck, “And no, thanks, Puck. But speaking of champagne, I’m here to ask you a favor,” he manages to say, throwing his fears aside so he can have his son out of this place and sitting on his toilet at home before Puck manages to have them both drunk. Because he knows he would find a way.

“I can’t give you money, you know,” Puck immediately says, raising both his hands and letting Leo fall on his feet on the floor with a little scream. “Don’t even ask, dude, I’d hate to say no in front of the little one here.”

“The little one you nearly killed right now?” Dave asks, while Leo starts jumping up and down on his feet because the fall made him craving for a toilet more than he was before. “Anyways, no, I don’t need money. It’s something… different.”

“As long as it’s not money,” Puck nods, “I’ll be happy to help. Have a sit,” he invites them, sitting on one of the stools in front of the bar and patting on his knees so Leo can climb on his legs and sit on his lap. “Tell me what you need.”

“Well,” Dave sighs, sitting in front of him, “Long story short: I want to… ask Kurt to marry me,” he says, blushing furiously. It’s actually the first time he has to say it out loud. It feels pretty big.

Puck opens his eyes wider, looking at him like he has never seen him before. “You want do to what?” he asks, clearly shocked.

“I want to propose to him,” Dave answers, following the wave of courage that seems to keep him strong at the moment, “We’ve been together for almost ten years, and…” he looks at Leo and then back to Puck, “He seems to care for a wedding, you know, so…”

Puck seems to need a moment to recover, before he can speak again. “Dude,” he finally says, shaking his head, “What’s with this gay marriage thing?” he asks, “It’s so 2010. And why now?”

“Because it is the right time!” Dave insists, getting more and more confident as he speaks, “We’ve got a house, we’ve got financial security, we’ve even got a kid! There’s only one thing missing.”

“Well, I’m not married, but I don’t feel like missing something,” Puck laughs, “It’s just strange,” he adds, his voice softer and his smile sweeter, “The David Karofsky I knew back in high school would have never, never had the balls to do something similar. I guess time changes people, after all.”

“Yeah, it does,” Dave nods, smiling back at him, “Even though it doesn’t seem strong enough to change you too,” he adds, while Puck laughs, shaking so much that Leo’s eyes get almost teary for the need he feels to just pee already. “So,” Dave resumes, noticing the desperate expression on his son’s face, “My problem is that I want to make a…” he blushes deeply, shifting on his seat, “a singing proposal.”

“That’s my idea,” Leo specifies, allowing himself to get distracted by the discussion enough to stop thinking about his needs.

“A singing proposal?” Puck asks, looking at him in shock again, “Are you nuts?”

“No, I’m damn serious here,” Dave immediately answers, taking his son back in his arms, where he knows he will be safe and free to twist as he likes to try and calm himself, “Listen, I can do this, I really can, but I’m gonna need help, someone who plays the guitar while I sing.”

“And you want me to play the guitar while you sing what and where?” Puck asks, still doubtful. Dave tries to answer, but Leo, clearly in desperate need of distraction, jumps up and answers in his place.

“It’s gonna be awesome, uncle Noah,” he explains, standing up on his father’s knees, “They are going to go in a fancy restaurant we already saw, where all the tables are rounded and have little candles on them. Dad will sing Marry Me by Neil Diamond, I chose it ‘cause it’s romantic and daddy likes romantic things, and he’ll be so happy he’ll cry, and they’re gonna get married afterwards.”

Puck listens carefully to the boy, nodding quietly from time to time, and when Leo stops talking he turns to face Dave once again. “And you called coming out back in high school a social suicide?” he asks, “Then, how do you call this?” he points at Leo as if the things the boy has just described had already taken place in front of him, “Social Armageddon?”

“I call it avoiding sleeping on the couch for a very, very long time,” Dave answers with a grin, and Puck instantly shivers.

“Now, that was a bad case of TMI. I so don’t wanna hear about where you sleep. So don’t want to,” he whines, shaking his head. “Anyway, the answer’s no.”

“But why?” Dave frowns, gesturing a little while his son pouts and crosses his arms on his chest, looking disapprovingly at his so-called uncle, “You should just play the guitar. I’ll do the singing.”

“Karofsky, no,” Puck repeats, still shaking his head, “Listen, You're a good friend and I love you in the most not-gay way, but you’re batshit crazy and Kurt— no, everyone in Lima is going to laugh at you forever. I’ve got a reputation!”

“Why should they laugh at me?” Dave protests, “I can sing as much as you can, and you know it. If you can sing with Kurt, than I can sing for him,” he says, standing up for himself, guided by a sudden rush of pride that Leo welcomes with a big, shiny smile and an adoring look.

Puck blinks a couple of times, sighing deeply. “This is some crazy shit you’re asking me to do,” he considers, “Popping out of nowhere playing my guitar.”

“Oh, please, you used to do it all the time!” Dave replies, rolling his eyes, “You could never walk the hallways without you or Artie or Sam popping out of nowhere singing at least once a week. People learned how to avoid you and keep walking while you performed!”

“Dude, that was in high school!” Puck insists, “I was sixteen and high most of the time! No, I don’t want to. I won’t do it.”

“What does high mean?” Leo asks, slightly tilting his head to the side.

Puck clears his throat, ruffling the kid’s hair. “I’ll tell you when you’re old enough. Now take your crazy dad and get lost.”

“Oh, come on,” Dave almost whines, “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is that it’s going to be ridiculous, and that there’s the real possibility I will be forever remembered as the dude who played guitar for the most weird proposal of all times,” Puck nods seriously.

“Why do I want to punch you in the face all of a sudden?” Dave sighs, tired of fighting.

“Maybe because you still have problems controlling your anger,” Puck immediately replies, arching an eyebrow. “Man! Why are you doing this? You’re going to cover yourself in shame!” he insists, as if he really couldn’t believe Dave would do something like that. Problem is, Dave would. Even if he had to cover himself in shame, even if he had to survive to the mocks and the laughs of every single person in Lima, he would do this. If only to see the look in Kurt’s eyes when he asks him to marry him, Dave would risk to lose everything else.

“I love Kurt,” he answers, looking straight in Puck’s eyes, “I love him and it’s not going to be ridiculous. It’s going to be awesome.”

“Oh, God,” Puck sighs, rolling his eyes and then looking at Leo, “You realize you’re sentencing your own dad to social death with this idea you came up with?” he asks, pointing at him.

“I don’t know what social death is, but my dad can’t die, so it’s ok,” Leo just replies, shrugging.

“This is so Broadway,” Puck sighs again, “I don’t even know why we’re still talking about it.”

“I’m kind of asking myself the same thing, Puckerman,” Dave groans, trying to decide if he can just shove him against the first locker he finds and fucking go home, since he honestly can’t take any more arguing.

“Don’t be angry, daddy,” Leo tries to calm him, “Uncle Noah just needs to be convinced. Uncle Noah, you know,” he explains, turning to the other man, “Broadway is exactly my plan. In fact, daddies will have dinner, then you’ll come out playing your guitar and everybody will stare and listen and smile. Maybe chanting the chorus all together, too,” he ponders, “Dad will sing and maybe dance with daddy a little bit, then he’ll go down on his knee and propose. It’s classy and it’s classic, which are two different words, daddy says.”

Puck can’t help but burst into laughing, slowly shaking his head. “When did you became the portrait of a younger and clearly crazier Kurt?” he asks, “What was I looking at when it happened? Dude,” he adds, turning to Dave, “Your son really is something.”

“He is,” Dave nods, sighing softly.

“So, uncle Noah,” Leo insists, closing his hands in two nervous little fists, “Will you do it? Daddy really, really, really, really wants dad to sing for him. And he wants to marry, too.”

“Don’t you even think to win me over only with those big blue eyes,” Puck mocks him, even if it’s clear he already decided what to do, “You’re not cute enough to convince me.”

“Oh, please!” Leo starts to jump up and down again, remembering he has to pee when it’s already too late; so his jumping up and down starts to be motivated by more than just his intense desire to have Puck playing for Dave during the proposal. “Uncle Noah, please,” he cheeps, eyes filled with tears and cheeks reddening more and more every second, “It’s so important!” Puck keeps playing cool, so Leo does the only thing he knows it always works in hard times like these, he flutters his eyelashes. “Pretty please with a cherry on top?” he asks.

Puck opens his eyes wide, chocking on his own breath. “I recognize your father’s touch!” he almost screams, turning to Dave, “You let your future husband teach that eyelashes thing to your son! Dude!”

“I didn’t let him!” Dave defends himself, “He keeps teaching him things like that during his father-son time. There’s nothing I can do. Kurt’s… Kurt.”

Puck sighs, nodding as if he perfectly knows how difficult could be to restrain Kurt from doing whatever he wants. And he actually knows it. “Luckily, it seems you’re going to marry him soon. So every other man will be safe. At least temporarily,” he ponders, nodding again. “This wedding needs to happen as soon as possible. That’s clearly my chance to save the world and the whole mankind.”

“Every other man was already safe even before,” Dave snorts, but Puck shakes his head.

“You know what they say, there’s nothing sure about the future. But you two have been together for so long,” he smiles sweetly, “So I think there’s at least one thing we can all be sure about the future.”

Dave smiles, while Leo finally understands Puck basically said yes without having to say it out loud. “You can bet,” he says, and Puck laughs a little, hearing those words.

“You know, I actually did,” he nods, and Dave arches an eyebrow, looking uncertainly at him.

“You did what?” he asks.

“Well, when you two started dating,” he remembers, while Leo suddenly forgets he still has to go to the bathroom, because he just loves to listen to the tales of his parents before they had him, “There was this thing in the football team. We never told you because we knew you’d be angry, and then you were already going through so much… Basically, Finn bet you wouldn’t last two weeks, while Sam said one month and Azimio was all ‘duuuude, it’s Dave Karofsky and Kurt Hummel we’re talking about, it’s like a fucking royal wedding, I’d be personally disappointed and offended if it lasts less than four months’,” he laughs, trying to imitate Azimio’s voice while both Dave and Leo laughs madly; he waits until they stop to talk again. “I gave you a year, and I bought two new guitars,” he nods, lifting his hands up in the air in a small gesture of triumph.

“Wow,” Dave laughs again, wiping a little tear from the corner of his eye, “I didn’t know any of that. But you bet the longest period, why?”

“You’re here, now, asking me to play for you during your singing proposal, dude,” Puck answers, still smiling, “And you ask me why I bet the longest period? I knew you were crazy enough to make it! Besides,” he adds, “You waited so long to ask him out, it would have been disappointing if it didn’t last long.”

Dave gives in to a little smile, as his eyes suddenly look so distant and shiny, his head filled with memories. “It took me, like… I don’t know, a month? Just to put together the words to tell him, and he was so pissed it took me so long.”

“Oh, God, I still remember him running around during that home economics class,” he remembers, laughing again while Leo starts jumping from one foot to another but is just too fascinated to ask for the toilet, “Singing that cheesy Emma Bunton song, what did it say? What took you so long, what took you all night, what took you forever to see I’m right? With all the other girls dancing on the desks. Creepiest moment of my life.”

“You really attended home economics classes?” Leo asks, opening his eyes so wide they seem to occupy the entirety of his face, “So how come you can not cook at all?”

“I wasn’t very good at it, ok?” Dave snorts, remembering the moment Puck just mentioned as one of the creepiest of his life too, just as much as that other moment in which he broke an egg and Brittany suddenly turned to him and screamed he was a murderer.

“And why did you sing during classes, uncle Noah?” Leo asks, turning to Puck.

“We used singing as a way to express our feelings,” Puck answers, smiling happily, “Even during classes, yes. Besides,” he adds, turning to Dave, “Creepy as it was, Kurt had all rights to sing his heart out, in that moment. I remember him constantly whining about how clueless you seemed whenever he came near you. And after how it ended with Blaine…” he stops for a moment, as if he just remembered something really important, “Speaking of which,” he says, “Are you going to invite him?”

“I…” Dave says, instantly averting his eyes, “I didn’t think about the guest list, yet. I don’t know. Maybe. Kurt will decide, I guess. I hate the guy, but Kurt… who knows. Maybe he’ll want him there.”

“It could be dangerous, don’t you think?” Puck asks, “Say he understood his mistake and wants your princess back,” he laughs.

“Over my dead body,” Dave snaps, suddenly turning to him, eyes shiny with jealousy and possessiveness, “He won’t go near Kurt unless I can see where his hands are.”

“Who is this guy you’re talking about?” Leo asks, arching an eyebrow.

“The little one here doesn’t know about prince charming, Blaine Freakin’ Warbler?” he asks, pointing at Leo, “Now, that’s a shame. Should I tell him?” he teases Dave with a grin.

“Is he a real prince?” Leo immediately asks, eyes filled with curiosity and admiration, while Dave groans, bothered by the turn the discussion is taking.

“Good job, Puckerman. Now he got the wrong idea. Come on, tell him the truth.”

Puck laughs, taking Leo in his arms and letting him sit on his lap. “Well, he wasn’t exactly a prince, but he really looked like one. You know, there was a time,” he starts telling the kid with his most mysterious tone, “Before you were born, even before your daddies started to date, when Kurt dated this young boy attending an all-boys school called Dalton, and he was always wearing an elegant uniform, as princes do. And he didn’t have a surname, most of the time. As princes do, too, now that I think about it.”

“What did the uniform look like?” Leo asks, so interested in the matter he definitely forgets his need for a toilet, “And why didn’t he have a surname? Was he cool like dad?”

“No, he wasn’t,” Dave immediately answers. Leo looks at him and than back at Puck.

“Daddy didn’t love him, right?” he asks, now somehow worried, probably because he noticed the little spark of insecurity in his father’s eyes.

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” Puck answers, actually thinking about it – that bastard – “Your daddy seemed pretty interested in him, but they both were so young they kind of lost themselves on the way. Which is good, because then your daddy found himself back again with your other daddy, and everything fell in its place.”

“That’s right!” Leo nods enthusiastically, “Daddy can’t love anybody but me and dad. And maybe aunt Rachel and aunt Mercedes, if he wants, but not as much.”

Puck laughs out loud, hugging Leo, touched by his words. “I’m sure he doesn’t love anything in the world as much as he loves you two. This, you can be sure about.”

“I am,” Leo answers, nodding again, “And I love him too. He adopted me with dad, did you know that, uncle Noah?” he starts, getting all excited like every time he has the chance to tell the wonderful tale of his adoption, something he manages to find the way to do as often as he can, even when no one asks him to do it.

“I totally didn’t know that!” Puck answers, opening his eyes and pretending to be really surprised, when he obviously does know everything concerning the kid’s adoption. “Here I was, thinking they found you under a cherry tree, feed by fairies and pampered by elves.”

“No, no!” Leo starts jumping up and down again, managing to escape Puck’s arms to fall down on his feet on the floor, turning to look seriously at him, “They wanted to have a baby so much they went to the hospital searching for one, and a kind lady gave me to them. I was sooo little.”

“Now that I think about it,” Puck answers, hitting the palm of his hand with a fist, “I remember you being so little I could hold you in one hand!” he nods, showing the kid his hand well open, “See? I remember your daddies putting you here, and you slept all the time.”

Leo nods again. “Daddy always says I would sleep all night through.”

“That’s because he didn’t have to wake up to feed him,” Dave adds, with a little snort.

“Well, he’s always been cute, at least,” Puck laughs, and Dave can’t help to smile in return.

“Yes, he is,” he nods, “That’s why I’m here now, with this little monster,” he adds, leaning on Leo to hold him tight in his arms and tickles him hard.

“No, no, no!” Leo screams and laughs, his whole body shaking, “Daddy, don’t! I have to pee, I have to pee!”

Puck laughs again as Dave lets his son go. “You two are gonna be a great married couple,” he states, “I can already picture you ten years from now, with your big house and the garden, and a thousand dogs.”

“Let’s just say a couple of dogs and one more kid,” Dave corrects him, while Leo jumps up and down screaming he wants a thousand dogs and can do without a brother.

“Well,” Puck says, ignoring him even though he’s so noisy, “You’ll have your honeymoon to think about it and generate another fruit of your love. Which leads us to another TMI discussion I definitely don’t wanna have right here and now. Or never.”

Dave laughs, standing up and holding Leo’s hand since he already knows the kid's going to run to the car the minute they’re out of the pub, careless of the other cars that could cross the street in the same moment he does. “You’ll have the report when we come back, for sure,” he teases him.

Puck shivers. “Fact is, I don’t want to,” he clarifies, “Now, just let me know the details for that singing proposal of yours, when you have them. I’ll do my best to help you.”

Dave smiles again, and actually leans in for a little hug before he goes. “I’ll give you a call.”

*

Dave is really nervous, that kind of nervous that makes his heart race and makes him want to turn around and run as fast as he can; but Leo is there beside him and he wouldn't allow that, let alone that Dave would never leave him there all by himself, so he has to stay.

This is insane. It feels like the senior prom all over again, when he came to this very same house to pick Kurt up and Burt's face was so grim he actually managed to scare the leaving shit out of him without saying a word. Burt was standing in a corner of the family room and watched as Kurt run down the stairs – beautiful beyond words – and hugged Dave happily, not daring to kiss him in front of his father. Burt's eyes were telling Dave that if he was just fooling around with his son, he would never, ever see the light of day after he had finished with him. Dave had shivered all the way back to the car.

Now, things are different because he actually lives with Kurt already and they have a son. Him being here in front of this door waiting to ask Kurt's hand to his father it is just a mere formality to keep up the tradition. Burt is not supposed to say no, what would they do if he did? It doesn't make any sense. Still, Dave wants to ask him and do things properly and he wants Burt's approval as much as he wants Kurt's because he needs to feel that the whole Hummel family is with him in this.

“Dad, can we please at least ring the doorbell?” Leo asks, looking up at him with a sigh. “We've been here for ten minutes now. It's weird, people are staring at us.”

Dave reaches for the doorbell and finally rings. The doorbell's sound is the same as ten years ago and still makes him shiver. It's going to be a very long and very hard chat with mr. Hummel.

It's Finn who opens the door with the most annoyed face ever. “What?” He spits out before actually noticing who's standing on the doormat.

“Hi to you too, Finn,” Dave says, raising a perplexed eyebrow.

“Sorry, man. We weren't expecting you,” he explains. Then he tries and look past him and Leo to see if Kurt is with them too. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes, everything's fine.”

“Who's there, Finn?” Burt’s voice comes from inside the house.

Finn puts his head back inside. “It's Dave with Leo,” he yells to his step-father, then turns back to Dave and gives him one of his smiles. “Me and Burt are about to watch the game. Wanna join us?”

“No, thanks,” Dave declines. “I... I actually thought I'd find you here because of, you know, the football game. I need to ask you something.”

Since Dave seems pretty serious, Finn nods seriously as well and steps back. “Uh. Okay, sure. Come in.”

Dave enters hesitantly, still uncomfortable with the whole situation, while his son precedes him in the living room. “Hey! Is that my nephew?” Burt says, looking at them from the armchair.

“Yes, it's me!” Leo answers, running to hug him. “Are you my grandpa?”

Burt laughs. “You can bet I am, little champion.” He lifts Leo up so he can sit on his lap. “How you doin'? Have you thought about starting to play football as I asked you last time we saw each other?”

“Not much,” Leo answers, honestly. “I really want to be a pilot, you know. But dad is teaching me something in the backyard because it's family business, he says. I know how to tackle, now.”

Finn is gone to fetch a couple of beers, so Dave can watch Leo and his grandfather having a chat of their own. Leo is pretty good at football, but he doesn't like it. And since he doesn't seem to like much dancing and singing either, he probably won't follow neither his nor Kurt's footsteps.

“Racing is too dangerous for a kid of your age!” Burt says. “Football would be a better choice, at least until you're old enough to get a driving license.”

“I'll drive go-karts until I'm old enough to drive real cars,” Leo explains, now playing with his grandfather's baseball cap. “Dad said he is going to think about it.”

Leo turns to his father for confirmation, but Finn is back and the two of them are talking so he lets it go and goes back to his grandfather.

“So, what is it you wanted to ask me?” Finn is saying, handing Dave his bottle of beer with a slightly uncomfortable smile.

“Yes, right. I was wondering if you can keep an eye on Leo tonight. I'd like to take your brother out to dinner. It's a special date,” he explains, sipping on his beer. “I know I should have called you first, but I have a lot on my mind right now and I just forgot.”

Finn doesn't understand why Dave is so upset. It is not like he never left Leo here or at Finn's house for that matter. Sooner or later each one of the group has babysittered Leo for a couple of hours or even the night, so Dave shouldn't be so worried for his kid. “Uh, it's alright, dude. We're going to watch the game for the rest of the night anyway. Keeping an eye on Leo won't be a problem at all. Why are you acting so weird? Is there something wrong? You can tell me, y'know.”

“It's nothing, really,” Dave tries to smile but what comes out is just a grimace of pain.

“It doesn't really seem so,” Burt says, just letting Leo go after tickling him so hard he can barely breathe anymore. The kid runs away blindly until he slams against his uncle Finn's legs. “You look like you're having gas.”

Finn laughs and takes Leo in his arms, heading with him upstairs, where he apparently has a present for him. Dave feels uneasy now more than ever after the gas joke and everything.

“Come on, have a sit,” Burt invites him, going back to watch the game.

Even after almost ten years of being with this man's son, Dave is still terrified of him; maybe it is because Burt has never been exactly rude with him. He has been just the right grade of finely threatening, enough to make Dave know he was closely watching him but not to make Carole or Kurt angry for being an asshole with him. Dave sits uneasily on the armchair opposite to Burt's and tries to find a way to talk to him in between a game action and the other.

“Do you know I recently became a vegetarian?” Burt asks, conversationally.

Dave doesn't know exactly what he is supposed to answer to that and most of all why Burt is telling him now. “Really. And why is that?”

Burt doesn't look away from the TV as he speaks. His eyes follow the players on screen with great attention. “My heart's sick. Doctor says it's time I start taking it easy, 'cause I'm getting old,” he says, sipping juice from an half empty bottle. “But that's not the point. Do you know what me being vegetarian means?”

“That... you don't eat meat, sir?” Dave says, hesitantly. It feels like an episode of “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?”, except that he doesn't know exactly what he's going to lose if he doesn't answer correctly.

But Burt turns to him with a little smile. “It means that I'm not going to eat you alive, Dave,” he says, leaning over the armrest and touching Dave's knee with the bottle. “So relax.”

Dave smiles nervously. “I'm trying my best, sir.”

“Well, try harder,” Burt insists, turning back to the game. “You're sitting like your spine is made of iron or something. And stop calling me sir. I don't know why you're always doing that, but it creeps me out. You're not seventeen anymore and I'm not that old.”

Dave would be really upset by this answer if he couldn't see some mischievous smile lingering on Burt's lips. “Sure, Burt,” he says. “It just feels strange to call you by your first name when I came here to ask you something so delicate.”

He's expecting some sort of reaction, but he gets none. Burt keeps watching tv and sipping juice. “What is it?” he asks. “If you need money or something for the kid, me and Carole can help you but Kurt alone earns more in a week than me in a couple of months, so don't expect much.”

Dave wonders why everyone keeps thinking they need money. They’re actually pretty well off, with Kurt's career and everything. Not billionaire, maybe, but they've got their nest egg put aside in case of emergency. Just because they didn't move immediately in a bigger house or even a bigger city when Kurt landed his first well paid role on Broadway, it doesn't mean they are in dire straits or something. Dave could even quit his job and stay home with Leo, if he wanted to. Too bad he doesn't and he still have a problem with earning less than Kurt, but it's something he's slowly getting over with.

“Don't worry, we don't need any money,” he finally says aloud, getting out of his own head to answer. “I'm here to talk to you about me and Kurt.”

This attracts Burt's attention. “What about you two?” He asks suspiciously.

Dave is so happy to have him fully listening that he doesn't even care for the dangerous tone. “We've been together almost ten years now. And they have been the most beautiful years of my life.”

Burt relaxes and smiles sweetly to that, clearly not expecting any buts. “I'm pretty sure they've been the most beautiful years of Kurt's life so far too,” he says and then sighs, almost wistfully. “I admit I had my doubts on you, Dave. I couldn't really see why Kurt would choose you, considering he's a wonderful, talented and beautiful person, worthy of the best in the entire world, but looking in his eyes is enough for me to understand. He almost never smiles as he does when he's with you. So you must be worth it.”

Dave blushes a little. He is so grateful to hear those words that his heart could easily explode. “I'm so lucky to have him. And I love him more every day,” he says “I'm doing my best to make him happy as much as he makes me.”

Burt is already nodding. “I know you are, son. Is that why you won't let me see the end of this game? To tell me things I am already aware of? Y'know, you could have called, I would have spared you the trip. As I said, I had doubts on you but that was a long time ago. Now I wouldn't trust Kurt's life with anyone but you, so you can relax.” Burt laughs but keeps watching the game, completely unaware that something momentous is about to happen.

“I had to come, sir.” Dave takes a deep breath. The moment is finally arrived and if he doesn't do it now, he will never do it. “I'm actually here to ask your permission... to propose to Kurt, tonight.”

Burt's brain shuts down. He turns to Dave and looks at him like he is not seeing him at all. Dave's heart is racing madly. He is so scared, he can't even breath. This can end two ways, and right now he is not completely sure one of them is actually good.

*

Finn doesn't live here anymore, obviously.

He moved out to go to college and then never came back. He has his own house now, though it is not too far from Burt and Carole's because, just like Dave, he didn't really want to leave his parents. Or Lima, for that matter. But he spends a lot of time in the old family house, because he lives alone and he gets easily bored. His old room looks exactly the same and he sleeps there too sometimes.

Leo loves it. No other room of his grandparents' house but the attic is more appealing than Finn's old room to him. He likes to explore it and quest for the many treasures it holds. Finn never throws away anything, so there's plenty of his old toys and trophies in there. There are shelves and shelves filled with action figures from movies and comics. Some of them Leo recognizes from Dave's own collection of comics, but for the most part they are unknown characters he never heard of because he is too young. There is one in particular that never fails to get his attention. It is a green, gnomish figure wearing a purple cape that covers it completely, so you can't see its face except for its round, yellow eyes. Finn told him it is a mage or something but Leo doesn't care for the story behind it, he just likes the look of the character. It is the first doll he grabs every time he enters Finn's room. He is playing with it even now, although his main thought is the present Finn was talking about.

“Why did you buy me a present?” He asks. “It's not my birthday.”

“I didn't buy it,” Finn explains, taking out a big cardbox from under his bed. “It's one of my old games. I found it a couple of days ago and I thought you would like it.”

“What game is it?”

Finn smiles. “Go on, open the box and see for yourself.”

Leo kneels before the box and carefully lies the little toy beside him while he opens it. Inside the box there is one of those old fifth or sixth generation consoles. Leo knows them from the internet but he has never actually seen a working one. On top of it, a game with the biggest case he has ever seen.

“It's a go kart simulator,” Finn explains as he sits on his old bed to watch Leo going through the box. “It's a bit old, but it's still a good game.”

Leo's eyes are sparkling. “Really? That's so cool, uncle Finn!”

He watches closely every single piece he finds in the box, turning each one of them in his little hands. The console looks nothing like the ones he has at home; it is dusty, scratched and really ugly and squared, but as much as it is old, it holds a charm of its own. It's like the old PSP his dad gave him. It has scratches all over it and it keeps getting stuck from time to time, but Leo loves it more than his brand new Nintendo Dsi-4 which he mostly needs to exchange Pokémons with his friends at school.

“Do you like it?” Finn laughs, looking at him with affection. He fell in love with Leo the moment he laid his eyes on him for the first time after Kurt and Dave brought him home. He is a very proud uncle and takes his role really seriously, which basically means he spoils Leo as much as he possibly can.

“Yes!” Leo cries, putting everything back in the box so he can drag it to the old TV in the room. “Can I try it?”

“Sure,” Finn nods. “Your dad said you're really enjoying this driving thing, recently. Is Kurt alright with it?”

“Not much, really.” Leo puts the console, the cables and the controller meticulously in front of the TV, trying to figure out what he is looking at. It has always been this way with him. He is the kind of child who always reads the instructions before playing with anything and doesn't want any help, unless he asks for it. Finn knows that, so he just watches.

“And you still want to drive? Even though you know how dangerous it could be?”

“Of course I do!” He looks at him and then back at the game. “And it's not so dangerous. Where's the motion sensor?”

Finn laughs. “There is no motion sensor, kid. This thing comes from a time of cables,” he says, pointing at the various parts as he proceeds to explain. “You connect the console to the TV and the fake steering wheel to the console. Then you just start the game and, you know, drive.”

“I got it.” Leo executes with no hesitation whatsoever. Like any kid his age, he is used to technology and has a quick grasp of it even if it is of a kind he has never seen before.

“This way, you won't have to actually drive a real go-kart,” Finn continues. But when Leo turns to look at him with a slightly troubled face, he realizes that maybe his words were too conclusive. “Obviously, I'm not saying you will never, ever drive a go-kart, but you can practice with this game first, so you can drive the real thing only when you know you're ready, and it'll be less dangerous.”

“I'm ready, uncle Finn,” Leo shrugs and moves the TV a bit to reach for the plugs on the back. “I'm not a little kid anymore and I want this more than anything else in the whole world. Except for one thing.”

“Hm? Something more important than go karts? And what would that be?” Finn asks, genuinely interested. He is more than willing to help Leo have whatever it is that can distract him from those damn mini-cars, since Kurt is driving him nuts, always complaining on how his only child will die in a go-kart accident at the tender age of six.

Leo is busy trying to figure out which cable goes where, so he doesn't bother turning around. “Dad marrying daddy.”

“Oh, yeah, that— WHAT?”

Leo is totally calm. He doesn't even look at him. “They're going to get married soon,” he explains patiently, like his uncle was a bit slow, which he is anyway.

“Kid, wait,” Finn says, standing up to get closer to him. Leo says the strangest things all the time, but this one seems pretty weird even for him. “What are you talking about? Kurt would have told me if he was getting married!”

Leo tries putting the yellow cable in the plug marked as A even if it is green, since all the other cables don't fit anyway. “That's because he doesn't know yet.”

“What the...” Finn starts saying, then he realizes. “Wait. Is your father...?”

Leo nods casually. “Yes. He's asking grandpa Daddy's hand right now.”

Finn leaves Leo in his room and run downstairs. There’s no way he’s going to miss it, and Leo will be okay on his own, anyway.

*

Burt has hardly spoken a word since he heard the big news, so Dave is basically reciting a monologue. And since speaking in front of people has never been his thing, he's getting more and more nervous as time goes by. “I love him, sir. A lot. And we've been together so long that it seems the perfect thing to do because it's actually the only thing missing,” he says, palm sweating, heart racing and everything. “I want to promise Kurt I'll never leave him in every way I possibly can and marrying him is pretty definitive... if a child wasn't already. I mean, I'm not saying that marriage is just a joke. Geez, I know I would mess this up.”

Burt keeps staring into nothing for the longest time after that, but then he eventually clears his throat.

“You know, when I was younger and Kurt's mom was still alive but Kurt wasn't born yet, I wanted to have a daughter so much,” he starts, finally looking at him. Dave tenses, because now that Burt is speaking who knows what he is going to answer. “I'm not saying I was disappointed when Kurt came out to be a boy, only that when I had fantasized about it, I wanted a girl. And you know why? 'Cause I kept thinking about how beautiful she would be, how sweet, how passionate, and I wanted her to find a man who could protect her and love her as she deserved, so I could give her away to the right one, and regret nothing. Then Kurt was born and, as you know, he was a boy. And times have changed. Nowadays no one asks the permission to marry someone to their father anymore, so I was just... you know, resigned I would never really had the chance to give him away.” Burt turns back to Dave and looks at him with shiny eyes. “I thought you would never ask.”

Dave has listened carefully and with the last words his face slowly relaxes. “Thank God you said yes,” he breathes out, relieved. “For a moment there I thought you were going to refuse.”

Burt laughs and shakes his head. “Your face was absolutely priceless,” he says. “I wish I had a camera hidden somewhere in this room.”

Dave laughs too because he is too happy even to be ashamed of his everlasting fear of Burt. In this very moment he actually feels the urge to hug the man, but he doesn't dare because he has never done such a thing before. “Thank you,” he says instead, with all the honesty he can put in his voice. “You can be sure I will always protect him and love him. Nobody can touch Kurt without me kicking their asses.”

It's Burt the one who stands up and opens his arms, then. “Come here, son. It's pretty good to call you like that, you know.”

Finn enters the room that moment, watching the two of them with wide, bewildered eyes. “Oh my God, then it's true!”

Caught in his bear but manly hug with Burt, Dave smiles proudly and happily at him. “You can bet it is, Finn,” he says. “Like it or not, you're going to be my official brother-in-law.”

Burt is overwhelmed with happiness, so he stops talking for once and sits down, letting the other two men talk about the event.

Finn is astonished and can't even form a complete sentence. “Whoa, man. I mean, this sounds like... I mean, it's pretty big.” For him, who is not married nor even engaged, marriage looks like some sort of epic quest only the bravest can complete. He is watching Dave with brand new eyes, now.

As far as he is concerned, Dave is trying to be cool, not to give in to panic. “It can't be bigger than a twenty years mortgage and a six years old kid who gets lices three times in a row while your brother – soon to be my beautiful husband – has a big show to do and wants to sleep in the garden fearing of taking them too, isn't it?”

Finn laughs. “I think I understand. Well, not really, but yes,” he says, giving Dave his right hand. “Congratulations, dude.”

Dave shakes his hand. “Thanks, man. Now I just hope Kurt will say yes.”

“Dude,” Finn says with such intensity to be almost ridiculous. “He's been planning his wedding since he was five.”

“Yes, I know.” Everyone knows that, actually. “But with Kurt you never know. Maybe the proposal won't be right, or... or the timing, or maybe now it's already too late or something. Your brother is not easy to understand sometimes.”

“Word,” says Finn, sitting on the couch with a heavy sigh. “But when it comes to you, then it's different. You really touch him.”

“I'm not completely sure to understand what your talking about,” David says, a bit puzzled. And that is your stepfather, who happens to be also Kurt's father, right here, so watch what you say. He would like to tell Finn that too, but he doesn't and just casts a very weird look at him, hoping he will get it.

“I mean,” Finn says, realizing what he has just said, “that you're close to him. You understand him. That's what I wanted to say. You're right.”

“And you're also late, I bet,” Burt adds, since he has turned back to his usual self in the meantime.

Dave looks at his watch and frowned. “Oh God, yes. I definitely am. I've got to pick him up in 5,” he says, and then turns to Finn for the last recommendation. “Take care of Leo. I'll be back to pick him up after dinner. Let's say at ten?”

“Dude, take your time. Your kid's going to be alright,” Finn reassures him.

Burt smiles and wishes him good luck.

Dave thanks him one last time and then he is off.

*

The restaurant is almost full, and Dave’s sweating. As he looks at Kurt, pretending to listen to whatever he’s saying about the food and how good it looks on the menu and how beautiful the place is and how he would have never thought Dave could take him to a place like this, Dave lets his thoughts wander back to his teenage years, to a very specific day, the one in which Kurt told him he didn’t dig on chubby guys who sweats too much and are going to be bald by the time they’re 30. He’s still chubby, though he managed to keep his weight under control – also because he could be easily fired if he didn’t, not to mention lose control on the bunch of crazy hyperactive kids he coaches – and he’s just 27, so he guesses it’s a little early to talk about balding and shit, but somehow sweating so much now is making him really uncomfortable. He can’t help but to think at the moment he will hold Kurt’s hand in his own, and he prays not to have sweaty palms by then. He wouldn’t survive the shame of having sweaty palms as he proposes to his lover. That would be so lame, not to mention disgusting. What if Kurt withdraws his hand with a horrified face? Dave just couldn’t stand that. Not in the most important moment of his life.

All of this is Leonard’s fault, he knows it. He just didn’t care about having a wedding before, and he’s pretty sure Kurt would never ask if he never brought that up, but now proposing to him seems like the only thing Dave can think about anymore. Every single second of his life is beaten by that thought. Asking Kurt. There’s nothing else in the world.

He’s glad this day’s almost over, because he can’t take any more of this. He doesn’t work well in stressful situations, and this is definitely one.

“Dave?” Kurt calls for him, frowning slightly behind his glass of red wine, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Wha— sure,” Dave immediately answers, nodding quickly, “Of course I’m listening.” He knows pretty well how Kurt can be annoyed by people not giving him the exact amount of attention he thinks he deserves – which is pretty much all they can give, and sometimes that much isn’t even enough – especially when he’s in a bad mood. God, Dave so wishes Kurt’s not in a bad mood. “So…” he starts, hoping Kurt won’t notice he actually wasn’t really listening at all, “What do you wanna eat?”

“As I already said…” Kurt answers, which means he noticed. Well, at least he’s still smiling. That’s good. As long as his smile doesn’t turn in that awkward smirk that always comes right before a fight, everything’s good. “There are so many delicious things here,” Kurt comments, flipping through the menu, “It’s a very fancy restaurant, Dave. I’m really… impressed.”

“Did you think I would learn nothing, living with you for almost ten years?” Dave asks, smiling nervously and trying to keep himself from randomly fidgeting on his suddenly really uncomfortable chair. He clumsily leans on the table, holding out a hand and brushing his fingertips over Kurt’s loosely closed fist.

Kurt blushes instantly, looking back at him. “Sometimes, I can’t even believe so much time has passed,” he says softly, his smile so sweet that Dave almost burns with the need to kiss him, to taste it and tell if it really is as sweet as it looks.

“Yeah…” Dave smiles too, casually caressing Kurt’s hand, “We’ve almost been together longer than we’ve been apart,” he considers, chuckling softly, and as he lets his eyes wander over the restaurant’s big room his breath almost got caught up in his throat. Leo’s here, hiding behind a curtain near the kitchen door. His uncle Finn is with him, and he’s so big the curtain’s barely enough to cover half of him, while Leo, not really caring about hiding at all, stays beside him, watching closely over what’s happening at their table.

Finn gestures something, probably an apology. Dave can read on his mouth that he’s sorry, that it was Leo’s idea and that he wants to die. Three things he doesn’t really care about right now. Luckily, they’re behind Kurt’s back, at least.

“Dave?” Kurt frowns, and Dave’s eyes instantly switch on him, “You’re really distracted, tonight. Is everything ok?”

“Of course, honey. I’m sorry, I’m just… nevermind.” He manages to smile, squeezing Kurt’s hand one last time before retreating his own and starting to go through the menu. “What were you saying?”

“That you should stop making me blush,” Kurt answers, laughing in a low voice, “Because blush doesn’t match the color of my shirt tonight. But it sounded better the first time, I’m sorry you missed it.”

Dave laughs too, shaking his head a little. “It’s still funny, though. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah, sure,” Kurt pretends to be very offended, pouting and scoffing and crossing his arms over his chest for a moment, “Keep going on like that, ruining my lines and then pretending to be still amused by them.” He shakes his head too, his cheeks pleasantly flushed as he flips through the menu once more, trying to act casually when he speaks again. “So, what’s the occasion?” he asks, “We’ve got a big anniversary coming on, but it’s in three weeks.”

“Nothing special,” Dave lies, throwing a nervous glance at Leo, hoping he sees the scolding in his eyes and understands he really has to hide behind the curtain. He obviously doesn’t get it and stays exactly where he is, and Dave is not sure that he would hide if he understood that’s what his father’s asking him to do. Sometimes he doesn’t really know if it’s harder to be Kurt’s partner or Leo’s father. What he knows is that the combination of the two things will probably be the death of him. “I just wanted to hang out with you,” he manages to say with a smile, “It’s been pretty hard to do that recently, since we’ve got no time and, when we’re free, we’re always with Leo.” He laughs a little, shifting uncomfortably on his chair when he sees Leo move a step forward and almost clash against an innocent waiter. Finn manages to avoid the disaster grabbing his nephew from under his arms and forcing him to step back, closer to the curtain. “I… don’t think I’ve been this good with you, in the last few… months,” Dave sighs, looking back at Kurt.

Kurt smiles immediately, his eyes so full of love and joy Dave feels himself melting inside. “You’ve been busy being a good dad. I can’t be mad for that.”

“Yeah, but you deserve some attention too, once in a while,” Dave insists, “And don’t talk to me like I don’t know that another couple of weeks without a ‘you look gorgeous, tonight’ and you’d have kicked me out of bed,” he adds in a sweet laugh, gently kicking one of Kurt’s legs under the table.

Kurt laughs, kicking him back. “That’s true. It’s just that I like it so much when you say that to me,” he explains, almost purring softly at the mere thought of hearing a compliment like that addressed to himself, “You know, our little moments away from my shows and your team, back when we still had time for us… I miss that, just a bit.”

Dave’s whole body tenses for a moment, as he holds Kurt’s hand in his once again, squeezing it softly. “Well, then,” he says, “what if we could have the opportunity to take some time just for the two of us?”

Kurt blankly stares at him, blinking a couple of times and looking kind of clueless, which is actually funny, because Kurt never looks like that. He loves to keep things in control, he’s not really wild as a person – especially when they’re out of bed – and he panics when he feels something important is happening somewhere near him and he doesn’t understand what it is. This time, though, he seems more prone to breath in and out and count to ten before he panics. This gives Dave enough time to cast an uncertain glance at Finn and Leo, which are clearly rooting for him from their hidden position behind that curtain.

“It would be lovely,” Kurt admits, sighing a little, “But it’s not like it’s going to happen, isn’t it?”

“But if you could choose, I mean…” Dave clears his throat, looking and feeling kind of uncomfortable now that he feels the moment approaching, “if we could just go wherever we wanted, for, like, a week or two, where would you like to go?”

“Well, if I could choose, I would like to see Europe,” Kurt finally answers, his voice soft and distant, his eyes dreamy as he just needed to fantasize to go exactly where he wants to. “I’ve never been there, you know? London, maybe, or Paris. It would be wonderful to see Paris.”

Dave chuckles, holding Kurt’s hand more sweetly, now, squeezing it in his right hand as he brushes the soft skin on his knuckles. “I think we could go both to London and to Paris, then,” he nods, starting to find really amusing the bewildered look on Kurt’s face. “It has to be a pretty special trip, you know,” he adds with a little smile, “It’s for a special occasion.”

“What…?” Kurt asks, arching an eyebrow, “Dave, what are you talking about?”

Dave clears his throat again, hoping his voice won’t scratch when he starts singing. He actually can’t believe he’s about to sing. It’s the silliest thing ever. Suddenly, he wishes Puck had been convincing enough to stop him, back at his place. Instead he hadn’t, and now Dave’s here, leaving Kurt’s hand to stand up while Puck himself appears – apparently out of nowhere – holding his guitar in his arms like a lover, and starts playing the intro to the song. Dave prepares to sing and Kurt looks so shocked. Dave searches for his son’s eyes to remember why this whole insanity is still worth it, and Leo’s still hiding with Finn, and he’s smiling so brightly he alone is enough to lighten up the room, and Dave knows it’s worth it. It really is.

“Say that you’ll marry me, sometimes carry me, and I will be there forever more for you,” he starts singing, as Kurt’s eyes wander from Dave’s face to Puck’s, so wide and shocked he’s almost hilarious.

“Oh my God…” he whispers, covering his mouth with both his hands, “Is it…?”

Dave can’t help but smile as he holds out a hand to Kurt and gently helps him to stand up, moving away from the table and holding him close to slowly dance with him. “And if you marry me, I will give ev’ry thing, and I will do anything that you need me to…”

“It’s a proposal!” Kurt almost sobs, tears shining in his blue eyes, “A singing proposal!” He tries to hide his face against Dave’s chest when he notices everybody’s staring – mostly because they’re dancing and Puck’s jumping all around them chanting backvocals and improvising improbable dance steps – but he ends up laughing as he keeps watching him, with an adoring look in his eyes. “You’re singing to me. Oh my God.”

Dave laughs a little. Kurt is so, so beautiful and cute, in this very moment, he can’t even believe he waited so much to ask him. It’s just the most natural thing to do. He loves Kurt so much, he always will. This is just the best gift he could give to him, and so he kneels right in front of his future husband and takes his hand in his own, looking straight in his eyes as he sings the last verses of the song. “You’ll know by the love in my eyes and the beat of my heart, I’ll be there. You’ll know ‘cause you’ll never be lonely again, anytime, anywhere. This I promise if you marry me.” He stops singing, smiling brightly. Puck stops right beside him, holding his breath like everybody else in the room. “So… What do you say?”

Kurt giggles confusedly, wiping away the tears from his own eyes. He’s on cloud nine, right now, and Dave feels so proud, both because he can tell and because he’s the one who brought him there. “I say yes,” Kurt answers, his voice breaking a little, “I would say yes a hundred times.”

Dave smiles again, reaching for the little velvet box he’s been hiding in the back pocket of his jeans for the whole night. Leo chose the ring, obviously, and Dave happily let him, so it’s really easy to smile brightly now that he hears Leo squeal in joy, still hiding somewhere, so Kurt can’t see him. “May I…?” he asks, his cheeks flushed as he moves the ring closer to Kurt’s finger.

“Oh God, you’ve got a ring too!” Kurt almost screams, holding out his hand to him, maybe a little too much eagerly. So much he actually almost slaps him in the face. Dave laughs, and he’s ok even with this.

“I knew you’d be happier for this than for my performance!” he comments, pretending to be really outraged, while the truth is he’s not. He puts the ring around Kurt’s finger and then stands up, searching for his eyes and smiling again when Kurt looks at him. He’s crying. He’s the most beautiful thing Dave has ever seen in his entire life, and he's his. “Are you happy?”

Kurt looks down at his ring and stares at him for a couple of seconds, like he can’t see anything else. “It’s so beautiful, I love it.” He raises his eyes again, holding Dave close around his waist. “And you… you…” he sobs a little, unable to stop crying or just calm down, “I love you too. I love you so much,” he whispers, moving forward to close the distance separating them, kissing him slowly and deeply, wrapping his arms around his neck.

The crowd around them cheers, everybody raises their glasses as they keep kissing, and there’s a little voice in the back of Dave’s mind that speaks right to his heart. “Not bad, Dave Karofsky,” that’s what the voice says, “not too shabby”. He parts from Kurt, and catches a glimpse of his son cheering with Finn. The moment Leo notices Dave’s looking at him, he immediately stops, smiles as shiny as the sun itself and gives him a thumbs up. That’s the best reward for the night, and all in all Dave can go home satisfied.

*

The news of the marriage spreads fast, thanks to a dense network of gossip and to some lovely cards, designed by Leo, who has run out of crayons to draw them all under the supervising and equally fussy eye of his father Kurt.

Soon, David finds out that after the worst part has been done – actually proposing to Kurt – there is no much left for him to do, because Kurt and Leo takes over the wedding and do everything in their power to be sure that he or any other adult male of the family is as out as possible of their way.

Female specimens of the species are called to help, though. Rachel, Mercedes, Lauren and even poor, confused Brittany, all converge to the Bridal Emporium, in Wapakoneta, answering the mandatory summoning of the little man himself, who is now really busy briefing them standing on a footstool.

“Me and daddy went through the shop on line catalogue and chose ten possible outfits for him,” he says, very seriously. “Now, daddy is gonna try them all and you will tell us what you think about them.”

“Is he always so business-like?” Rachel asks, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “Shouldn't he be out, playing with a rattle or something?”

Living in New York and being busy as she is with all the big productions she is involved in, Rachel has seen Leo only a couple of times since the day he was born and quite obviously she doesn't know him – or any child – at all. She and Leo has been staring at each other curiously for quite some time now.

“Rachel, he's six years old. He is not a baby,” Mercedes tells her, rolling her eyes, exaggeratedly.

“Well, with toy soldiers or something, then,” she insists.

“Is it something wrong, aunt Rachel?” Leo asks, speaking up and looking in her direction like a teacher who has surprised her talking with the girl next to her.

Lauren leans on Rachel's shoulder. “You better pay attention, woman,” she murmurs. “Leo doesn't forgive.”

Rachel swallows. “No, everything's fine.”

“Good,” Leo nods. “Then, please be quiet. Daddy needs complete silence.”

“That kid scares me,” Rachel says when Leo's eyes finally leave her and she feels allowed to breathe again.

“He is not a kid,” Brittany steps in with her most serious face and casual tone. “He is a baby alien. He only eats cauliflower, except that on his planet they are pink and sparkly and taste like strawberry smoothie.”

Rachel looks at her not knowing if she should feel more compassionate or resigned.

“It's true,” Brittany nods eagerly. “He told me.”

As Rachel sighs, going for compassion, Leo glares at them and doesn't stop looking until he is sure they will not talk again. Then he smiles and proceeds to introduce his father who is been waiting behind the curtains of the changing room for half an hour now and is starting to feel hot in there.

The first three suits don't encounter the favor of the audience, who finds them way too plain for Kurt. The fourth and fifth are okay for most of the girls, but just okay is not exactly what Kurt and Leo are looking for. According to Leo, Kurt should look like a prince from the fairy tales, while Kurt wants something more memorable, with some tartan insertions and maybe a sash or some beads.

“So basically, we're looking for a punk tuxedo with some feathered hat or something?” Lauren asks, not quite sure.

“It's gonna be so easy to find it, here in Ohio,” Mercedes says, ironically.

“Why aren’t you marrying in New York?” Rachel asks. “You would have the best wedding shops at your disposal, catering services, flower arrangement specialists and let alone the most gorgeous city landscape to use as a background for your wedding photos. Besides, you need something to draw the attention from Dave, you know?”

Mercedes elbows her in her ribs so hard that Rachel almost bends over with a little cry. “Don't worry sweetie,” she says to Kurt, smiling lovingly “we are gonna find something you like.”

Fortunately, Kurt knows Rachel and her complete lack of tact too well to get upset by her words. Besides, he is actually so happy about this marriage that Rachel could say whatever she wants about Dave and he would smile at her anyway. “Dave wants to marry in Lima,” he explains as he takes off the sparkling blue marine vest he is wearing and gives it to Leo who hands him another one. “Here is where we met and fell in love with each other, so it seems right to celebrate our relationship where it began.”

Rachel lets out a very silly sound. “That's so romantic, Kurt!”

“I know,” he chuckles. “You wouldn't expect that from Dave, right?”

“I didn't expect anything from him, actually,” Rachel sighs. “I thought he wasn't the right guy for you.”

Mercedes elbows her again and then nods towards Leo. The kid is listening very carefully to everything they say but as every other kid he pretends not to, so he just prepares the next outfit for his father.

“Apparently, you were wrong,” Kurt smiles, anxious to end the discussion before it gets too ugly. “So, what's next, little pumpkin?”

“This one,” the boy says, holding up a swallowtailed coat he wants Kurt to wear since the first time they saw it in the catalogue. Leo likes it because it is old fashioned and with its whiteness satisfies his need to have some kind of bride at this wedding, even if his parents are both male. Obviously the bride has to be Kurt because Leo can't image Dave to play the role, not even wearing pants.

Kurt puts on the white suit and turns around in front of the mirror. From the couch where all his future bridesmaids are sitting comes a chorus of “aaw” and “wow” that makes Leo really proud.

“This is the best so far,” Mercedes smiles, pulling Leo on her lap. He settles against her body very naturally and nods a couple of times.

“I chose it,” He says.

“I suggest a touch of color in the front pocket,” Rachel says. “What about a blue foulard?”

“My cousin Layton had an onion in his front pocket, ” Brittany says casually. “To keep away the vampires.”

Leo frowns. “That's garlic, aunt Brit.”

“Garlic is for normal vampires,” she explains. “Onions are for wedding vampires. They come to steal the cake and make everybody sad.”

“Those would be great and funny stories,” says Mercedes, shaking her head. “If only you didn't believe them.”

Brittany doesn't understand why everybody is rolling their eyes, but she doesn't have the time to ask because her always ephemeral attention is caught by something only she sees and that she stands up to chase around the room for.

“So, what about your something borrowed?” Lauren asks as she helps Kurt straighten the coat on his back.

“Finn gave me his lucky tie. It was his father's, he wore it at his own wedding,” Kurt smiles to her through the reflection.

“Will you wear something of your mother as something old?” Mercedes asks.

Kurt nods. “I have one of her rings,” he says. “Dad gave it to me when she died because it was my favorite piece of her jewelry. It's gonna be my wedding ring.”

He smiles. His mother's memory never ceased to be painful, but it has always been a good and warming one as well. Kurt likes to imagine her next to himself now, looking at him fondly like he remembers her doing. She would sit on the porch as he was playing with his toy china set, pretending to have tea with His Majesty the Queen of England, and she would smile and weave at him. She had the most beautiful smile in the world.

“So, speaking of something old,” Rachel steps in and, by her tone, everybody knows she is doomed to say something extremely uncomfortable. “Did you invite Blaine?”

Silence falls on the room and Rachel gets elbowed in her ribs once again. Kurt clears his throat and he seems rather to be waiting for someone to change the subject than willing to answer the question.

“Wait,” Brittany stops doing whatever she's doing with her arms up in the air under the chandelier. “Can you use people for that? Isn't he too young to be something old?”

Leo suddenly remembers. “Blaine?” He says to his father. “Is he the guy without a surname? The one you were in love with when you were little?”

Kurt's eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“Uncle Noah told me,” Leo explains. “He said that Blaine always wore a uniform and that he is a prince.”

“Don't worry, Kurt,” Lauren assures him. “I'm beating Puckerman senseless, tonight.”

“Well, he is charming,” Rachel states. “He could easily be a prince.”

“He is not a prince,” Kurt says, kneeling in front of his son. “He is an actor, like aunt Rachel and me. He was my boyfriend when we were in high school, long before you were born. Now, he is just a friend. A very good friend of mine.”

“And is he coming to the wedding?” Leo asks him.

“I don't know, baby,” Kurt kisses him on his forehead. “I sent him his card, we'll have to wait and see if he wants to come.”

*

Dad has been whining for the last hour and a half and Leonard can’t honestly take anymore of this shit. He knows he’s not supposed to use the S-word, and he’s sure that Kurt would go crazy if he even suspected he knows what does it mean (even though Leo can’t help but wonder what does his father think six years old kids are nowadays, whenever he thinks about all the words Kurt strongly believes Leo doesn’t understand, while he obviously does), but seriously, Dad’s out of his mind. Besides no one can hear him if he uses the word only in his thoughts. So he’s totally free and entitled to think his dad just lost his mind and that he can’t take anymore of his crazy shit, because it’s too much.

“Dad!” he almost screams, turning to him and punching him on his side just to make him stop babbling senselessly, “Would you please cut it out and give me a rest?!”

“I’m just saying!” Dave insists, flailing his arms everywhere, so wildly a couple of people waiting in front of the arrival gate actually turn and stare at him, trying to get if everything’s right or if he’s having a heart attack or something similar. Sometimes Leo feels ashamed to be seen with his parents. They’re so childish. “Your father could at least ask if I needed some help today! Offer to do something!”

“Dad, you know he would if he had time!” Leo whines, hiding behind Dave’s legs because people keep staring at him like he’s the reason why his father’s screaming so much, “He had to find the right dress for his bridesmaids. You know it’s not simple!”

“First of all, he’s not a bride, he doesn’t need bridesmaids,” Dave snorts, crossing his arms over his chest, which is actually good, because now, at least, he’s not flailing anymore, and Leo can stop hiding, “And then what, just because he’s got to go through countless shops ‘cause he’s demanding like a five years old spoiled girl, then I get to do everything else? Pick up Santana, choose the wedding cake, fetch my wedding ring, check on the place for the wedding reception and then drive Santana to fetch her dress for the ceremony?!”

“Dad, stop being so loud, please!” Leo whines again, covering his face with both his little hands, “You would have been the one picking up auntie Tana and driving her to fetch her dress anyway!”

“But I would have gladly spared myself the travel to the bakery and the wedding reception place!” Dave whines back, not even thinking about lowering his voice.

And then it happens. Then auntie Tana happens.

“I see you’re still the usual lame-ass, whining, unnerving, childish and insufferably annoying waste of space you’ve always been, Karofsky,” she says, appearing in front of the arrival gate wearing the shortest black leather mini-skirt ever seen on the face of earth, heels so high she looks taller than Dave and a white tight shirt that pushes up her boobs like she’s offering them to the world to adore them. Her eyes are cold as stone and her lips tightly closed, like carved on her face, but then they melt in a little smile and her gaze becomes warmer too, and everything in the world seems more beautiful and both Leo and Dave are looking at her like she’s a miracle, an angel just landed on Earth to bring the sacred word of God. “You haven’t changed at all, you asshole.”

It appears God’s sacred word is a little bit crude, today. He must be pissed off or something.

“Tana!” Dave smiles, his whole face lightening up. He practically throws himself at her, hugging her tightly while she does the same; she’s so smaller than him she completely disappears in his hug, and Leo can’t see her anymore. Which is disappointing, because auntie Tana is a pleasure to look at. Leo doesn’t really get why – but then he’s just six, he kind of knows he’s not supposed to know why, yet – but she is.

Auntie Tana lives in New York, just like aunt Rachel, but unlike aunt Rachel – who’s always walking blindfolded on the verge of a nervous and emotional breakdown – she lets only the cool things from New York affect her personality. She’s all kind of awesome, auntie Tana, always cool and stylish, and Leo loves how she talks, especially when she talks to him, because she doesn’t treat him like the idiotic kid everybody else thinks he is. She treats him like a young man, and that’s just freaking awesome.

However, since she lives so far away, it’s not unusual to see her just every once in a while, only on special occasions, also because she doesn’t like Lima very much. Leo agrees with her on that – among many other things he agrees with her on – because Lima’s just depressing. There’s nothing in here, that’s why he wants to be a pilot when he grows up, so he can travel the world on his shiny red car and see everything that’s worth seeing. And that’s why he wanted to be an astronaut before wanting to be a pilot, because who else sees more than what an astronaut sees? An astronaut gets to see the whole world from the space! That would be awesome. Just thinking about it makes Leo want to be an astronaut again, though now he’s totally over it and totally into driving and cars. He wanted to be something else, before wanting to be an astronaut, by the way; he doesn’t remember anymore because he was very, very little back then, but he’s sure it was something that would lead him to see a lot of different places too, like an airplane pilot, or a magician – because magicians travel the world with their shows, obviously – or maybe join the circus. Or something like that. Something that can take him away from Lima, because he doesn’t like it here. Auntie Tana’s right, she always is, Lima’s just plain boring.

That’s not important right now, though, that’s just him spacing out and drowning in his own thoughts as he often does. Actually, so often people thinks he’s dumb. Because there are times he just sits there staring at the void in his head and he thinks and thinks and thinks and…

“So,” auntie Tana says, breaking the flow of his thoughts, “Why do you let this lousy imitation of a father pester you like this?” she asks, bending over Leo and wrapping her arms around him, lifting him up in a sweet and warm hug. Leo chuckles, leaning against her and enjoying her delicious smell and the soft sensation of her skin under his hands. “You’re, like, twice a smart-ass than he is, concentrated in less than half the space. You should already be going around accomplishing your important mission.”

“Which would be?” Dave inquires, raising an eyebrow at her while he retrieves her enormous luggage and leads them both to the car.

Auntie Tana smirks and Leo blushes. She’s so beautiful, she’s unbelievable. When he grows up, he wants a girl just like her. Better, he’s going to marry her precisely, because there’s no one like auntie Tana in the whole world and he loves her so much. “Conquering and then destroying the world, obviously,” she answers, and Leo laughs, amused.

“It’s on my to-do list!” he nods, and his father rolls his eyes.

“Don’t give him any weird suggestion, he might just as well take you seriously.”

Auntie Tana chuckles – Leo feels her soft laughter vibrate under his fingertips, and he chuckles too – sitting in the car and letting Leo free to climb on the backseat, placing himself right between herself and his father, like he’s supposed to guide them or something, and he therefore needs to see the streets clearly.

“So, where are we going?” she asks, “I wanna go shopping.”

“I’m afraid that’ll have to wait,” Dave snorts. “We have to do a couple of things and see a couple of places before.”

“You’re always the same,” Santana pouts, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the window as Dave starts the engine and begins driving down the street, leaving the airport, “You would take any chance to avoid taking me shopping!”

“Believe me, Lopez, I would trade our plans for the afternoon with shopping with you anytime,” Dave sighs, shaking his head, “But you see the little soldier sitting…” he looks at his son in the rearview mirror, “I said sitting,” he repeats, and Leo lets out an irritated snorting sound, sitting properly on the backseat. “What was I saying? Oh, yeah, the little soldier. He’s here to watch our every move. We can’t deviate from the original plan, or we will be forced to face the sentence of death.”

Santana looks at him, raising an eyebrow. “You’re such a drama queen,” she says. “So, Leo, where are we going?” she asks again, turning to the kid and smiling at him.

He instantly smiles back. “First, we have to go and fetch dad’s wedding ring,” he explains, “Daddy was smart enough to have his already, but dad wasn’t, so he had to buy it, and today it should be ready, so we have to go and pick it up. If you ask me, it was stupid of him not to have a ring already. Daddy’s always smarter.”

Santana nods in agreement. “I know, your father here is just dumb. It’s an old story.”

“Could you both please give me a rest?” Dave whines, keeping his eyes locked on the street both because he doesn’t want to take the wrong way, and because he doesn’t want to give Leo and Santana too much attention, since he doesn’t think they deserve it.

“Then,” Leo proceeds, ignoring him, “we have to go pick the cake.” He smiles fondly just thinking about it, “Daddy said I could choose it, because he wants me to like it.”

“So we’re going to have a damn chocolate car-shaped cake, at our wedding,” Dave sighs. His son glares at him, pouting.

“Dad, you’re just so dumb,” he protests, “I’m not stupid, I know that the wedding cake must be pure white. We’re going to have it chocolate flavored, sure, but covered in cream!” he decides with a bright smile. “What do you think, auntie Tana?”

“I think you’re a little genius, really,” she answers, giggling. “Besides, I love me some chocolate to bite at, in every way this sentence could possibly be interpreted, so bring it on.”

“If you could just keep your innuendos far from my firstborn underage ears, Tana, that’d be very kind of you,” Dave snorts. He ends up being ignored as usual.

“After that,” Leo continues, “We’re going to check on the place daddy and I chose for the wedding reception. It’s awesome, it’s in the country. There are hills and a lake and horses running around. They keep them in their stables and then let them run around free on the horizon during the photocall. It’s great.”

“Oh, my God,” Santana laughs, shaking her head and looking at Dave as she points at Leo, “Is he real? Is he a clone or something?”

“Just… don’t let me even start on this,” Dave sighs, and Leo looks at both of them, puzzled.

“Did I say something wrong?” he asks.

Santana turns to him, smiling sweetly. “Not at all, buddy. Anyway, when are we going to buy some candies for auntie Tana?”

“I have candies,” Leo answers, “Here, in my pocket.” He nods and starts scrambling in his jeans’ pockets, while Santana gracefully laughs her ass off.

“I didn’t mean real candies, Leo,” she explains, “I meant a dress for me.”

“Oh!” Leo nods, not at all bothered by having said and done something really stupid, “Right after we check on that place. We can go shopping and you can buy a wonderful silk red dress and be beautiful while being dad’s best man.”

Santana laughs again, the thought of a silk red dress awakening a lot of memories in her mind. She looks at Dave, and he looks back at her, smirking lightly. She does the same. “A red dress, huh?” she ponders, “We’ll see about that.”

*

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Dave says, and he really hopes Santana doesn’t ignore him this time because he’s had enough of this behavior. She and Leo kept ignoring him the whole afternoon, and it was kind of unnerving. They chose the cake, they told the decorator how to arrange the room for the reception, they even had some – definitely unwanted – remarks on his wedding ring, and had to surrender and take it as it was only because there was not enough time to order a new one who they would have liked better.

This time, though, Santana can’t just keep going her own way ignoring him, and not only because even Leo (who would usually be more than happy to kiss the ground beneath her feet) seems confused now, but mainly because it’s Dave’s wedding they’re talking about, and he won’t allow his best man, which happens to be his ex-fake girlfriend too, to wear a suit more manly than the one he himself is going to wear.

“Oh, shut up, Karofsky, it’s awesome,” Santana answers, smiling so brightly her face practically shines. “And it looks so damn sexy on me.”

“It’s a man suit!” Dave insists, flailing his arms and stopping only when he sees his own reflection on the mirror Santana’s using to look at herself, and find himself so stupid he barely can stand himself. “You want a suit? Fine by me! We’ll find a woman’s suit!”

“But I want this one,” Santana replies, tying the bow tie around her white shirt’s collar. “It’s amazing. You can fix it for my body, can you?” she asks to the young, timid tailor who’s throwing frightened glances at her and Dave alternatively.

“I… I guess,” the guy answers, torturing the tape he’s holding in his hands.

“Great,” Santana smiles, “Then go on, take my measurements,” she commands, holding out her arms and standing in front of the mirror, offering herself to the man. He nods and starts working, and as he moves around her like a busy bee she looks at Dave in the mirror. “What’s your problem, now?”

“If you don’t get in on your own…” he snorts, sitting on the stuffed bench where Leo has been sitting in silence for the last half hour, since Santana picked her outfit. “Tell her something!” Dave says to his son, and the kid turns to him, his eyes so big Dave can see his reflection inside them.

“She’s wearing a man suit,” he says.

“Yeah, I can see that already,” Dave scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest and turning back to Santana. “You see? You traumatized him. Look at his face! He’s shocked.”

“He’s yours and Kurt’s son, I don’t see why crossdressing should shock him,” Santana peacefully answers.

“Why? Because we don’t crossdress! That’s why!” Dave says, eyes wide open, quite shocked himself.

“Oh, come on,” Santana laughs, “Kurt used to wear skirts all the time in high school.”

“Ok, first, he didn’t wear skirts all the time,” Dave considers, using his fingers to count his points on the matter, “Secondly, he still wears them, but they’re skirts for men. Can you see the subtle yet essential difference? That’s why I said you can wear a suit, if you want, but let’s be sure it’s made for a woman!”

“Oh, cut it out, Karofsky!” Santana finally stops him, turning around so suddenly and violently she makes the poor tailor trip and fall on the ground. “I’m sorry, man,” she apologizes with a little smile, and then jumps off the footstool she was standing on to help the man take her measurements. In a couple of steps, she’s only inches away from Dave, and she looks at him, clearly bothered by his nonsense talking. She looks at him like that just for a couple of seconds, though, because she kneels besides him right after that, looking at Leo. “Hey, buddy,” she smiles, “What about this suit?”

“It’s a little confusing,” Leo answers, biting at his lower lip.

“I get it. But, you know, not every confused thing is bad on principle. Some things just need to be like that, because they can’t be explained any other way,” she nods. “Me, for example,” she adds, smirking. “I really like this suit. Is it confusing? Yes. Will people look at me like I’m some kind of alien from outer space? Probably, yeah. But the real point is, do I look good in it?” she smiles again, “You tell me.”

Leo actually takes his time, before answering. And that’s bad, because it means he’s actually considering the facts as he sees them. And Dave knows what Leo sees, because he’s seeing it himself.

“You look good in everything, auntie Tana,” he finally answers, blushing a little as he smiles confidently, or better, pretending to feel really confident as he compliments her.

Santana laughs, standing up, perfectly satisfied. “Then it’s decided,” she says, turning to Dave. “You have something else to complain about, Karofsky?” she asks him.

Dave just scoffs and laughs, shaking his head. “I missed you, Lopez,” he says, instead of answering.

Santana winks at him, climbing back on the footstool and letting the tailor go back to his job. “Man, please, just stop being in love with me, it’s been ages already, and you’re getting married.” Her smiles turns sweeter, and Dave can see it in the mirror’s reflection. “I can’t believe it. I’m so proud of you.”

Dave smiles back at her, stepping forward and entwining his fingers with hers. “That’s the whole point of the matter, in the end,” he says, “I mean, being proud.”

“You sure have come a long way,” she says, turning to him, still smiling. “And you’re happy, now.”

He chuckles softly, pressing his lips against her in a sweet, chaste kiss. Leo looks at them and smiles, because what he’s seeing is just cute. And he’s just happy. His fathers are going to marry. Auntie Tana and every single person he and his fathers love will be there. It will be the most beautiful wedding ever seen, and he feels proud about it. And dad’s right, that’s the whole point of the matter, in the end. Being proud.

This, and – as he demands in a whimsical whine jumping off the bench – getting to kiss auntie Tana on her lips too.

*

All things being ordered to various shop owners or taken care of by Kurt himself or his mobilized soon-to-be husband, the only thing left are the wedding rehearsals, which mainly consist into reenacting every single part of the ceremony as many times as possible because, as Kurt has said too many times not to be hated by all his guests, practice makes perfect.

After a tiring three hours session of walking down the aisle, pretended wedding vows to each other and an insane amount of singing, Dave asked for mercy and Kurt granted him and all their pissed guests a five minutes rest which they all accepted cursing and throwing at him very bad words to say to a groom.

He himself, though, won't rest, because he can't waste time sitting when all the decorations are yet to be done. Actually, in the past week the interior decorator hired for the job has been seeing to Kurt's every need decoration-wise, but Kurt was so annoyed with him eventually that he smiled kindly, paid him as agreed and then changed everything he had done to the last leaf in the center-piece on the reception's tables.

Now, he's rearranging flowers for the fifth time today because apparently the way they look good one moment is never appropriate the moment after, and as he moves rose petals and brings vases around the room, he sings.

“Hey little sister, what have you done? Hey little sister who's the only one,” he chirps, swinging from one vase of petunias to the other, completely unaware of the eyes spying upon him from behind the curtains.

When his secret admirer comes out from behind his hidden place to sing with him, Kurt doesn't really need to turn around to know who that is.

“Hey little sister, who's your superman? Hey little sister, who's the one you want?” Blaine sings, his voice stunning as it has always been. “Hey little sister, shot gun!”

He dances as he comes forward, shining like a new dime in his perfect black Italian suit that fits him perfectly.

Kurt turns around and smiles, so used to play along that he doesn't stop singing. “It's a nice day to start again. It's a nice day for a white wedding. It's a nice day to start again.”

He keeps moving vases between the tables, dancing around Blaine and still never touching him or tripping over him because he still remembers very well how Blaine moves and how to dance with him.

They are so good at this, they look like a living musical; the only thing missing here is the music springing out of nowhere and a line of backup dancers dressed up as waiters and waitresses doing their routine in the background.

Blaine sings the refrain with Kurt, following his moves and dancing around the flowers, stopping only at the end of the song playing simultaneously and only in both their heads. Then, he laughs.

“Well, it's good to see you haven't change,” he says, his smile always so sweet.

“It's good to see you didn't change either,” Kurt smiles back as he decides to leave those plants where they are, for now. He's got another twenty-four hours to change his mind several times. “When did you arrive?”

Blaine comes a little closer. “A couple hours ago. I wasn't really sure if you wanted to see me, so I took my time to make myself presentable.” He looks at him from head to toes. “You already are, I see.”

Kurt would like to say to Blaine to stop being so cute; instead he blushes as he was still sixteen. “Thank you,” he says. “You look good too. You're pretty elegant even when you're not wearing your old uniform. And by the way, I wouldn't have called you if I had not wanted to see you.”

Blaine keeps smiling and tilts his head to the side, just slightly, nodding toward the path between the trees they can see just outside the building. “Do you want to take a walk with me?” He asks. “I've seen a wonderful lake, coming over. You chose a lovely place for the wedding.”

Kurt gives one last look around, wondering if the flower decoration are really fine. “Yes, I'd love to.” He cleans his hands with an elegant pochette he chose to match his tie today and takes his bag. “I've always dreamed to marry by the lake,” he explains as he and Blaine goes out in the park where the reception will be given. “It's kinda magical. Like, any moment you expect to see fairies and pixies come out of water and trees when the sun goes down.” He giggles. “Pretty stupid, isn't it?”

Blaine looks at him like he is the most wonderful thing in the world, which is why Kurt was so crazy for him when they were in high school. Since everybody were either just friends with him or looked at him like a freak, it felt good when he was with Blaine, who always treated him like the porcelain he took one of his nicknames from.

“No, I don't think so. You seem really... happy,” Blaine says, leading him to the lake. “Do you think we could hold hands? If you've always dreamed of getting married by the lake, my dream has always been to walk hand in hand by the lake with a beautiful man, and now that I have the chance I'd like to take it.”

Kurt looks awkwardly at Blaine's outstretched hand, even though he's eager to accept it. “I don't know, Blaine. This could be misunderstood.”

Suddenly, they're both gentlemen from the past, speaking in old-fashioned manner and asking for each other hands to hold. It has always been this way with Blaine, who seems to come from another time and brings it with him wherever he goes.

“I would never force you to do something inappropriate,” he says, smiling. “But no one's around.”

Kurt hesitates for a moment but then holds his hand.

They walk hand in hand for a while, looking at the light of the setting sun shining on the lake's surface. The evening is quiet, there are not many people around. The chilling air doesn't invite people to stay longer after the sun goes down. Kurt likes this moment of the day, when everything is plunged into orange and pink.

“So, David Karofsky, huh?”

Kurt smiles fondly, hearing the name. “He is very special.”

“I would have never thought.” Blaine squeezes his hand a little. “But then, you're obviously happy. You look radiant, like a brand new person, from... well, from when I was still around.”

Kurt swallows, slightly. He never really wanted to talk about his relationship with Blaine in high school and the way it ended. He has always been one of those people who actually ignores the pink elephant if it makes them really, really sad and confused. “I was not happy with you, at the very end,” he admits, probably for the first time in years. Not that Blaine didn't know that, but still Kurt had never clearly said it. “And I felt bad because I wasn't. With David things are easy, they've always been. Everything has always happened so naturally with him.”

Blaine nods. “I know you weren't happy. We both weren't.” He sighs and looks at him. “You know, I loved you until the very last moment. Or at least I thought so. I really couldn't understand how could we be unhappy if we loved each other, since I was sure we did. But then, maybe love isn't enough, sometimes.”

Kurt walks looking at the ground. He's unconsciously following the stone path that leads to the lake, stepping only on stones, not touching the grass as he used to do when he was a little kid and he would never step on the lines between tiles. “Maybe it's only because sometimes it's not the same kind of love,” he says. “Love comes in different degrees.”

Blaine naturally helps him step from stone to stone, gently holding his hand. “You think you loved me less than you love Karofsky now?” He asks, his voice firm as he smiles.

“I... no... I don't know, Blaine,” he says, confused. “Things now are completely different, and what I felt back then, it's not what I feel now. Maybe it really was love for the old me, I was different too.”

The sun has set behind the horizon, leaving them in a greyish, dusty light. The outlines of things are fading into darkness, and everything around them seems unreal, almost fairy-like.

They stop on the lake shore, water almost lapping at their feet. Nearby there is the same boat Leo has seen bringing the bride to his groom the day he asked one of his father to marry the other one. It lies on its side, as if sleeping now that the night comes.

Kurt looks at the last of the light disappearing behind the lake and Blaine looks at him. He can't help but gently brush his cheek with two fingers. “I think I understand what you're talking about. It's the same for me. It just felt so right, back then, but if I try to imagine that kind of love happening to me right now, I know it wouldn't feel right enough.”

“Yes, exactly. And then... I can't really see myself without Dave anymore,” he says, leaning on his hand, almost naturally. Those are probably some pretty mixed signals which he's not really aware of sending, at least not until Blaine comes closer and bends on him to kiss him slightly on his forehead.

“I'm glad to hear that. Now I know I can give you away without regrets.”

Kurt blushes furiously. “Blaine?”

“I'm not doing anything wrong,” Blaine says, still caressing his cheek. “Just, it feels like we left something incomplete. You know, when we broke up, we didn't really... we just turned our back and left. No goodbyes, like we weren't worthy of a good end. I think we were wrong. We deserve our goodbye, as dramatic and romantic as it could be. So, can I...” He comes even closer. “Can I kiss the bride?”

Kurt slightly panics because his first mental answer was 'yes!' and then he thought of Dave and everything else, so he just shut his mouth. It shouldn't feel like Blaine is right, but it does.

Besides, Kurt has been missing an end to their story for all these years, and this could be it.

“Only to close what we were together. For good,” he clarifies, just to be sure they are on the exact same page, here. “So we can really move on.”

Blaine smiles and nods as he gently brushes his lips against Kurt's. He barely touches them with his tongue, asking for permission, which Kurt gives him, opening his mouth enough to let him in.

Blaine kisses him more deeply and a little hungrier than before, holding him tight to his body for a couple of minutes before slowly backing off.

Kurt stands there, flushing and a bit breathless with emotion, just like he would at sixteen after every kiss Blaine has ever gave to him, that's why Blaine finds him so damn cute even now. He smiles at him and presses his nose against Kurt's. “Now, that was a proper ending.”

Maybe Kurt is trembling a little as he looks at him. For a moment it feels like it's ten years ago and everything that happened has yet to come. It's a strong, warming feeling, one that makes time look gentle and fair and something to cherish while it usually isn't. Kurt smiles fondly; he doesn't want their story back, he just likes the way it came back to life so easily for them, the tenderness they both can look at it now, free as they are of all their anger and regrets. “Yes, it's an ending.”

“Now, don't look so scared,” Blaine laughs a little, feeling him trembling. “Or your fiancée will think I hurt you or something.”

Kurt would like to tell him he's not scared at all but a sudden noise stops him before he can say anything. He turns around to find Leo coming out of the bushes, with his eyes wide open and filled with tears.

“Leo... Oh my God,” Kurt brings his hand to this lips, wondering if his son has been there all the time, but obviously he was if his horrified expression is any proof. “Honey, listen to me.”

He moves towards him, trying to explain, but the kid shakes his head and bursts into tears. “I hate you!” he screams, and then he goes back inside the bushes, getting lost in the woods.

Blaine is confused. He keeps looking from Kurt to the now still bush and back. “Who is this?” he asks. Then, he realizes. Kurt obviously talked to him about Leonard, but he had never seen him before. “Is he your...?” he tries, but Kurt ignores him completely, leaving him to figure everything out by himself.

He kneels on the ground and tries to go after his son, but the bush is obviously too thick for him to pass through. “Leo! Oh God. Please, come back here. Come back, sweetheart. Everything's fine.”

Leo hides behind a bush, crying. He waits for his father to spring up to his feet again ad walk in a completely wrong direction before running to the deep of the woods as fast as he can.

Everything has happened so fast that, for the first time in ages, Blaine actually doesn't know what to do. Moreover, after hearing about the boy just vaguely, getting to meet him like this just adds weirdness to weirdness. “Kurt! Wait, you— I'm so sorry,” he blurts out.

Kurt doesn't seem to care about him or what he is saying. He keeps looking around frantically. “Where did he go? Leo!” When he finally turns to Blaine is only to say, “He saw us. He must be so upset!”

Blaine has always been good at handling situations. So, despite his general awkwardness, he takes everything in his hands and grabs Kurt by the shoulder, forcing him to look in his eyes.

“Listen, you have to stay calm. He can't be too far, but we need to go back and tell the others he ran away, because he could have gone in any direction. We need to be a lot to search for him, do you understand?”

Kurt nods, but he's not all there. His mind is racing fast, coming up with all the most dreadful scenarios for the end of his son's desperate run. “It's all my fault,” he mutters.

Blaine hugs him tight. “No, hey. It's not your fault,” he tries to soothe him. “He is upset only because he doesn't know. We will explain everything to him. He'll understand, you'll see.”

“He's only six, Blaine.” Kurt sobs a little. “The only thing he'll understand is that I was cheating on his father.”

Blaine knows exactly how their kiss must have looked like to the eyes of a six years old. Kids Leo's age tends to be pretty definitive in their judgment. He remembers very well how it had felt to be discovered naked by a little kid in the bed of his father, without having any good explanation for that. But he doesn't see any use in telling this story to Kurt right now. “You weren't cheating,” he says instead. “We'll explain and everything's going to be alright, I promise. But you have to stay here with me and keep your feet on the ground, alright? I can't solve this alone, you have to stay calm.”

Kurt nods again and tries to breathe. “Okay. You go and bring the others, tell them he's gone and we need their help to find him. I'm calling Dave.”

“Alright. Just— maybe it's better if we don't mention this kiss thing, at least until your kid is back, safe and sound.”

Kurt nods because he doesn't really want to tell about this kiss to anyone, let alone Dave.

As Blaine runs back to the place where the others are, he turns around and dials Dave's number, biting nervously at his nails and looking around as he hopes to see Leo coming out from the bushes somewhere nearby.

Dave’s phone rings twice before he picks up. Whatever they're doing down there, Kurt can hear it in the background. Puck and Santana are singing some very foul song and Dave is still laughing and speaking to them when he answers the phone. “Hey Fancy,” he says, still laughing happily. “If you called to tell me you're leaving me at the altar, I have to tell you you're early. The wedding's in two days and you should wait for that moment to run away. In the meantime, you're late for the rehearsal, so...”

If Kurt weren't so worried, he would think Dave is a little bit drunk too – they're probably rehearsing the toast too, apparently – but he has no time to deal with it, especially since he feels too guilty to blame Dave for a drink too many. “Dave, something happened. Leo ran away and I don't know where he went,” he says, his voice breaking.

Dave instantly sobers up and stops chuckling. “What? Kurt, what are you talking about? Is something wrong?”

“He ran away,” Kurt repeats, because he doesn't want to have to be more specific. He keeps speaking as he walks, looking around the park. “I'm searching for him but I can't find him anywhere. He was upset, Dave. I'm afraid he's gone somewhere dangerous. He doesn't really know what he's doing right now.”

Dave is already worried out of his mind like every time something happens or is supposed to happen to his only son, but he pretends to be calm because he can tell Kurt is already upset enough for the two of them.

“Okay, Kurt, just… where are you?”

“By the lake. I was rearranging flowers for the reception. Blaine's here too,” he says, nodding to every single word as if he needs a great deal of concentration to answer. He's hardly breathing properly, panic taking over. “He's getting the others to look for Leo.”

Dave tenses slightly at Blaine's name. “...alright. Just stay there. I'm coming. Don't move. I'll see you there and we'll search for Leo together, alright baby?”

“If something happens to him...” Kurt can't finish the sentence because he starts crying. “It's my fault, David. I'm the worst father ever.”

Dave starts heading to the lake while he's still on the phone. “Now, that's talking nonsense,” he says in a soothing tone. He's so used to take care of Kurt's fits, whatever the cause, that words come to him automatically in the right order and tone. Sometimes it doesn't even matter what he says, Kurt just needs to hear him speaking softly, like a child would do. “You know Leo loves you. You're a good father and whatever happened I'm sure we can make everything right again. Don't worry.”

“Just hurry. He can be anywhere,” Kurt says again.

Dave can already see the lake and the little white reception house they rented for the party. “Don't worry, we'll find him. He'll be alright. I'm almost there.”

*

He doesn’t even know how he should be supposed to call this kid, that’s all Blaine can think about as he searches through the bushes, his eyes wide open, ready to catch even the smallest glimpse of something moving behind the leaves and the branches covered in thorns.

“Leonard?” he calls, tentatively, “Leonard, where are you? If you’re hiding in here, please, come out. It’s dirty and dangerous!”

Leo really is there after all. He tries to stay still as much as he can, though he’s got mud in his shoes, making his trousers dirty and wet, and every single thorn is hurting him all over his face and arms and neck. He curls himself in a ball and looks at Blaine, hoping he doesn’t find him, but that would obviously be too much to ask to his luck, and so, after a couple of seconds of more thorough research, Blaine finally parts two branches and finds him. “Oh! Here you are,” he says, trying a little smile, “Would you come out of that bush? It’s getting all your clothes dirty and torn. Your father’s going to be upset about it.”

“Why are you here?!” Leonard finally spits out, looking right in Blaine’s eyes. He’s so angry he just wants to curl in a ball and cry. Somewhere inside him, he knows he’s too small to contain such anger. His body can’t take it. He just wants to let it out, but he doesn’t want to cry in front of this man, he doesn’t want to make him think he’s just a crybaby.

“It’s just a casualty,” Blaine speaks softly, his reassuring smile never leaves his lips. “Everybody’s been searching for you, I was just lucky enough to find you before the others. Come on, come here.”

“No!” Leo answers, backing off even more, not caring about all the thorns pushing against the light fabric of his shirt, hurting his back, “No, I don’t want to. I hate you!”

“But you don’t even know me,” Blaine argues, chuckling slightly. The sound of his voice alone makes Leo even more angry! Why is this man here? Why can’t he just disappear? He doesn’t want to see him ever again, let alone have him so close to himself, as he is now.

“I know you well enough, thanks,” he almost growls, “And stop smiling! You’re creepy, and ugly.”

“Whoa, whoa,” Blaine is laughing now, holding his hands out, “You sure don’t mince words, do you? Alright, what if I just sit here beside the bush, and you stay there where you are now? So that we can talk a little.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” Leo answers, shrugging and looking away, “You ruined my family.”

“Now, now,” Blaine says, sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, “Aren’t you overreacting? Just a bit?” Leo doesn’t answer; Blaine waits for a couple of minutes for him to just say something, but that doesn’t happen, and in the end he just has to surrender and sigh deeply, shaking his head. “Alright, if you don’t want to talk to me, maybe I can talk to you, I guess. You know, your father was a very, very important part of my life for almost two wonderful years. That’s why I’m here now, to begin with.” Leo turns his head and stares at him with so much hate in his eyes he could easily kill him, if a look was enough for that. Blaine tries to ignore the glare, and keeps talking. “Unfortunately, we didn’t break up well. We just kind of… stopped talking to each other, you know what I mean? We were so afraid to do or say things that could make everything even worse than it already was, that we kind of just… stopped. And when you stop talking honestly and openly with the person you love, then you’re doomed to grow apart from him. That’s why talking is important. Not only between lovers, but between everybody else, too,” he nods, throwing a meaningful glance towards the kid.

“I… I don’t care about you,” Leo says, looking down to the tip of his new shoes, now ruined and all covered in mud and dirt. Daddy’s going to be so mad about it, he thinks for a moment, but then he remembers he doesn’t even care about daddy anymore. He cheated on dad, he ruined everything with this man, and he will never forgive him for that. “I don’t care about you at all!” he repeats, now looking back ad Blaine with the same angry eyes, “You and daddy did a very bad thing! And I hate you, I hate you both!” he screams, holding his legs to his chest and cuddling himself a little, since no one seems around to do it in his place.

“Look…” Blaine tries, sighing deeply, “Your dad and I probably didn’t act very mature, before. We probably shouldn’t have kissed. But the fact is, we needed to. Which does not mean I’m going to take him away from you or your father. He’s yours, but there was a time in which he was mine, and that time had to come to an end, someway. Kissing was the way we chose to reach that end, do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“You shouldn’t have touched him!” Leo insists, “You’re right, he’s not yours, so you shouldn’t have! Uncle Noah said you’re a prince, but you don’t look like one to me. Princes never steal princesses from their true love!” he pauses for a moment, looking at his shoes again. He loved those shoes. And now they’re ruined, like everything else. And it’s all Blaine’s fault. “Daddy always used to say this, before you came back. Princes are good, they protect true love, they don’t ruin it.”

Blaine can’t help but letting out a little sad smile. “You’re right, kid,” he says, “I’m not a prince. I’m just a guy who’s been very happy with your father, when he was young. Your daddy is the right prince for your dad, and I’m not going to steal Kurt from you in any way. I just came to say how happy I was, and to say goodbye. That was just a goodbye.”

“That was a kiss,” Leo says angrily, “Kisses are important, you don’t give a kiss away!”

“And you’re right again,” Blaine nods, moving closer to him, “In fact, that was not given away, I can assure you. But, you know, not every kisses have the same meaning. Some kisses mean ‘I love you’, some others could mean ‘you’re my beloved baby and I’m glad to have you’, and then there are kisses that mean other things, like ‘I’m sorry’, or ‘hello”. Your father’s and mine meant goodbye. It was just… really, just a way to close that part of our life for good.”

“I don’t believe you,” Leo says, looking away again, “Yours was not a goodbye kiss. I know goodbye kisses. Daddy gives them to dad when he goes to work every morning. That one was a… a wet kiss,” he explains, blushing a little, “And you were holding his hand by the lake.”

“Now, now, what do you even know about wet kisses?” Blaine laughs faintly, a little embarrassed by the whole situation, “Listen, I know it seemed kind of passionate and a little bit too much romantic, maybe, but I swear it had nothing to do with being in love with each other. I am sure Kurt only loves your dad and you. I am just an old friend.”

“For your information,” Leo starts, looking half outraged and half still angry, “I know a lot about wet kisses! I’m six! And my daddies always kiss that way when they forget I’m in the room with them. And then daddy always blushes a little. Old friends don’t kiss like that. You… I don’t like you. I don’t want you here, so just go away!”

Blaine sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. He keeps them longer than he used to, it’s easier to have them that way, so he can keep them or cut them, depending on what producers ask him to do for every show he has a role in. He likes his hair long, he likes to keep them free as he's been doing in the last few years, but sometimes they’re just a burden. Like now, for example, when the weather is hot and the air is sticky and he’s feeling clumsy and stupid because he can’t even talk properly to a child to make him understand he didn’t want to ruin his life. “I guess you’ll never forgive me, will you?” he asks, throwing a sad glance towards Leonard, “I’m very sad about it. I always hoped I’d be friend with Kurt’s babies. Maybe like one of those uncles you don’t see often but cover you in gifts when they come to pay a visit.”

“You’re not my uncle, and you never will,” Leo says bitterly, curling himself up in a ball again. “Go away, I can’t stand you anymore.”

Blaine sighs again, crawling closer to him, almost entering the bushes as well, though he’s too big to fit properly in there like Leo does. He looks at the boy and he is so small and cute, he can’t help but feeling really bad for what he did. He knows there was nothing really wrong in kissing Kurt the way he did, especially because it meant something important that had to be clarified once and for all, and he knows that Leo himself would probably understand it better if he was just a little older, but he is not, and Blaine did something that he can’t accept now. And that’s just sad, because if there’s something Blaine didn’t want was to be hated by Kurt’s only son. “Look,” he says in a low, reassuring voice, “I understand you hate me and you think I did something bad. That’s alright, you have your reasons, but everybody’s really worried for you, because they don’t know where you are and they still don’t know I already found you. We should go back to them.”

“I won’t go anywhere with you!” Leo protests, looking even shocked by the mere thought.

“Well, you could just go ahead, then,” Blaine ponders, shrugging a little, “I’ll wait until you’re far enough, and then I’ll follow you. You won’t even see me, I’ll be like the invisible man, just following you to make sure you’re alright.”

“I don’t need you to watch over me, I now how to come back. I can take care of myself,” Leo answers, looking at him, suspiciously.

“Well, alright, but I have to come back too,” Blaine says, blinking a couple of time. The kid’s a tough nut. “Mmh, how can we solve this problem?” he thinks about it for a couple of minutes, and then just smiles. “Here, I have an idea. You’ll go ahead, I’ll wait a couple of minutes and then I’ll come too, but I swear I won’t check up on you. I’ll just be casually walking the same way you do.”

Leonard doesn’t really seem impressed with his idea, and he takes a lot of time to think about it, considering all the pros and the cons and ultimately deciding he’s starting to freeze, he’s wet to the bone because of the rapidly approaching evening dampness in the air and he just wants to go home, even if that means seeing daddy again, which is something he would rather not do at the moment. “Fine,” he says, crawling out of the bushes, “But if you try and get close, I’ll start screaming.”

Blaine raises both his hands. “I promise I’ll keep my distance.”

Leo looks at him for another couple of seconds, to be sure he’s not going to do something silly like waiting for him to turn his back to grab him and put him in a bag or something, and only once he’s satisfied and he believes he’s been staring long enough, he turns his back at Blaine and starts walking back to the place where rehearsals took place hours ago.

Keeping his promise, Blaine waits to see him disappear behind a little hill covered in green grass, and then starts walking behind him, retrieving his phone from his back pocket to call Kurt.

*

Kurt interrupts the call and lets out a relieved sigh, closing his eyes and passing his open hand over his tired eyelids. “It was Blaine, he told me Leo’s coming from that way,” he says to Dave with a little smile, pointing at the little path that can be seen through the hills surrounding the place.

“Yeah, there he is,” Dave nods, spotting Leonard approaching slowly. The kid moves like he’s unwilling to come back, which is definitely weird, and Dave finds himself running towards him without even realizing he’s doing it. “Hey, buddy!” he says, finally reaching the boy and kneeling in front of him, opening his arms to offer a hug. “Where were you?”

“Leo!” Kurt calls him, coming closer too, “Thank God you’re ok.”

Leonard ignores Kurt completely, though, and turns his head the other way, throwing himself between Dave’s arms, hugging him and clinging desperately to his shoulders. Worried beyond limits, Dave holds him tight. He has never seen his son like that, not even when he was very little and he first moved out of their room to his own, and he used to have awful nightmares that reduced him a messy, crying and whimpering bag of bones with curly hair. Back then, he used to wake up way before Kurt did, and he used to sneak into Leo’s room to hug him and stay with him on his bed until he fell asleep again. Now there’s no bed to lay on, and there’s no reason Dave sees for which his beloved son should cry like that, so he feels kind of helpless, and keeps holding him close to his own chest, trying to reassure him. “Buddy, what happened?” he asks in a low, soft voice, “You’re shaking.”

Leo sobs hard, hiding his face against Dave’s shirt. “I’m sorry, dad,” he cries, hiccupping after every word, “Really, I am,” he says, and all Kurt can do is look at him feeling his heart hurting like it got trapped in a clutch.

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about, buddy,” Dave says, smiling a little and patting his son’s shoulder, trying to calm him, “Just… just tell me what happened.”

Kurt closes his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath before trying to get closer to the kid. “Honey, I know you are upset and you think… stuff, but…”

“I don’t wanna talk with you! You’re bad, just like him!” Leo screams, hiding more in his father’s arms, almost disappearing in the hug. Kurt instantly steps back. He has never been so hurt in his entire life.

“Hey, now, calm down,” Dave says, standing up and holding his son between his arms, lifting him up too and helping him to rest against his shoulder, “Baby, why don’t you just tell daddies what happened? We can help you, whatever it is. Did someone hurt you?” Leo shakes his head, eyes filled with sadness. “Then what?” Dave insists, brushing the boy’s hair with his hand, “Just tell me, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not okay!” Leo looks away, as tears starts to fall down his flushed cheeks again, “Everything’s ruined, and it’s my fault, because I wanted the wedding so much and now I will have a family no more!”

Dave opens his eyes wide. “Leo, come on,” he says, pulling the kid away from his chest just enough to look in his eyes, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about and you’re acting like your father does when he needs to let me know he’s sad but he doesn’t want to tell me why.”

Leo manages to look at his father for only a second, just because being compared to Kurt now bothers him way more than he can take. Then, he lowers his eyes and slowly starts to talk. “They kissed,” he says in a very low voice.

“Leo…” Kurt breaths out, holding out a hand towards him, as if to try and prevent him from talking.

“What?” Dave asks, raising an eyebrow, “Who kissed?”

“Daddy and that man!” Leo answers, still looking down, “They kissed,” he repeats, and Dave opens his eyes wider, looking puzzled as if he couldn’t even get what his son is talking about.

“Leo, please,” Kurt tries again, moving a step towards them, “It’s not like—”

“I saw you!” Leo screams, holding on to his father, and that’s when Dave finally understands, because he sees Blaine approaching from the same path Leo came back from minutes earlier, and it’s like seeing it happening in front of his own eyes, though he didn’t see it, and he’s actually glad he didn’t. Kurt and Blaine kissed. And when Blaine arrives and he can’t even look at him in his eyes, he gets all the evidence he needs, but he still turns to Kurt, looking lost and helpless.

“…is it true?” he asks, murmuring breathlessly.

“Dave, it’s… it’s not what you think it is,” Kurt tries to explain, but he struggles to find words convincing enough to help Dave and Leo understand what is so clear to himself and Blaine.

“What… what are you talking about?” Dave asks, clinging to Leo, “Did you kiss him or not?”

“Hey, Dave, I know you probably won’t hear a word from me, but it really is not what you think it is, and I can explain, if you just let me,” Blaine tries, moving a step forward, but the way Dave instantly glares at him stops him in midstep.

“You’re damn right I don’t wanna hear a single word from you, Anderson,” he snaps, turning back to Kurt, “You’re the one who owes me an explanation, Kurt.”

“Please,” Kurt bites at his own lower lip, trying not to cry, “Please, can we not talk about this here?”

Dave frowns, but then the light weight of Leo’s body between his arms reminds him their son’s here, and he definitely doesn’t want him to witness this conversation, especially since he seems to feel guilty about this whole situation. “Yeah, sure,” he says, clearing his throat and then turning back to Leo, forcing a little smile. “Hey, buddy, don’t worry about it, everything’s fine, I promise,” he lies, “Daddy will explain everything to me.”

Leo doesn’t believe a single word and finds irritating that his dad’s trying to reassure him about that saying such silly things. His dad doesn’t understand, none of them do, and that Blaine can’t either. He’s too exhausted to keep crying, though, so he just leans against his father’s shoulder and closes his eyes, sobbing lightly, letting his father try and comfort him with some cuddles. “Just don’t worry, buddy,” David says, “It’s alright. Why don’t you take a nap? You must be tired. I’ll carry you, don’t worry.”

Leo just shrugs, keeping his eyes closed as he feels his body getting heavier and heavier, sleep already making his breath slower and calmer.

Dave looks at Kurt, expecting something from him, but he doesn’t even know what, and after a couple of seconds of silence Kurt sighs, looking down first. “We should probably go home,” he suggests, on the verge of tears.

Dave averts his eyes too. “Yeah,” he answers, “Just… tell the others. I’m gonna wait for you in the car.”

Kurt nods and then heads back to where the others gathered moments before, and Dave ignores whatever Blaine is doing when he moves a step towards him to try again and explain everything. He just turns his back to the man and walks to the car, holding Leo close to himself.

“Dad?” the kid calls out seconds later, his little hands closing in fists around the fabric of his shirt, “Dad, will you bring me to bed? I don’t want him doing it.”

Dave sighs, kissing his son on his forehead. He would like to tell Leo that, whatever Kurt did, he’s still his father, and he shouldn’t be so angry at him, but he doesn’t because he’s not sure on how Leo would react to something similar, being as upset as he is. It still hurts, tough, that after all the first thing he thinks about is trying to defend Kurt no matter what. “Don’t worry about that, buddy,” he answers anyway, “I’ll take care of you.”

Leo leans on him again, quietly, and Dave walks faster to reach the car and gently lay him down on the backseat, covering him with his own jacket, so he doesn’t feel cold as he sleeps. Then, he climbs on his seat and rests his forehead against the steering wheel, breathing slowly in and out to keep himself calm as he waits for Kurt to come back, which he does less than five minutes later.

“I told the others to go home,” he says in a low voice, sitting beside Dave, “We can do the rehearsal again tomorrow,” he adds, looking at him tentatively.

Dave tenses a bit, because his first answer would be something he would regret saying, like for example that he’s not even sure rehearsals will be needed, if there won’t be a wedding to rehearse for, but he manages to keep his mouth shut long enough to think about it and realize that saying something similar wouldn’t be of any good for either of them. “…yeah. Okay. Thank you.”

They don’t say a word for the entire drive home. Kurt looks at Dave, every now and then, but mainly, he just looks back at Leo, reaching out with his arm to caress his head while he’s asleep. The first words Dave says come when he stops the car in front of their house, half an hour later, and he slips out of it trying to be as less noisy as he can. “Open the door,” he says to Kurt, “I’ll take Leo.”

Kurt nods sadly, understanding that Dave won’t let him handle their child at all, at least not for tonight. He opens the door and keeps it like that while Dave carries Leo inside the house, heading straight to the kid’s room to take him to bed, without even looking at Kurt, who closes the door and follows him right after.

Dave takes off Leo’s shoes and puts him in the bed, covering him with a blanket and brushing away his hair from his forehead, sighing a little, before he leaves the room. From the doorstep, Kurt keeps staring at him, hoping he’ll at least say something, but he doesn’t, so he keeps following him even when he comes out of the kid’s room and heads downstairs, ignoring him completely. “Dave…?” he calls him, having to clear his throat because that’s the first thing he says in what seems like ages, and it comes out really rough.

“Yeah?” Dave answers. He tries to stay calm, but actually he can’t stop moving all around the sitting room, moving things and then replacing them just to give himself something to do.

“Can we talk?” Kurt asks, looking down at his feet, and when he says that, Dave instantly snaps at him.

“No, we— I don’t really wanna talk right now,” he says, turning to him and staring for a couple of seconds, before he just slips past him to reach the built-in-wardrobe in the corridor.

“Would you let me explain, at least?” Kurt insists, following him around, “I don’t want us to go to bed like this.”

“We’re not going to go to bed like this,” he answers, opening the wardrobe and fetching a pillow and a blanket, before heading back to the sitting room.

“What… what are you doing?” Kurt asks in an uncertain breath.

“I’m sleeping on the couch, tonight,” Dave answers, arranging it to be as much comfortable as it can be.

Kurt swallows hard, fists closing suddenly around the fabric of his trouser, just to hold onto something. “Dave, please, don’t.”

“No, Kurt, you don’t,” Dave snaps, looking back at him with anger burning in his eyes, “You… I don’t even know. What the hell were you thinking about?!”

“It’s not what you think, Leo doesn’t know what he saw,” Kurt tries to explain, but Dave snorts and looks away, shaking his head.

“Okay, listen, I really don’t wanna talk about this right now,” he says, trying to sound calmer than he is, “Just… leave me alone.”

“Please,” Kurt tries again, “come to bed. What… what if Leo finds you here, tomorrow morning?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure this is gonna traumatize him a lot after he saw you fucking kissing another man,” he answers in a low growl that makes Kurt lower his eyes and steps back.

“Please, don’t do that,” he says, speaking softly, “You don’t even know what happened yet. Just… just don’t do that.”

“Fucking no, Kurt, I said it before, I’ll say it again, you don’t do that!” he almost screams, “Don’t just step back like— like I’m the one who hurt you! You know after all we’ve been through since the beginning I’d kill myself before having to hurt you again! Fuck… just go away, I can’t stand you anymore,” he sighs, sitting on the couch with his head between his hands.

Kurt holds his breath as he speaks, his eyes still locked with the floor, his fists closed so tightly he’s almost hurting himself. He hesitates, but when he understands Dave’s not going to let him in until he’s calmed down, he just nods. “Goodnight,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, though it’s hard, since he’s crying.

Dave doesn’t even answer.

*

It's early morning and the house is quiet and still dark, except for the dim light of dawn coming through the sitting room's window. Dave sits on the couch with his arms crossed to his chest and he stares at the wall in front of him. There is a painting on it that he and Kurt have bought a couple of months ago when Kurt was redecorating the room for the third time this year. It's one of those contemporary drawings with lines and dots of which Dave understands nothing about but Kurt said it was perfect for the new urban flavor he wanted to give to their sitting room, so they took it.

For Dave, this is just a sitting room and it has been so after every redecoration, but Kurt is so happy every time he can change something about it, that Dave doesn't mind to let him do whatever he wants. Now he's wondering if Kurt has been feeling the need to change their relationship too, yesterday. If him kissing Blaine could be the first sign that he's bored with what they have.

It's been a very long and rough day and he doesn't really know what to do about the way it ended. The feeling of betrayal is too strong to let it go, but he loves Kurt too much to follow his instincts when he thinks about what he has done. So when he notices him standing in the doorway, he can't help the sting of pain he feels in his heart but he can't help to talk to him either.

“Are you already up?” He asks.

Kurt stands there in his pajama and bare feet, not daring to enter the room. “I... I've never really fallen asleep, actually.”

“I guess that makes two of us,” Dave sighs. Then he looks up at him. “Come here.”

Kurt comes closer and sits on the couch, curling himself into a ball. Seeing him so vulnerable and sad makes Dave want to kiss him and hug him and tell him everything is gonna be okay already, because that is how much he loves Kurt, but he knows he can't do any of those things because what happened is really serious and it endangers what they are.

Somebody has to start this conversation and make things clear, but it won't be Kurt, that much Dave knows, because Kurt doesn't talk unless he's forced to. Even when he is damn wrong.

“Come on, Kurt. What the hell happened?”

Kurt tries to speak three times before he actually manages to. His voice is hoarse and low, as if he had been crying for hours. “Blaine came to me and we talked. We had... things to say to each other.”

Dave snorts almost immediately. “So that's what you two were doing when our son saw you kissing? That was 'saying something'?”

Kurt looks down. “No. That was...” he moistens his lips. “That kiss means nothing, Dave. It was just a way to close things up once and for all.”

Dave has wanted to face this situation with all the calm he could gather, for the sake of their kid if not of the two of them, but Kurt not apologizing right away and saying those words to booth, makes him instantly angry. “Well, kissing someone doesn't sound to me like a way to close things up. Open them again, perhaps, but closing them? Not at all.”

Kurt sighs because he is aware that this is going to be the hardest part for Dave to understand. Or for anybody, for that matter. He and Blaine have always had their own way to deal with things. “We did close things, Dave,” he says. “That was the way it should have ended between us. We broke up so angrily. We just wanted to fix things up.”

Dave can't really believe what Kurt is saying. At this point, Dave is not even interested in how it happened, he just wants some apologies from Kurt, because he behaved badly and, of all things, he should be apologizing. “You don't fucking fix things up kissing your ex boyfriend two days before your fucking wedding!” He screams. The more Kurt talks, the more it seems like Blaine will always be that one unforgettable love Dave will never be enough to match up.

“I wasn't kissing him,” Kurt says, instead. “It was just one kiss and it means nothing of what you think it does.”

Dave looks at him angrily. “That right? And what am I thinking?”

“That I still love him, but I don't.”

“But that's how it is!” Dave jumps up and starts walking around the couch because he is too nervous to stand still. “You'll love him forever, ‘cause it's your first love we're talking about. He's the one who broke your heart first and how is that forgettable? Man, I hate you. I hate that you're so dramatic that you would still love him even if he broke your heart again!”

Kurt is a little taken aback by his hate statement. “Are you listening to me? I said I don't love him, Dave. I'd never have kissed him today if I did.”

“So why did you kiss him?” Dave asks. “So our son could watch you and be heartbroken? I don't think you even realize how Leo's feeling!”

Kurt is feeling frustrated. He knows very well that everything he says will never be enough for Dave, because the only thing he gets and understands is that he kissed Blaine, whatever the reason. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. “Because...” he starts and then sighs again. “Because something was weird in the way we broke up and it was that kiss missing. We just wanted to make things right with the past. That kiss is nothing more than a way to have a good memory of our relationship instead of that horrible one we had. I'm sorry Leo saw it. I didn't mean it for him to see.”

“Yeah, sure,” Dave snorts. “But he did anyway, and now he's going to regret the fact that this whole wedding thing was his idea, forever! So good job, Kurt, you now have a good memory for yourself, and an horrible one for your son!”

Kurt looks down, feeling guilty for his kid. “I didn't want any of this to happen. I'm sorry it went the wrong way.”

Dave shakes his head, arms crossed. “Well, sorry might be not enough, this time.

Kurt looks up immediately, pure panic in his eyes. “What?” He asks, searching for him around the dark room. “What do you mean?”

Dave has spoken out of jealousy and irritation and it takes him a couple of seconds to realize what he has just said. “I don't know. I feel very bitter and angry, right now,” he says, looking away.

Kurt sighs. “Dave... I didn't want to hurt anyone. Blaine means nothing to me anymore,” he insists. “I love you. I thought you would know that by now.”

“And I did!” He says, raising his voice but not too much. Over the past six years he has learned the very precious art of screaming without making noise, so not to wake up his son. After the first two months of sleepless nights, both of them has had to wise up if they wanted to survive. “But then you just had to kiss him! Fuck!” He starts walking around the couch again, just to move away from him. “It's like being in high school all over again. It sucks so much.”

Kurt is shaking his head way before Dave has even finished. Blaine has been an issue with him for so long now. Dave has never gone past Kurt and Blaine's relationship in high school and Kurt has never known how to assure him it's been over for over ten years. Kissing Blaine has obviously not helped his cause.

“It's not! I mean...” he says as he stands up and goes after him. “We are together, me and you, in a way me and Blaine never were.”

“Sure, because you two didn't have the time and chance!” Dave protests. “That kiss— you may think it's just a goodbye, but to me it says welcome back. And I just... I just hate the thought.”

Dave stops and looks down, closing his fists, his hands shaking a little. He is just giving up, again.

There were times, when they were in high school, when he would get so mad seeing Blaine and Kurt together that he needed to destroy things. He would go to the gym, then, and hit the punching ball so hard that coach Beiste would come to him and ask what was wrong. It was she who suggested Dave's father to send him to speak with a rage management therapist. That was the worse time of his life; he would go to therapy for every single problem he had. He felt so bad, back then. Then, Blaine and Kurt broke up and he and Kurt got together, and everything fell into place for him.

What's happening now feels like everything is breaking into thousand little pieces again.

Kurt tries and touches his arm. “The fact that I wanted to fix things up with Blaine doesn't mean I want him back in my life too,” he says in a sweet, low voice. “In fact, I didn't want any open issues with him.”

Dave looks up at him and raises a hand to his lips, touching them lightly. “I can't even stand the mental image of you two kissing. It brings everything up again, all the pain and the hate I felt when you two were together and I wouldn't even come close to you because I just couldn't, while he could.”

“That's in the past, babe,” Kurt says, his lips moving against Dave's fingers. “Now only you can be close and he can't. Never forget, it's you I chose.”

Dave is really trying to forget, but it's hard. It has always been. He comes a little closer, fingers sliding down Kurt's cheeks, as if tracing his features to snatch him out of the darkness still surrounding them despite the coming dawn. “He wasn't around anymore when you chose me,” he says, after a while. “I'll never know if you would have still chosen me if he stayed long enough.”

“You'll have to trust me on this one,” Kurt says, closing his eyes under Dave's caress. “I didn't settle for the second best.”

Just looking at Kurt with his eyes closed makes Dave's heart throb. “You are so beautiful,” he murmurs. He just can't believe Kurt is here with him and not with Blaine, in some fancy attic in New York where Dave knows Kurt wanted to be when he was sixteen.

Kurt gives him a little smile. “Am I?” He asks, looking at him.

Dave thinks he is just so adorable and can't help but looking at him with pure adoration in his eyes. “Yes, you are. So unbelievably beautiful.”

“And you are a very good liar.”

Dave chuckles. “Oh please, shut your mouth, will you?” He says as he drags him closer and hugs him. “He's not dancing with you after the wedding. He's not.”

“We'll make sure of that. You'll be the only one dancing with me, if you want.”

Dave shakes his head and hums softly. “No, you can dance with your father and with your brother and with whoever you want, but you're not dancing with him. Last time I saw you two dancing... well, that sucked a lot. I'm not gonna watch it happen again.”

“I won't dance with him if this upsets you. I'll tell him I can't.”

Dave is astonished. “Did he dare asking you if he could?” He says, really upset. “I can't believe he would come here in my city, in my house, and would ask my future husband to fucking dance with him!”

Kurt can't deny he loves when Dave shows such possessiveness. “Now, come here,” he pulls him closer. “He didn't want to challenge you, honey. It's just what he does. He sings and dances.”

“And he can, as long as he's doing it wherever he lives now, far, far away from here.” He holds Kurt tight, gently stroking his back. “God, how much I missed you tonight.”

Kurt puts his arms around Dave's neck and lets him gently rocks both of them back and forth. ”I missed you too. I thought to join you on the couch tonight but you were so angry, I was scared you would send me away.”

“I would have not,” Dave sighs, brushing his neck with the tip of his nose. He is painfully aware he could never send Kurt away, even if he is rightfully mad at him. He loves him too much to risk losing him for any reason. “But maybe I would have been kind of uncontrollable.”

Kurt tries to look at him but he obviously can't because Dave is kissing his neck and he seems to have no intention to stop. “What do you mean?”

“I was angry and fucking jealous and I just kept thinking about what I would do to you if I had you in my hands,” he explains, speaking in a low voice, on his skin.

Kurt shivers and smiles, rubbing his face against his soon-to-be husband's broad chest. “That's just freaking hot, Mr. Karofsky.”

Dave's voice is low and warm. “Is that so?” He asks, as he kisses Kurt's neck, gently. “And you don't even know what I would have done.”

Kurt is enjoying this so much, especially now that things are falling back into place and he’s realizing he really was just one step away from losing everything. “Why don't you tell me?”

Dave bites at his neck and then looks at him. “I would have held you down on the couch and kissed you so hard you could not breathe.”

“God, I love the way you say 'held down'.” Kurt breaths in hard. “I'd have been frightened, though. You can be so rude sometimes.”

“That's because I know you like it when I grab you and do whatever I want with your body.” Dave grabs his ass and squeezes it. He can feel the curves of Kurt's body as if he was naked, thanks to Kurt's pajama, which is one of those silk, elegant outfits so thin you can almost see it through. Not manly, but so damn sexy on someone as slim as Kurt.

“Dave!” He screams, pretending to be outraged. “That's totally not true.”

“You know it is,” he kisses him forcefully. “You always let me do whatever I want, if I'm hard enough on you.”

He comes even closer so Kurt can feel what he means exactly. Kurt is okay with this attitude now, because he knows very well Dave is just joking to spice things up. He has stopped to be afraid of him the moment he said he was sorry. “Maybe, if you're really – and I mean really – good, I'll let you play as you want,” he moans in his mouth.

“You'll let me, Fancy?” He lifts him up effortlessly and brings him to the couch, grinning. “You think I'd ask for permission? Spread your legs for me.”

Kurt shivers in that good and very pleasant way that makes his toe curls. “What if I don't?”

“Then I'll have to force you.” Dave bends over him and puts a hand between his knees.

Kurt looks straight in his eyes as he puts his arms on the couch's back, daring him to proceed with his threat.

Dave groans at the mere sight of him acting like that. He loves when Kurt manages to get rid of all his inhibitions and let himself go completely. “You're not going to collaborate, aren't you? Fucking tease,” he hisses between his teeth, as he unbuttons Kurt's shirt and caresses his chest.

“You will need to work hard if you want to get what you want,” Kurt says, arching a bit at the touch of his fingers. “And what is it that you want, Dave?”

Dave lets the shirt slide down his arms but, instead of taking it off, he uses it to tie Kurt's wrists together as he looks at him with a dirty smile on his lips. “You know what I want from you, Fancy.”

Kurt moans a little as he pretends to be astonished, but he doesn't stop him. “Oh, that's so bad. Karofsky, where did you learn these things? You were a family man just a couple of hours ago.”

Dave smiles wider as he lets the bottom of Kurt's pajama fall down his legs. “I still am, but now I want to drive you crazy ‘til you beg for more.”

He caresses the inside of his thigh with one hand, while stroking his lips with the thumb of the other one.

Kurt shivers, looking at this hand with interested eyes. He moves a bit too, because he can never lay completely still when Dave's hands are down there.

Dave grins, satisfied with his reaction. “You should look at yourself right now, you're so needy. Look at how you move...” he licks his lips and moves his hand closer to his groin, “Do you want it, babe?”

Kurt tries to kiss him, at least. He can't stand to be touched like that and not be able to move his hands to touch him back. “Try harder,” he brags then, struggling a lot not to beg. “You're not even close.”

Dave doesn't give up to his requests. It is so much funnier when Kurt is so helpless and desperate. Most of all if he is clearly lying and his whole body gives it away. “Oh, you know I'm more than close, Fancy,” he smirks. “I can see it in your eyes. You'd scream if I just touched you. Want me to try? Want me to touch you and make you scream?

He comes closer and rubs himself against Kurt, who keeps pulling at his makeshift ropes, desperately wanting to kiss him. “Oh God,” he exhales, arching against him to get some relief.

“There you are, I love you so much when you do this.” Dave drags him closer and kisses him hard while finally stroking him between his legs with his hand. “D'you like it, babe?”

Kurt gives him a long, moaning, wet kiss. “Yes, keep doin' it.”

“I wouldn't stop if the house should fall on us.” Dave kisses him back and quickly gets rid of his own trousers, caressing him faster. “Do you want me, Fancy?”

Kurt doesn't even let him finish the sentence, drowning the scream he would like to let out in another hungry and passionate kiss. “Yes! I want you as hard as you can get.”

“Fuck.” Dave tries to hold himself back and licks his neck, still stroking him. “And where do you want me, baby? Tell me.”

Kurt bends his head back on the couch, gasping for air. “In me. I want you in me,” he exhales, as he tugs at the shirt around his wrists. “Dave, let me go.”

Dave unties his wrists immediately, bound to Kurt's request and to his own need to have Kurt's hands on himself. “Here I come baby, you ready?” He breaths heavily while slowly entering him, holding Kurt's hips firmly.

Kurt grabs his shoulders and buries his face in Dave's neck. “Yes, I'm ready. I'm... don't... just stop fucking around. I want to feel you, now!”

Dave almost laughs, half breathlessly, because Kurt is always cuddly and cute and then, suddenly, he becomes so damn impatient when he can't really take it anymore. God, how much he loves to see him like this for him. “Okay baby,” he pushes himself hard inside of him and starts moving. “Do you feel me now? Because I feel you, babe and you're so fucking tight.”

“Yes,” Kurt moans slightly, whispering in his ear. “C'mon big boy, weren't you going to make me scream?”

Dave pushes harder inside him and strokes him faster, kissing him deeper than before. “Scream for me, baby, let me hear you.”

Kurt actually screams this time, forgetting that there is a kid in the other room. Luckily, rage and a very bad day have made Leo a heavy sleeper, today. Kurt searches for Dave's lips again and kisses them hungrily, almost growling.

“Fuck, yes.” Dave pushes inside him so hard he buries himself inside his body for his entire length. He can't talk properly anymore and he keeps breathing hard on Kurt's mouth, kissing it and sucking on his lower lip. “Oh God, Kurt, fuck.”

“Dave, keep it like this. You're there.” Kurt arches his back to push himself better against him.

He moves faster and thrusts deeper, holding Kurt's hips as still as possible so he can better angle himself with each thrust and hit his special spot every time. “Are you close, baby? I wanna feel you come. Would you come for me?” He speaks nonsense as he strokes him, waiting for him to give in to pleasure as he seems so close to do.

Kurt nods because he can't talk anymore. Those magic words always work with him and they don't fail this time either. He comes hard, moaning, covering his eyes with his right arm.

“Fuck— let me see your face, babe,” Dave murmurs as he moves Kurt's arm away and leans on him to kiss him gently, coming hard inside him. “Let me see how beautiful you are.”

They take their time to catch their breath, pleasantly drained and tired. Kurt looks at him through heavy eyes and smiles lovingly, seeing how overwhelmed Dave is.

Dave breathes heavily, resting his forehead against Kurt's with his eyes closed as he brushes the tip of his nose with his own, cuddling him. “God, that was amazing.”

Kurt smiles, still so caught up in it that he doesn't even bother to blush. “Yes, I'd dare say it was one of the best we had so far,” he says, kissing him lazily. “I like you when you're all jealous and possessive.”

“Do you?” Dave says, laughing on his lips as he kisses him back. “Then how come I always end up sleeping on the couch when we fight because of my jealousy?”

Kurt laughs, looking at him with so much love in his eyes. “Because,” he says, caressing his face with just a light touch of his fingertips, “you don't usually touch me like that when we fight. You need to be away from me for a while just to be back like this.”

Dave opens his mouth, pretending to be outraged. “So you send me away on purpose?”

Kurt shrugs. “Maybe just a little bit.”

“Oh, you little...” Dave chuckles, shaking his head. “But I'm going to come back to our bed tonight, my back is killing me. I'm too old for this shit,” he says, kissing him lightly on his lips and starting to tidy up Kurt's pajama. “You're a mess. God, how come you're still so cute?”

Kurt lets Dave dress him as if he was a doll. “It's because I'm fabulous. I'm never really a mess, even after hot wild sex on the couch with my sexy soon-to-be husband who actually made me unable to walk,” he explains as he moves his legs and groans in pain.

“Do you know what having a sexy soon-to-be-husband who makes you unable to walk means?” Dave asks as he lifts him up and holds him in his arms. “It means you don't have to walk.”

Then, Kurt tells Dave he loves him right away in a very dramatic, oh-so-theatrical way, and they both laugh as Dave carries him to their room, where they will pretend to have slept all night when their son will come checking on them once he finally wakes up.

*

When he fell asleep in his father’s arms, two days ago, Leonard would have never thought that everything, somehow, would just fall into place, in the end. He was sure the wedding was over and, for what he knew, his parents’ relationship was about to go the same way, and he was ready to blame himself forever for that if it happened, but when he woke up he didn’t find his dad on the couch, where he was sure he would find him – since he always sleeps there when he and daddy have a fight –, so he checked the bedroom and he stood on the doorstep for two minutes straight before figuring out what happened. It was clear his dads had made peace during the night, because they were sleeping together, tied in a sweet hug.

Now that the wedding’s over, Leonard stays on the edge of the huge white painted wood dance floor he and daddy decided to have for the party after the wedding reception, and he can’t help but smile just like he did when he found them. Everything seems so right he clearly feels like he couldn’t be more happy than he is now, like his body couldn’t hold more happiness than what he’s feeling right now.

The wedding has been awesome. There were white flowers everywhere and everybody was looking happy. Dad and daddy kept smiling the whole time, and daddy managed to keep smiling even when he started to cry, after dad’s wedding vows, which were the sweetest ever, since Leo helped him sort them out. Auntie Tana was gorgeous, even in her manly outfit, and her speech during the reception was really funny. Leo listened to it very closely, happy to hear the story of his parents’ love from a point of view he had never considered before, and thinking with some pride that now he has the right to talk about this story too, since he’s helping making it. Not only being the main reason why they decided to get married in the end, but with everything else. With every step he takes, he’s making history. He’s making his parents’ life worth living just as much as they’re doing with him. That’s being a family, and Leo probably didn’t need a ceremony to know, but in the end maybe he did. He didn’t need the vows themselves, but what made them possible, all the troubles he went through, all he had to accomplish to have his parents smiling at each other and swearing they’ll be together forever no matter what comes their way, this he needed, and he firmly believes his parents needed it too. So he can’t help smiling smugly, now, because he knows he was right, right from the start, and now he can afford feeling so self-satisfied, like all this happened only thanks to him, though he knows it’s not exactly true.

“Would you allow me this dance?” Blaine asks, jumping into his view literally from out of nowhere. Leo makes a face, stepping back. He has been good ignoring him up to now, but he just had to come and ruin everything.

“No way,” he answers, looking away, “And why do you have to talk like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like you came out of some fairy tale book or something,” Leo snorts.

Blaine laughs a little, kneeling in front of him and sitting on his heels. “Does the way I speak seem strange to you?”

“Definitely,” Leonard nods, “You’re cheesy. Like some fairy tale princes, the lame ones.”

“This is true,” Blaine chuckles again, “Maybe I am a prince, after all, then.” Leo looks at him, and Blaine’s smiling gently as he stays like that in front of him, his elbows resting on his knees, the elegant suit he wears making an interesting contrast with his wild curly black hair which he left untied, free to brush against his neck.

“Of the lame kind,” Leo insists, crossing his arms on his chest.

“Of course,” Blaine chuckles, “But, just follow me: if your parents just married each others, that means they’re no more prince and princess, or princes, or whatever, they just became king and queen, or kings, am I right?”

Leo looks at him confusedly, tilting his head. “I suppose,” he concedes, shrugging.

“Well, then, if they’re kings, that makes you a prince,” Blaine continues, nodding at himself in agreement.

Leo arches an eyebrow. “What’s your point, mister Anderson?” he asks, and he feels pretty amused when he sees Blaine actually shivering after his words.

“Don’t call me mister,” he says, “Just… please.”

“Okay,” Leo nods, “Anderson.”

Blaine lets out a little laugh, shaking his head. Leo finds himself hypnotized by the way his hair move, but he manages to look away in time for Blaine not to catch him staring. “You really are a smart ass, aren’t you?” the man asks, and Leo sighs.

“You still didn’t tell me what’s your point,” he repeats.

“My point is,” Blaine smiles, “That if you’re a prince and I’m a prince too, lame as I am then I must be a prince visiting your reign from another land. Therefore, since your parents are busy dancing with each others, and since apparently I couldn’t dance with Kurt even if he was alone, or at least that’s what I was told, then you should be the one dancing with me, since we’re both princes and I’m a special guest.”

Leo opens his eyes wide, taken aback from the way he’s putting it. “Do you really think any of this made sense?” he asks, and Blaine laughs again. Leo’s coming to hate the sound of this laugh, it makes him uncomfortable and hot on his cheeks.

“I thought it was a fascinating way to put it in,” he answers, “Besides, I really want to dance with you.”

“Don’t you have women or men your age to ask to?” Leo snorts, annoyed.

Blaine shrugs. “I prefer little kids.”

“You know, this could be reported as harassment,” Leo answers, smiling wickedly. Blaine opens his eyes wide, looking extremely amused, and Leo hates him: why does he seem so totally unable to take him seriously? He’s being so very really serious, now, and all this man can do is making fun of him.

“You shouldn’t even know that word,” he says in a light chuckle. Leo snorts again.

“Whatever,” he concedes, “I’m still not gonna dance with you.”

“Not even if I ask really nicely?” Blaine tries.

“I don’t think you would even know where to start to be nice!” Leo answers, “But even if you could, I don’t dance,” he says blushing and looking away.

“Oh, come on,” Blaine insists, rolling his eyes, “It’s a party, you should dance.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to!” Leo yells at him, stomping his feet on the ground, “I mean, I don’t want to ‘cause I still hate you, since you’re mean and horrible, but even if I wanted, I can’t!” he spits out, “I can’t dance.”

“Oh my God,” Blaine chuckles again, standing straight on his feet again, and smoothes the wrinkles on his trousers, “Well, then I definitely have to teach you. It’s terribly inappropriate for a young prince of your birth to be unable to dance. I can’t let this happen. Come on,” he smiles again, “You can put your feet on mine. I promise it will be fun.”

Leo shakes his head, letting out an annoyed, frustrated moan. “You’re not going to leave me alone if I don’t dance with you, are you?” he asks. Blaine just laughs and doesn’t say anything, since the answer is obvious enough. “Okay then,” Leo sighs, holding out both his hands to him, “But when I get bored, I go away, and you don’t get to force me to stay.”

“Got it,” Blaine nods, helping him to climb on his feet and then moving around the dance floor, one goofy step after another. “See?” he asks, comically but gracefully turning around and bringing Leo with himself, “This is fun.”

“This is stupid…” Leo corrects him, looking everywhere around, “And everybody’s staring!”

“I suppose it’s because we’re dancing really good,” Blaine says, but he’s laughing so hard it’s obvious he’s not meaning a single word he’s saying.

“Did you do that just to make me look ridiculous?” Leo asks, and his cheeks are flushed, and he feels angry. He looks up at Blaine and he’s smiling so calmly and peacefully he can’t help but feeling a little stupid because he seems to be getting upset over nothing.

“No,” Blaine answers, speaking in a low, soft voice, “I just wanted to make things right with you. You know, apologize for what you saw. My behavior was unacceptable, and I hope you can find in your heart the will to forgive me.”

Leonard feels himself blushing again. He would like to loosen the knot of his tie, but Blaine’s holding both his hands and he fears he would fall down his feet if he left them, so he doesn’t. “Why do you want me to forgive you?” he asks, anyway, “It’s not like I’m gonna see you much from now on, you don’t even live here!”

Blaine smiles again, shrugging lightly. “Yes, maybe,” he nods, “But I like you.”

Leo’s cheeks turn so red he feels breathless and unbelievably hot for a moment, and it’s already too much. He jumps off Blaine’s feet willingly, shaking his head, trying to make the blush disappear. “Well, I don’t!” he says, pouting lightly. He still feels too hot to bear it, and he wants to run away, but at the same time he doesn’t, so in the end he stands still.

Blaine smiles, a hand on his hip, arching an eyebrow. “You already got bored?” he asks.

Leo sticks out his tongue at him. “I just wanted to ruin your shoes, anyway,” he tells him, and only then he feels free to run away, right in his fathers’ arms. They just stopped dancing, but he asks them to dance once more, this time with him. They accept, and when Leo starts dancing with them, holding both his parents’ hands in his, he doesn’t realize it, but he’s already using the steps Blaine taught him.

IT'S NOT ME, IT'S THE SHIRT.

Kurt si ritrova sbattuto contro un muro ed è almeno la quarta volta quella settimana, se non si calcola il breve scambio intercorso nei bagni due giorni prima. In quel caso è finito sulla tazza del cesso, ridicolo ma incredibilmente comodo e rilassante se paragonato a ciò che sta avenendo adesso.
Dave lo ha letteralmente prelevato di peso dal corridoio e appoggiato al primo muro disponibile che non fosse proprio in bella vista, poi gli si è schiacciato addosso in modo che, se Kurt avesse avuto qualcosa da ridire, gli sarebbe passata subito la voglia nel sentire quant'era già duro senza nemmeno averlo ancora quasi toccato. Kurt, in effetti ha sentito e, quando Dave gli si è strusciato addosso, ha lasciato andare un mugolio deliziato che ora rinnega, naturalmente.
“Questa storia deve finire,” dice ansimando, mentre la tracolla gli scivola da una spalla e finisce a terra, sui piedi di Dave che se la leva di torno spazientito. “Tu non puoi prendermi quando ti gira.”
Le labbra di Dave risalgono il collo di Kurt in baci umidi e impazienti, per catturare di nuovo la sua bocca e farlo tacere. “Ah no?” Chiede poi, dopo che lo ha baciato tanto a lungo da sapere che se si allontana un secondo da lui per respirare, Kurt sarà troppo scompigliato per parlare subito con la solita irruenza. Difatti fa in tempo a dargli un altro bacio più dolce, prima che si riprenda.
“No,” ansima Kurt, schiacciato contro il muro, le gambe leggermente divaricate e ben piantate a terra perché l'altro possa starci comodamente in mezzo.
Dave gli accarezza i fianchi e appende le dita ai passanti della cintura di Kurt, mentre gli morde il collo e lascia una traccia umida e calda di piccoli baci fino al suo petto, che s'intravede dalla camicia slacciata. “Se non vuoi che ti tocchi, dovresti stare attento a come ti vesti,” mormora, con un gorgoglio faticoso mentre deglutisce e s'incanta a guardare la sua pelle bianchissima.
“I miei vestiti non ti giustificano, Karofsky,” mormora Kurt, che però accoglie l'ennesimo bacio con la stessa irruenza con cui viene dato, aggrappandosi alle sue spalle e tirandoselo più vicino.
“Dave,” lo corregge lui, soffiandogli sulle labbra e negandogli un bacio quando Kurt si sporge a cercarlo. Le sue mani s'insinuano sotto la camicia di Kurt e saggiano la pelle tesa e morbida dei suoi fianchi. “Non puoi mettere questa camicia e pretendere che io tenga le mani a posto.”
Kurt lo guarda con gli occhi pesanti, inumidendosi le labbra in attesa che Dave le morda ancora. “Cos'ha la mia camicia che non va?” Chiede.
“E' aperta,” ringhia Dave e, per dimostrarglielo, infila una mano nello scollo ampio che gli arriva quasi al petto, scoprendogli le spalle. “E tu sei nudo.”
Kurt sente il freddo delle mattonelle contro la schiena e rabbrividisce con un urletto che però muore sulla bocca di Dave. La sua mano lo accarezza da sopra i pantaloni, stringe appena per sentirlo spingere contro le proprie dita.
“Che stai facendo?” Mugola Kurt, si scosta dal suo viso solo per riprendere fiato e poi vanifica la domanda, riprendendo a farsi baciare.
“Finisco di spogliarti,” risponde Dave, litigando con i bottoni minuscoli che chiudono i jeans di Kurt. Ha le dita troppo grosse perché quelli non sguscino via. Ogni volta che ne perde uno, finisce per sfiorare Kurt che si agita, rendendo il tutto ancora più complicato.
“Non ti ho dato il permesso,” mugola Kurt.
“Non te l'ho chiesto,” grugnisce Dave, riversando tutta la propria frustrazione per i bottoni in un bacio che toglie il fiato e lascia entrambi più insoddisfatti di prima.
Per questo Kurt solleva il bacino e gli allontana le mani con stizza. “Sei un incapace,” esclama. “Faccio io.”
Dave trattiene a stento l'impazienza e Kurt non fa in tempo a sganciare l'ultimo dannato bottone che lui gli tira giù i pantaloni con uno strattone violento, che quasi si porta dietro anche Kurt.
“Piano!” Protesta il ragazzo, preoccupato per delle cuciture che all'outlet non sembravano troppo solide e giustificavano lo sconto.
“Sta' zitto,” dice Dave perentorio, sbattendolo di nuovo contro il muro quando ormai i jeans sono a terra e Kurt può uscirne comodamente da solo.
Lui tace perché non ha più molto da protestare dopo che Dave gli si schiaccia di nuovo addosso e, nell'impeto, quasi lo solleva da terra. I loro bacini si scontrano ancora e la stoffa dei boxer non attutisce quasi per niente la sensazione di Dave contro di lui.
In quel posto fa freddo, però, e Kurt e l'unico nudo, perciò artiglia la casacca della squadra di football e la tira via. Il gemito di impazienza che Dave gli ansima in un orecchio quando tira giù la zip dei suoi pantaloni, lo lascia a boccheggiare e decide che non vuole aspettare un secondo di più.
“Dave,” lo chiama per nome stavolta. Cerca i suoi occhi ma sono già serrati e tutto quello che ottiene è un bacio più dolce che sa di un sacco di voglia e ormai poca coordinazione. Si aggrappa forte alle sue spalle e si fa tirare su di peso, stringendogli le cosce intorno ai fianchi.
Dave trova abbastanza delicatezza tra gli ormoni scombussolati per entrare in lui gentilmente. Kurt fa una smorfia di dolore, all'inizio, e lui la distende con pazienza, un bacio dopo l'altro, finché non lo sente rilassarsi intorno a lui e le sue unghie smettono di affondargli nelle spalle. “Stai bene?” Si ferma a chiedere, la voce ovattata mentre se ne sta con il viso affondato nel collo di Kurt e se lo stringe addosso, quasi volesse tenerlo insieme finché non è in grado di farlo per conto suo.
Kurt annuisce, preme forte il naso contro il suo e lascia che l'ultima eco di dolore che ancora resta si perda completamente, quindi riprende a baciarlo.
Ci sono permessi che Dave chiede, dopotutto.

Acceptance.
Accepting himself won't be easy. Dave is not quite there yet. He hardly even speaks the word aloud. He can't believe it's real. These things always happen to others. Not him. He isn't gay. Kurt is helping, though. He accepted him long before. So eventually, Dave will follow his lead.

Bully Whips
This anti-bully club was Santana's idea, but now he kinda like it too. It gives him a way to work off his tension without getting in trouble and to fix what he did wrong for so long. He knows it will took time to redeem himself, but it's a start.

Closet
Getting out of the closet isn't an option. Dave doesn't feel ready and won't listen to anybody saying he should admit it. In fact, he doesn't know if that's the truth. He's going to stay inside until he figures it out. But it feels good to take a peek sometimes.

Duke Stud
He has never been the ladies' man. He had only a couple of girlfriends. But when Santana asks him out, he feels the need to play confident, which he's absolutely not. Maybe it's how he says it, but she doesn't fall for it. And this is where it all begins.

Education
Dave has questions but he doesn't ask because then everybody would notice him and that would be it. Maybe it will turn out he is not gay, so he shouldn't really participate. Fortunately, Kurt comes to these PFLAG meetings with him and waits whatever it'll take for him to speak.

Football
Football is the only thing that makes sense in his life anymore. That's why he wants to be part of the team and get along with the guys. Football is something he is respected for. It's a part of him. He only wishes he could show the rest of him.

Glee Club
Dave can't find him anywhere. Fancy's gonna hear him. He has told him to wait for a reason, he shouldn't be running around, making himself a target for bullies. Eventually, he finds him on stage, singing his heart out.
"You're good," Dave admits.
Kurt smiles and he blushes. "Like you didn't know."

Homosexual
He doesn't like the H-word, unless he is mocking people. A very petty part of him believes in hiding the truth by yelling it at others. Dave feels bad when Kurt cries, but he must protect himself. It's him or Kurt, he doesn't know there is a way out. Yet.

Ignoramus
Kurt thinks Dave's behavior is son of ignorance but there's fear on his face after the kiss. The lively bright flame in his eyes screams nothing but sheer horror for something he likes. Kurt can only stare him back with the same expression. Something is off and both know it.

Jock
Dave can't think easily outside his box. His clique gives him strength and the safer identity available. He can't stop being a jock. But he can't stop being his new self either. So Kurt has to learn how to deal with a chubby guy who sweats too much, after all.

Kurt
Dave is mesmerized by Kurt swinging his hips down the hallways. He can't avert his eyes whenever he's around. So he pushes him to make him stop fucking with his head. Then it turns out it works better if Dave makes Kurt's hips swing. And the hallways are safe again.

Letterman Jacket
Dave is getting dressed in the locker room.
"I see you're back in disguise, Clark Kent," Kurt smiles in the doorway. "Make sure to find a phone booth on the way to my house tonight. PFLAG meeting, five o'clock." Dave sighs and Kurt kisses him quickly. "But leave the jacket on."

McKinley
The school is a little ecosystem of its own. Science isn't exactly his thing but he can still picture McKinley as some sort of wild place with predators and preys. And unless he finds a way to turn sheep into wolves, he'll keep showing his fangs and pretend to growl.

Never Been Kissed
Dave thinks that Kurt's too close, talks too much and speaks too much truth. He kisses him because he doesn't know what he's doing. He draws back because he suddenly does. Then he sees Kurt's face and it's not so bad to be gay. It just bad to be himself.

Ohio
"It's hard to find cufflinks in Lima," Kurt says. Dave doesn't know what cufflinks are - they sound dirty, though - but nods so Kurt knows he's listening. As Kurt gives him more shopping bags to carry, he sadly wonders if he has came out just for this. And sighs.

Prom King
Once upon a time there was a king, smiling he walked in to greet his crowd. But as happy as he was to be their king, he couldn't even think to wear his crown. Its weight seemed way too much to bear, for he was holding back something he felt.

...and Queen
Then there was the queen to him so dear, shining brightly in her fancy black new kilt. She looked at him and said: “My dear, it's time for you to get rid of your guilt.”
“I can't,” he said, so helplessly poor thing, and left his lovely queen without a king.

Respectabilty
When the slushie hits his face, Dave knows he has hit rock bottom. He knows the slushied place in the social pyramid, he was on top before Glee Club and the half time show came in. But he won't lose his name. Singing is for pussies. And he's not one.

Santana
Dave can only look at her with respect. She's an evil mastermind and she's mean, two things he can use right now suffering, as he is, of this temporary lack of organization. He admires her, even though she's actually blackmailing him. She's exciting more than threatening, so he says yes.

Thriller
Dave watches his team dance in front of the whole school with the glee club. This is insane. Everybody will definitely be a loser by tomorrow. It's gonna be bad. But the end of his world never seemed so much fun before. And it won't be tomorrow until tomorrow, right?

Undead
Irony is a bitch. He doesn't know why he feels so damn alive only now that he's playing a dead corpse. Maybe it's because when he looks up at the bleachers, Kurt's there, clawing his long, elegant fingers in the air, somehow dancing with him. And it feels so good.

Violence
Dave doesn't wake up planning to make Kurt's life a living hell. He makes pretty wet dreams about him, so he doesn't want to shove him anywhere when he wakes up. But at school, pushing is the only way he's supposed to touch him. Otherwise it'd be a social suicide.

What is your problem?
People keep asking what the problem is because nobody can figure it out. Guess what? Neither can he. Everything he does or feel doesn't make any sense to him. Then Kurt storms in the locker room asking the same question and Dave gives him the most sincere answer of all.

Xtraordinary Ordinary
Dave likes to be ordinary but not too much, in a be-like-the-others-but-just-slightly-better sort of way. He doesn't want to be singled out for something, let alone for liking boys. Then Kurt comes along, and extraordinary takes a whole new meaning, which is really ordinary after all. And he likes it.

Yell
Dave shouts to scare him off because he feels the urge to do something insane. Panic runs through his throat with painful force, it explodes out of his lips and he can't stop it. But Kurt's not scared enough and Dave's feelings take charge, leaving them both gasping for air.

Zero Tolerance
The suspension is a wake up call. His father's so disappointed, Dave swears to fix things with Kurt. But Kurt's gone before he can apologize, leaving him alone with the consequences of what he did. This is where Santana finds him and puts him back together from A to Z.

IT'S NO CRIME
Dopo averlo baciato, Dave provava un tale misto di disgusto ed eccitazione che il suo cervello si scollegò dal mondo circostante e lo fece girare a vuoto, in cerca di un posto qualsiasi in cui nascondersi e fingere di non aver fatto niente di vergognoso.
Quando si riprese, era già buio e suo padre cercava di raggiungerlo al telefono da ore. Era sicuramente incazzato: odiava che rimanesse fuori senza avvertire.
Non voleva tornare a casa, però. Non mentre aveva ancora in testa gli spogliatoi deserti, il viso di Kurt contratto dall'odio e le sue labbra calde e morbide all'improvviso, come non fosse stato lui a chinarglisi addosso, ma fossero apparse magicamente contro le sue.
Era condannato. Aveva tentato di curarsi, di andare con delle ragazze, ma non gliene fregava niente. Dio! Solo a pensarci, rabbrividiva. Se si fosse saputo, l'intera scuola l'avrebbe messo alla gogna con condanna per direttissima, senza avvocato né giudice a garantirgli un regolare processo.
Si raccolse da terra come un sacco vuoto e, d'altronde, non avrebbe saputo di cosa riempirsi giacchè tutto ciò che era stato si era riversato fuori di lui e su Kurt. Kurt che sapeva ogni cosa.
Percorse i corridoi vuoti col passo rassegnato dell'uomo morto che cammina. Il suo miglio verde lo condusse nello spogliatoio, come se Kurt potesse essere ancora lì dove lo aveva lasciato. Inorridito, con la mano sulla bocca. Tirò un pugno all'armadietto, fracassandolo definitivamente. Se n'era andato, Kurt. E chissà dove, col diritto di emettere la sua sentenza.

DON'T SAY IT ALOUD (OR IT BECOMES REAL)

La storia dei guardiani nei corridoi è un'idiozia. Non è che Kurt non creda nell'idea in generale, più che altro non crede che possa funzionare nel suo liceo, dove è evidente che se sei sfigato resti sfigato anche se ribalti il mondo per cambiare l'opinione comune. Lui fa parte del Glee club ed è pure omosessuale – punteggio doppio! – e non basteranno certo un paio di pattugliamenti a far capire alla gente che questi non sono due buoni motivi per sfotterlo e schiantarlo contro gli armadietti.
Non basterà nemmeno che a capo di questo nuovo esercito di angeli custodi pronti a tutto per proteggere i reietti della società ci sia Dave Karofsky, che delle granite in faccia alla gente come lui aveva fatto un marchio di fabbrica. D'accordo, Kurt lo ammette, da quando Dave si è pentito – votandosi al culto di Santana – il tasso della criminalità da corridoio scolastico è calato bruscamente, ma è solo questione di statistiche e matematica. Era lui che faceva il maggior numero di danni. Se non c'è lui, i danni diminuiscono. Non potrebbe essere più semplice di così. Ma morto – si fa per dire – un Karofsky, se ne fa subito un altro.
Kurt sa che è solo una questione di tempo prima che un nuovo re venga incoronato, a difesa di un popolo di scimmioni selvaggi ed eterosessuali pronti a ricoprire di ghiaccio e coloranti qualunque cosa sia diverso da loro. Per questo fa la strada verso la classe con lo stesso misto di supponenza e paura che ha sempre provato, prima, dopo e anche durante il trasferimento alla Dalton.
Kurt crede davvero che Dave si sia pentito, però. Non lo credeva possibile quando il preside li ha convocati entrambi nel suo ufficio ma, Santana o meno, ha visto nei suoi occhi qualcosa che prima non c'era, o che prima era nascosto. Non lo sa. Qualcosa che Dave ha così tanta paura di tirare fuori che preferisce negarlo, come se non fosse così teneramente evidente.
Kurt prova per lui una sorta di strano affetto, adesso. Sarà perché Dave sembra più spaventato ora di quando lo ha lasciato qualche mese fa, o forse perché la sua trasferta temporanea gli ha dato modo di pensare e, armato di courage, vede il mondo in tutt'altra maniera. Il punto è che se Dave vuole davvero provare a cambiare, lui non vuole togliersi la possibilità di dargli una mano, non fosse altro per poter dire alla fine, te l'avevo detto. E poi Dave è ormai troppo grande per stare dentro ad un armadio.
Kurt ha deciso di aspettare qualche giorno, vedere come procedono i pattugliamenti, ma soprattutto vedere come si comporterà Dave quando si accorgerà che a pentirsi e dimostrare pietà per il resto del mondo che non gioca a football ma canta e balla, ci si ritrova dall'altra parte e non c'è modo di tornare indietro. Stavolta non gli basterà la scusa di voler vincere il campionato per giustificarsi e dovrà prendere posizione.
Quello che non ha calcolato è che Dave sta pattugliando il corridoio proprio in quel momento e gli viene incontro a grandi falcate che generano involontari, brutti ricordi. L'ultima volta che lo ha visto avvicinarsi in quel modo, è finito contro gli armadietti e il suo telefono si è irrimediabilmente rovinato finendo a terra con un rumore tragico che ancora gli riverbera nelle orecchie, così si ferma immobile come un gatto abbagliato dai fari di un'auto. Ci pensa anche, a infilare il primo corridoio disponibile e fuggire a gambe levate, ma non sarebbe dignitoso. E soprattutto non sarebbe coerente. Se ti fidi, ti fidi, pensa, non è che prendi e scappi.
Dave gli sorride – d'accordo, è più che altro un ghigno, ma può valere come sorriso – e lui si sente così scemo che s'impone di scuotersi. Risponde con una mezza smorfia di supponenza, mentre stringe le mani intorno alla tracolla e deglutisce così forte che gli fa male la gola.
“Va tutto bene?” Chiede Dave.
Lui si affretta ad annuire e poi nota che la divisa da guardiano dei poveri non c'è. Al suo posto è tornata la vecchia divisa rossa e giallognola, quella della squadra, e quella giacca sportiva che è così brutta anche solo a livello concettuale che Kurt non ha mai capito perché sia universalmente adottata come indumento da chicchessia. “E il tuo basco, dov'è finito?” Lo apostrofa.
Dave diventa subito rosso, che è una cosa assurda per uno grande e grosso come lui. “Era ridicolo,” si giustifica.
“E quella giacca no?” Chiede Kurt, ghignando. Senza nemmeno pensarci stringe con due dita la stoffa di una manica e gli tira su un braccio. All'inizio fa un po' fatica perché Dave oppone resistenza, come il diffidente che è, ma poi alla fine lo lascia fare. “Il taglio è datato, cade male a chiunque, indipendentemente dal tipo di fisico, e i colori sono un insulto a qualunque tavola cromatica.”
“E' solo una giacca sportiva,” protesta debolmente Dave. Ma poi, rendendosi conto che qui non si lede soltanto la sua immagine ma anche quella della squadra aggiunge con più vigore, “E' la giacca della squadra!”
“E questo dovrebbe renderla meno ridicola.... perché?”
Dave non è molto bravo con le domande sarcastiche. Non è molto bravo con il sarcasmo in generale, il che lo rende contemporaneamente molto ottuso ma anche molto tenero. Kurt ha da tempo una certa inclinazione per i tipi un po' scemi – Finn ne è un esempio – e la sua vocazione da crocerossina ha un che di antico e romantico che lo fa sciogliere come neve al sole, quando ci pensa. A volte si immagina a recitare in vecchi film in bianco e nero pieni di neve e scene di guerra, mentre stringe tra i denti un fazzoletto. In tempi non sospetti il coprotagonista era il suo fratellastro, ora non ha più un volto. E' una creatura fumosa, ipoteticamente pronta a prenderlo tra le sue possenti braccia.
“Perché è la giacca della squadra,” ripete Dave, che non ha trovato niente di meglio da dire.
Kurt lo guarda con pietosa accondiscendenza, un po' come lo guarda sempre ogni volta che si parla della sua omosessualità. “No, ma dico, ti sei mai visto con quella addosso?” Esclama poi esasperato, quando l'occhiata non è abbastanza per far capire a Dave che sta dicendo idiozie e dovrebbe per lo meno ammetterlo.
Lo afferra e lo trascina lungo il corridoio e dentro il primo bagno che trova, ignorando le sue proteste che si fanno sempre più forti. “No, aspetta!” Sbraita Dave, cercando di divincolarsi ma, terrorizzato alla possibilità di fargli male, lo fa con poca convinzione e quindi i suoi tentativi sono del tutto inutili. A fronte di una differenza di peso notevole, Kurt riesce a portarlo dove vuole. “Io qui dentro non posso entrare! E' il bagno delle ragazze!”
Kurt lancia appena un'occhiata alla porta che ancora ondeggia. “Ho solo bisogno di uno specchio,” lo liquida. “E poi se tanto mi da tanto, è meglio che ti ci abitui.”
“Io non sono una ragazza!” Protesta Dave, mentre Kurt lo spinge letteralmente davanti alla grande specchiera sopra i lavandini.
“Sfido chiunque a non notarlo,” replica Kurt con un sospiro mentre lo posiziona meglio, come fosse un vetrinista e Dave un manichino nella vetrina dei saldi.
Dave aspetta che Kurt lo abbia lasciato andare solo per incrociare le braccia al petto e imbronciarsi. “Non voglio stare qui, Hummel,” sibila stizzito. “Dimmi quello che devi dirmi e fammi andare.”
Kurt questa volta sorride per davvero. Le sue labbra si tendono nel proprio riflesso e Dave un po' lo guarda perplesso e un po' si scioglie. “Beh? Che cos'hai da ridere?”
“Ora ti riconosco,” commenta Kurt, con decisione. “Burbero, cocciuto e infantile. Si può avere un po' più Dave Karofsky e un po' meno guardiano dei corridoi? Mi dai i brividi. E non in maniera positiva.”
Lui lo guarda storto. “Devo tornare a picchiarti?”
Kurt gli sistema la giacca addosso e Dave è così confuso dall'ultimo scambio di battute che nemmeno se ne accorge. “Dovrò introdurti al fantastico mondo delle mezze misure,” commenta. “Dopo averti introdotto al fantastico mondo del...”
“Non lo dire. Io non l'ho ancora ammesso.”
Kurt ride. “Non sai nemmeno che cosa volevo dire.”
“Sì che lo so. Ma non è perché tu sei... sei così, devo per forza esserlo anch'io,” borbotta Dave, che vorrebbe tornare ad incrociare le braccia ma Kurt continua a tirargliele giù lungo i fianchi.
“Così come? Indiscutibilmente bello e affascinante?”
“Anche.”
Il sorriso ironico di Kurt si congela in una specie di smorfia. Si solleva lentamente e, anche se non vorrebbe, il suo sguardo incrocia quello di Dave nello specchio. Si guardano fin troppo a lungo perché Kurt non perda le parole e reagisca con un secondo di ritardo quando Dave non ce la fa più a sopportare l'imbarazzo e questa volta si divincola più violentemente.
“Dave, aspetta!” Gli grida dietro Kurt, ma non serve a niente.
Dave lo strattona e quando lui non molla la presa, deciso a trattenerlo, preferisce scivolare fuori dalla maglia piuttosto che restare ed affrontarlo. Lui e la situazione e tutto quel non detto che a quanto pare ha una gran voglia di uscirgli di bocca.
Kurt rimane ad osservare la porta del bagno che ondeggia anche dopo che Dave è sparito chissà dove e stringe la giacca rossa fra le dita. Ci affonda il naso dentro, e non sa perché, finché la campanella suona.

I AM THE CAPTAIN OF THIS SHIP (CURIOUS HANDS AND FINGERTIPS)

Kurt Hummel sosteneva che la paura fosse solo un concetto di cui la gente si serviva per non fare quello che non gli andava di fare. Ad esempio, Jacob Ben, il garzone del ristorante, aveva scoperto che se si rifiutava di andare dal macellaio a ritirare la carne per il pranzo della giornata dicendo di non averne voglia, il proprietario ce lo mandava lo stesso a calci nel sedere; ma se diceva di non volerci andare perché quell'uomo gli faceva paura, allora il proprietario annuiva con fare comprensivo e lo tirava di nuovo dentro il ristorante, quasi qualcuno potesse fargli del male lì sulla porta. D'altronde, tutti avevano sentito le urla sinistre che provenivano dalla bottega del macellaio, e l'avevano visto tutti andarsene in giro con un lungo coltello insanguinato, chi poteva biasimare il povero Jacob se non voleva averci niente a che fare?
Sembrava che – per la paura – nessuno si fermasse mai a pensare al fatto che quell'uomo era un macellaio e se c'era qualcuno nel maledetto paesino in cui vivevano ad avere il diritto di girare armato di coltelli grondanti di sangue, quello era lui; ma ogni volta che Kurt provava a far notare la cosa, tutti scuotevano la testa impietositi e dicevano “Povero ragazzo” e “Che disgrazia, povero Burt.”
La paura era una scusa, ed era anche dannosa. Colombo aveva forse avuto paura quando era partito per scoprire l'America? No, era salito sulla sua nave ed era salpato verso nuovi orizzonti.
Kurt se lo immaginava benissimo, dritto e fiero a prua, con un piede su una cassa e il cannocchiale in mano.
Anche lui sarebbe salito sulla sua nave, senza una meta, senza paura, ma con un amore di cappellino e la casacca alla marinara che stava tanto bene con i suoi pantaloni blu.
Era uscito di casa a notte fonda, pieno di buone intenzioni, ma quando era arrivato al porto, le cose non erano andate proprio lisce come pensava. Per qualche strano motivo tutto era sembrato estremamente più facile, quando aveva provato la scena nel salotto di casa sua.
La McKinley era una nave imponente, costruita dall'ormai defunto William McKinley e ora proprietà del governo che l'aveva affidata alle abili mani del capitano Karofsky che doveva condurla oltre l'orizzonte, alla ricerca di nuovi territori inesplorati.
A quanto pareva David Karofsky rappresentava non solo la speranza di un intero paese ormai affollato e privo di risorse, ma anche il più grosso problema attuale di Kurt, dal momento che aveva dichiarato il suo equipaggio al completo e aveva dato ordine ai suoi uomini di non far salire più nessuno, nemmeno dopo lauto compenso, nemmeno dopo un'esibizione pressoché perfetta di Don't Cry For Me Argentina che avrebbe invero fatto piangere di commozione la stessa Evita Péron (per non parlare di Madonna) e tantomeno dopo una scena strappalacrime eseguita con maestria sul ponte di poppa, nonostante le urla cafone di un'intera fila di marinai pronti ad imbarcarsi.
Da che la nave era stata rimessa in acqua dopo le riparazioni e le dovute migliorie, Kurt aveva provato a farsi arruolare nell'equipaggio ogni santo giorno per quasi due mesi rimediando un sacco di no, qualche calcio nel sedere e assolutamente nessun risultato; ma lui doveva partire, per questo si era rassegnato all'inevitabile. Aveva diligentemente preparato una sacca con tutti i generi di prima necessità e anche una seconda sacca con qualcosa da mangiare, aveva lasciato un bigliettino tenero a suo padre, spiegandogli che non era per lui che se ne andava, e l'aveva baciato sulla fronte stando ben attento a non svegliarlo.
Quindi si era recato al porto ed era lì che si trovava ora, nell'ombra di un vicolo ad osservare la nave per farsi venire un'idea. L'unico accesso al ponte era sorvegliato dagli uomini di Karofsky e di certo non poteva mettersi i bagagli in spalla e passare fischiettando. Doveva trovare il modo di introdursi sulla nave di nascosto. Dopo aver escluso per ragioni di estetica, pericolosità e soprattutto rischio di sporcarsi i vestiti, di arrampicarsi lungo le gomene che assicuravano la nave e di catapultarsi dai tetti direttamente sul ponte, Kurt era rimasto a corto di idee; non è che avesse granché dimestichezza con l'intrufolarsi sulle navi altrui.
A dargliene la possibilità fu l'enorme quantità di birra che veniva imbarcata. Il suo piano iniziale era quello di prendere una delle casse e avviarsi con disinvoltura sulla passerella, fingendo di essere uno dei mozzi che doveva portarla ai marinai, ma ci rinunciò quando si rese conto che pesavano un mezzo quintale l'una e che lui aveva anche le valige e una generale situazione di polsi fragili. Così non gli rimase che aspettare che la birra fosse distribuita, oltre che impilata in torri di casse pericolanti lungo tutto il ponte della nave, e che iniziassero balli e canti sregolati, con lanci di bottiglie vuote fuori bordo e urla che, si fosse trovato in una situazione un po' meno di necessità, forse lo avrebbero fatto rinunciare all'idea di una vita da marinaio.
Quando vide le due guardie crollare a terra addormentate, decise che poteva fare un tentativo e, male che fosse andata, scappare di corsa. Sfuggire a gente ubriaca fradicia non sarebbe poi stato così difficile.
Uscì impettito dal suo nascondiglio e guardò la McKinley con aria di sfida. “A noi due!” Pensò stringendo la presa sulle maniglie delle valigie e dirigendosi a passo spedito verso la passerella.
La trovò corrosa dalla salsedine, priva di corrimano e molto instabile, cosa che rese i suoi spostamenti alquanto complicati.
Sul ponte si ballava e si rideva, e quando Kurt ci mise piede sconvolto da quei venti metri che aveva fatto rischiando di finire a bagno, nessuno notò la sua presenza. Ebbe tutto il tempo di valutare la situazione e di notare che in effetti la nave sembrava ancora più grande vista da sopra. Il ponte era una cosa immensa, Kurt non vedeva l'ora di vederlo sgombro e di potersi mettere a prua con le braccia aperte a sentire il vento sul viso. Per il momento, però, doveva trovare una sistemazione, una cabina libera, un posto vuoto dove sistemare tutte le sue cose e magari cambiarsi. C'era tanta di quella gente là sopra, e così fuori di sé per la birra, che sarebbe stato piuttosto facile far credere a tutti di esserci sempre stato. D'altronde il fascino dei marinai stava proprio nel connubio perfetto tra i loro corpi statuari e le menti straordinariamente rozze e facili da plasmare. Kurt era fiducioso che si sarebbe trovato benissimo.
Con rinnovato entusiasmo, si fece platealmente aria di fronte ad un biondino quasi perfetto che gli sorrideva ottenebrato dai fumi dell'alcol, quindi prese nuovamente le sue valigie e infilò l'unica porta che gli sembrava potesse condurlo alle cabine.
Prima che scendesse la scala buia e tortuosa, un brivido gelido gli accarezzò la schiena ma quando si voltò a cercare gli occhi che dovevano averlo generato, non trovò nessuno che lo stesse guardando. Indugiò ancora qualche istante fra la folla e poi decise che doveva trattarsi di paranoia e si chiuse la porta alle spalle.
Per una nave così grande, si aspettava di trovare molto di più ma era evidente che il signor McKinley aveva una grande esperienza in fatto di navi, ma nessuna idea di come organizzare lo spazio.
Quando arrivò in fondo alla rampa di scale, trascinandosi dietro le sue enormi valige, scoprì che c'erano solo due porte chiuse e che tutto ciò che restava della nave era occupato dalle provviste, centinaia di barili, quintali di carne appesa a ganci luridi che sgocciolava ancora sangue sul pavimento e sacchi di patate a non finire. Kurt guardò con aria disgustata le cibarie che aveva davanti, immagazzinate senza alcun metodo di conservazione e probabilmente a disposizione di scarafaggi, topi ed ogni genere di animale.
Sospirò, quindi decise di provare con le stanze. Forse si era risparmiato sulla cambusa a favore dei letti.
Fu costretto a spalancare la vecchia porta tarlata con una spallata che gli fece vibrare tutta la colonna vertebrale e si ritrovò con le ossa indolenzite e la porta pericolante che gli incombeva addosso sui cardini arrugginiti. La stanza non era decisamente meglio del corridoio, anzi forse a stendere due teli per terra e rannicchiarsi lì avrebbe preso meno malattie che sui materassi luridi che aveva ora davanti agli occhi. C'erano letti un po' ovunque, incassati in nicchie nelle pareti o arrangiati per terra, gli uni accanto agli altri. E, dove non c'era spazio, erano appese amache sbrindellate che si incrociavano le une sulle altre, dando l'impressione che ci fosse un'enorme ragnatela bianca tesa da un lato all'altro della stanza. Se anche Kurt fosse stato disposto a dormire in uno qualunque di quei giacigli di fortuna – e non lo era – di certo non c'era posto per tutta la sua roba là dentro. Non aveva idea di dove gli altri marinai avessero messo i loro bagagli o di come, se per questo, riuscissero a chiudere gli occhi anche per dieci minuti così ammassati, ma lui di certo non poteva passare così tutto il viaggio; era d'obbligo trovare un'altra sistemazione. Cercò di richiudere la porta, ma quella si limitò a scricchiolare in maniera inquietante, quindi preferì lasciarla com'era e allontanarsi molto velocemente prima di combinare altri danni.
Si diresse verso l'alta porta che sembrava, anche ad occhio, in condizioni migliori della prima e, quando provò ad aprirla, quella scivolò sui cardini senza un rumore riempiendogli il cuore di speranza. La stanza all'interno era una singola, ben tenuta, con due oblò perfettamente rotondi e anche un candelabro tintinnante di cristalli, sebbene privo di candele giacché queste avrebbero dato fuoco al soffitto.
Il letto era un matrimoniale che occupava più di metà stanza, con un baldacchino e un enorme quadro, forse un po' eccessivo ma d'atmosfera, che troneggiava appena al di sopra della testata, incassato in una cornice spessa almeno quattro centimetri. La stanza era completa di un tavolino per la corrispondenza, un bel baule dove riporre i propri abiti e un bagno piccolo ma di tutto rispetto, con anche una deliziosa vasca da bagno montata su zampette di leone dorate. Kurt immaginò che se la nave avesse cominciato ad imbarcare acqua, quella era la prima cosa che ci si sarebbe aspettati di buttare a mare. Ad ogni modo, quella era una stanza decente che poteva fare al caso suo e, ora che ne aveva scoperta l'esistenza, la sua permanenza prolungata su quella nave gli sembrava molto più probabile. Non si chiese neanche per un istante a chi potesse appartenere quel miraggio di comodità e di decoro, era evidentemente la stanza che un Dio in cui non credeva aveva ritenuto opportuno mettere su quella nave in previsione del suo imminente arrivo.
Stava giustappunto sistemando i suoi averi e i suoi tanti vestiti, che altrimenti rischiavano di rimanere orrendamente spiegazzati per sempre, quando un colpo di tosse lo colse di sorpresa.
Quando si voltò con una mano sul cuore e l'espressione sconvolta e a tratti appena un po' scandalizzata, scoprì che il capitano Karofsky lo stava osservando, appoggiato pigramente allo stipite della porta, con le braccia al petto e le gambe incrociate all'altezza delle caviglie.
Kurt lo riconobbe all'istante perché aveva fatto molte ricerche sul suo conto – d'altronde, con i tempi che correvano, non era più consigliabile imbarcarsi su navi capitanate da perfetti sconosciuti che potevano rivelarsi malvagi filibustieri o feroci pirati dei Caraibi – e anche perché Karofsky era l'ultima moda in fatto di conoscenze; se non ci avevi pranzato almeno una volta non eri nessuno in città. Il suo bel viso rotondo stampato su poster e volantini compariva appeso un po' da tutte le parti. Le signore ce lo avevano dipinto sui ventagli e gli uomini facevano a gara a chi lo conoscesse meglio degli altri. Nei bar si scatenavano vere e proprie guerre con lanci di granite colorate. Kurt, naturalmente, aveva avuto modo di vederlo dal vivo soltanto una volta e da lontano, durante il varo della McKinley. Allora il capitano Karofsky era stato su un palco, molto in alto, con il sole alle spalle a fargli da coreografia epica e gli era sembrato eroico e pieno di belle speranze, ma soprattutto magnanimo e gentile.
Tutto il contrario di come gli appariva adesso. Tanto per cominciare, non aveva nessuna alta uniforme, solo un paio di vecchi pantaloni sdruciti infilati in due stivali al ginocchio che dovevano essere appartenuti almeno ad altre tre persone diverse per essere conciati in quel modo, e poi una camicia di un colore indefinito tra il giallo e il grigio che Kurt supponeva fosse stata bianca un tempo lontano di cui né lui né Karofsky, probabilmente, potevano avere memoria. Come se quello stile da sciacallaggio di cimiteri non fosse sufficiente, il capitano lo guardava dritto negli occhi senza dare ad intendere se lo stesse facendo per cortesia o per valutare in quanti pezzi poteva tagliarlo con la sciabola sbeccata che portava alla cintura e sulla quale lo sguardo di Kurt tornava a scivolare contro la sua volontà.
Ad ogni modo Kurt aveva fatto una missione di essere sempre splendido in qualunque situazione, per cui non si lasciò intimorire dallo sguardo del capitano, piuttosto lasciò andare il cardigan a righe azzurrine che stava accuratamente ripiegando e si mise dritto, con le mani rispettosamente intrecciate in vita e lo sguardo che conteneva interesse e noia in egual misura. “Lei deve essere il capitano Karofsky,” esclamò tendendo la mano.
Per la prima volta da che era comparso, Dave Karofsky staccò gli occhi dal suo viso per fissare le sue dita dubbioso, quasi a chiedersi che cosa dovesse farsene di quelle falangi pallide che non avevano mai lavorato in vita loro. “Chi sono io lo so,” commentò, facendo schioccare la lingua, che poi rimase a gonfiargli una guancia, come se fosse intento a ragionare su quello che sarebbe venuto. “Il problema qui è chi sei tu.”
Kurt si schiarì la gola. “Io,” rispose con un certo immotivato orgoglio personale dovuto alla sola pronuncia del suo nome e cognome “sono Kurt Hummel.”
Karofsky annuì. “Fammi indovinare,” commentò, staccandosi dallo stipite e sciogliendo le braccia per portarsele ai fianchi. “Quello a cui ho più volte detto di non salire su questa nave?”
Kurt sussultò e deglutì pur senza volerlo, ma non perse la propria grinta. “Esattamente. E vorrei proprio capire per quale motivo non ha mai voluto ascoltare quello che avevo da dire.”
“Perché non me ne fregava niente,” rispose pacifico il capitano.
Kurt lo guardò oltraggiato, la bocca spalancata e gli occhi sgranati di fronte ad una tale dimostrazione di scortesia. “Lei è molto maleducato, lo sa?”
“Disse quello che è salito sulla mia nave senza permesso,” commentò il capitano, attraversando a grandi passi la stanza per dirigersi verso il tavolo dei liquori. Quando gli passò accanto, Kurt percepì l'odore forte della salsedine e quello vagamente più pungente di sudore. Arricciò il naso per abitudine, ma si ritrovò a distenderlo quando si rese conto che non era tremendo come se lo aspettava.
Kurt lo osservò con molta attenzione mentre, apparentemente dimentico della sua presenza, si versava da bere, facendo appena tintinnare la bottiglia di liquore contro il bicchiere. Aveva sempre pensato che il capitano avesse un aspetto piuttosto banale, ma mentre i suoi occhi continuavano a seguire la linea delle sue spalle e quella della schiena per incollarsi sul suo sedere nemmeno ci fosse stato un magnete, Kurt non poteva più negare che la sua prima valutazione fosse stata parecchio errata. Il capitano Karofsky era massiccio, molto alto e aveva una certa eleganza anche nei due stracci luridi che indossava e, per quanto gli costasse ammetterlo, Kurt sapeva perfettamente che un uomo che riusciva ad essere attraente anche indossando abiti di pessima qualità, aveva già una predisposizione alla perfezione. Come lui.
Era così intento a fissargli le cuciture delle tasche anteriori che sobbalzò quando la sua voce si fece di nuovo sentire, improvvisa, forte e chiara. “Hai un'idea di dove ti trovi, o il tuo cervello pieno di brillantina ti ci ha portato in automatico?” Chiese.
Kurt rimase così sorpreso dal sentirlo parlare – nemmeno fosse stato un manichino temporaneamente parcheggiato al tavolo dei liquori – che non registrò nemmeno l'offesa. “Sulla McKinley,” rispose la prima cosa che gli venne in mente, giusto per non prolungare il silenzio che aveva già lasciato seguire alla domanda.
“Intendevo qui, ora, Kurt,” Karofsky lo guardò con l'aria vagamente impietosita.
“Oh.” Kurt si guardò intorno, improvvisamente consapevole che quella stanza era diversa dalla precedente e, in quanto tale, forse, aveva qualcosa di speciale. Solo allora il letto a baldacchino, gli oblò il bagno e soprattutto la pulizia e il rifornimento della camera gli apparvero sotto tutta un'altra luce. Fece un giro quasi completo su se stesso prima di tornare a guardarlo, deglutendo. “La cabina del capitano?” Chiese con un filo di voce e la paura negli occhi.
Dave Karfosky annuì, facendo di nuovo schioccare le labbra in quel modo irritante che faceva rabbrividire Kurt dalla cima della testa alla punta dei piedi. “Eh sì, è la mia cabina,” confermò. “Quindi, non solo sei salito sulla mia nave di nascosto, quando ti avevo vietato di farlo, ma ti sei anche accampato qua dentro spargendo i tuoi cappellini.”
Kurt deglutì di nuovo, indicando la maschera per la notte che l'altro si stava facendo roteare su un indice. “E' una maschera per la notte,” lo corresse. “Non riesco a dormire se c'è troppa-”
“Non me ne frega niente,” ripeté il capitano col tono da cantilena e Kurt abbassò lo sguardo annuendo e trattenendo palesemente la lingua. Karofsky aspettò di essere certo che non parlasse, prima di gettare via la maschera da notte. “Vieni qui e ti accampi. Ora, che cosa dovrei fare, secondo te?”
“Dirmi gentilmente di prendere le mie cose e andarmene?” Tentò Kurt, con un sorriso isterico che mise in mostra la dentatura.
“E dove?” Chiese Karofsky, fingendosi interessato. “La nave è partita mezz'ora fa, non te ne sei accorto?” Gli fece cenno con la testa e, quando Kurt guardò fuori dall'oblò si rese conto che la prima volta che ci aveva guardato attraverso aveva visto la costa.
“Come sarebbe a dire partita?” La voce gli schizzò di un'ottava. “Eravate tutti ubriachi.”
“I marinai non si ubriacano mai veramente,” Dave scosse la testa. “O meglio, non sono mai veramente sobri. Vivono in uno stato di ubriachezza perenne. Comunque, adesso che siamo in mare aperto, sei decisamente un intruso. E tu lo sai che cosa succede a chi viaggia su una nave senza permesso?”
“Lo si lascia gentilmente al primo porto?” Tentò ancora Kurt, occhieggiando la propria valigia ancora aperta.
Dave scosse la testa. “No. Si trova un bel punto profondo e infestato di pescecani e lo si butta a mare.”
Kurt si affrettò a recuperare i suoi vestiti che ancora giacevano sul letto e a ficcarli a caso nella borsa, il tutto sotto gli occhi di Karfosky che non si era mosso nemmeno di un millimetro. “Sono sicuro che non siamo ancora così lontani. Qualcuno potrebbe venirmi a prendere, o potrei nuotare.”
“Già ti vedo colare a picco, abbracciato alla tua piastra per capelli,” commentò il capitano.
Kurt pensò intensamente ad una risposta da dargli, ma l'idea di essere a millemila chilometri dalla costa, da solo, con le valige e in una condizione disagiata senza speranza gli faceva venire le lacrime agli occhi, quindi tutta la forza che aveva la usò per non piangere e non gli venne nessuna risposta. Chiuse la valigia e si diresse a grandi passi verso la porta, senza riuscire ad arrivarci.
“C'è sempre la seconda possibilità,” esclamò infatti Karofsky, muovendosi più fluidamente di quanto ci si potesse aspettare da uno della sua stazza e allungando un braccio ad impedirgli il passaggio verso il corridoio. Kurt si fermò dubbioso e vagamente diffidente, e rimase così immobile che Karofsky ebbe tutto il tempo di insinuarsi tra lui e la porta con tutto il corpo, proseguendo quel movimento liquido che Kurt gli aveva visto fare con la coda dell'occhio. “Non vuoi sapere quale?”
“Quale?” Deglutì Kurt.
“Potresti dormire qui,” sorrise Karofsky, solo che il suo sorriso non era quello dolce e comprensivo che parlava di capitani che andavano a dormire su divani freddi e scomodi per lasciare la propria stanza ed emeriti sconosciuti intrufolatisi sulle loro navi. Ad ogni modo, Kurt non era troppo sicuro di sapere nemmeno il significato reale delle labbra tirate del capitano.
“Grazie,” rispose annuendo come un invasato, “ma non è necessario, posso buttarmi fuori a babordo. La borsa di Gucci mi porterà a riva.”
In tutta risposta, il capitano chiuse la porta con una mano e girò la chiave, per poi infilarsela nei pantaloni. Quindi lo guardò col mento sollevato, come aspettando qualcosa.
“Non ho molta scelta, vero?”
Karofksy scosse la testa, e si passò la lingua sulle labbra, guardando ancora in terra prima di sollevare gli occhi su di lui e staccarsi dalla porta con una spinta. Kurt arretrò di qualche passo, boccheggiando.
“Non potremmo discuterne?”
Il capitano fece qualche passo verso di lui e gli tolse di mano la borsa con delicatezza. “O ti butto in pasto agli squali, o trovi il modo di giustificare la tua presenza in questa stanza,” rispose con molta chiarezza. Quindi gli si avvicinò abbastanza da accarezzargli il collo con la punta del naso e sussurrargli all'orecchio. “Io almeno non mordo.”
Kurt fu scosso da un brivido, uno vero di quelli che faceva sembrare stupidi tutti gli altri, anche quelli che aveva provato nemmeno due minuti prima quando aveva pensato di morire per aver messo piede sulla nave. Era un brivido molto più caldo, che sulla pelle gli lasciava un'energia statica piacevole e non la pelle d'oca.
Le dita gli formicolavano perché Karofsky si faceva sempre più vicino e il suo corpo era solido soltanto a guardarlo, avrebbe voluto già allungare le mani e scoprire se quell'impressione era corretta. Era incredibile come ancora non lo toccasse eppure se lo sentisse già addosso.
Sorpreso dalla sua stessa reazione, fece un altro passo indietro per darsi almeno l'illusione di stare opponendo una qualche resistenza seria, ma si ritrovò a sbattere contro le colonne del baldacchino; la sua testa fece un suono chiarissimo, cozzandoci contro. Commise lo sbaglio di chiudere gli occhi per il dolore, perdendo così il contatto visivo con Karofsky che aveva sempre mantenuto fino a quel momento, e quello se ne approfittò per schiacciarlo contro la colonna e premere il proprio corpo contro il suo.
In un attimo, Kurt sentì tutto insieme quello che si era immaginato di sentire. Il ventre teso di Karofsky che sbatteva contro il suo, le sue spalle tornite alle quali fu costretto ad aggrapparsi per non ribaltarsi sul materasso e perdere, così, quel minimo di vantaggio che aveva stando in piedi e soprattutto la sua erezione, che gli tirava i pantaloni, e si strusciava in maniera tanto sfacciata contro la sua che quella sfuggì al suo controllo, completamente.
Il primo gemito che gli scappò di bocca non andò molto lontano, fu Dave ad accoglierlo sulle labbra quando si chinò a baciarlo. Kurt si accorse che lo stava facendo quando ormai la bocca del capitano era sulla sua, perché aveva ancora gli occhi chiusi. Si aprirono di scatto quando Karofsky gli leccò le labbra e insinuò la lingua a cercare la sua che per un primo momento non reagì nemmeno.
A Dave sembrava non importare. Lo baciava come se Kurt stesse rispondendo e insinuava le mani sotto la sua maglia, come se non stesse cercando di allontanarsi – anche se, in realtà, non lo stava facendo troppo disperatamente.
Kurt sapeva di dover rifiutare, anche perché pagare la traversata con favori sessuali non era esattamente quello che aveva in mente per arrivare dall'altra parte dell'Oceano, e poi suo padre non avrebbe approvato. Che figura ci faceva ad essersene andato col favore delle tenebre, lasciandogli un bigliettino e un bacio in fronte, per poi finire nel letto del capitano nemmeno sei ore dopo? Certo poteva andargli peggio, avrebbe potuto fermarsi nella stanza dei marinai che probabilmente non avrebbero preso quell'intrusione meglio del capitano; e se nemmeno loro volevano buttarlo in mare...
I baci del capitano erano tanto dolci, anche se invadenti, che Kurt si ritrovò a sentirne la mancanza quando Karofsky si staccò da lui per fargli passare la maglia dalla testa. “Spogliati,” gli sussurrò addosso un attimo dopo, tracciando i contorni delle sue spalle nude con quella bocca che Kurt avrebbe voluto riavere sulla propria all'istante. “Hai un sacco di posto dove mettere i vestiti, qui. Non c'è nessun motivo di tenerli addosso.”
Kurt strizzò gli occhi e fece una smorfia, sospirando. “Va bene, d'accordo,” piagnucolò, sollevando entrambe le mani e frapponendole tra il suo corpo e quello di Karofsky che, da qualche parte durante il suo monologo interiore, aveva trovato il tempo di levarsi la maglia lurida, dimostrando che, sì, il petto che aveva intuito sotto i polpastrelli, era in effetti ampio come sembrava. “Già l'intera situazione sembra la premessa di un brutto film porno, possiamo almeno smetterla con le battute da quattro soldi? Se deve farlo, lo faccia in silenzio!”
Dave scoppiò a ridere quando Kurt chiuse gli occhi, si appiattì contro la colonna del baldacchino e sollevò il mento, probabilmente immolandosi per il bene di un intero popolo che esisteva soltanto nella sua testa e la cui salvezza dipendeva dal suo sacrificio. “Certo, come vuoi,” disse con un'altra risatina, prima di sollevarlo di peso e lanciarlo sul materasso, dove Kurt rimbalzò un paio di volte, urlando.
“Ma che modi!” Protestò, non appena ebbe smesso di rimbalzare e si fu ripreso dallo spavento.
Dave salì sul letto e gli si allungò addosso senza più dire una parola. Le sue mani ritrovarono subito la strada per il suo corpo e lo accarezzarono come per ricordarsi ciò che della sua pelle avevano visto fino a quel momento, quindi andarono alla scoperta di nuovo territori, insinuandosi sotto l'elastico dei pantaloni.
Kurt non poté impedirsi di mugolare, e il versetto che gli uscì di bocca strappò a Karofsky un altro sorriso soddisfatto, mentre con due strattoni lo liberava anche dei pantaloni.
Si ritrovò ben presto molto più nudo di quanto si era mai sognato di essere con qualcuno, soprattutto non con il capitano Karofsky – o forse con lui sì, ma non sulla nave e non come punizione per esserci salito di nascosto. Non era per nulla romantico! – e si chiese che cosa ci si aspettava che facesse, in quella situazione. Aveva un'idea vaga delle basi, certo, ma non era questo il punto. Se il capitano pensava che avrebbe reso la cosa quantomeno intrigante per espiare il grave errore di essersi intrufolato sulla sua nave, si sbagliava di grosso perché lui non sapeva nemmeno da che parte iniziare a mettere le mani. E si sentiva anche molto in imbarazzo perché il suo corpo sembrava fregarsene della propria ignoranza e continuava a cercare di strusciarsi contro quello di Karofsky anche senza la diretta approvazione del suo cervello.
Dave Karofsky, però, non si aspettava un bel nulla da lui; anzi, se si era aspettato qualcosa, era di dover fare tutto quanto da solo ed era quello che stava facendo, senza lamentarsi e con un certo impegno.
Mentre Kurt cercava di protestare in maniera valida senza riuscirci minimamente, Dave gli aprì le gambe e vi si sistemò in mezzo, calandosi così piano su di lui che Kurt ebbe modo di sentire con precisione tutto il movimento e di seguirlo involontariamente con il proprio bacino fino a stringergli le gambe intorno alla vita quasi per riflesso. Schiuse gli occhi e cercò il soffitto inarcandosi sotto le dita di Dave che si erano fatte più possessive e ora lasciavano il segno quando il capitano le stringeva forte intorno ai suo fianchi, ai suoi polsi, alle sue caviglie e per ogni bacio e ogni carezza che gli faceva piovere addosso c'era sempre quella stretta a ricordargli cose che forse avrebbero dovuto preoccuparlo, ma che in realtà non lo facevano abbastanza.
Il tempo, che fino a quel momento si era lasciato scandire dalle azioni di Dave, sempre più precise e concitate, sempre più imbarazzanti e calde e invadenti, ora aveva perso definizione. Kurt non sapeva quanto fosse passato dal momento in cui era finito sul letto, non sapeva da quanto Dave lo stesse baciando o da quando i suoi baci si fossero fatti così assurdamente eccitanti da doverli cercare e volere se anche solo la sua bocca si allontanava di poco. Tutto ciò che percepiva era il calore del ragazzo e il peso del suo corpo tra le proprie gambe, il pulsare fastidioso del proprio desiderio e di quello di Dave che si cercavano a vicenda, pretendendo una soddisfazione più completa delle semplici carezze che aveva ricevuto finora.
Non si accorse di mugolare, né di andare incontro alle dita che si facevano spazio nel suo corpo da chissà quanto e lo costringevano a sollevare il bacino e a chiedere sulla lingua di Dave che quella tortura smettesse al più presto. Si rese conto delle parole che aveva pronunciato solo nel dirle per l'ennesima volta, mentre affondava le dita nelle spalle di Dave nel tentativo di schiacciarglisi addosso il più possibile, ed arrossì quando aprì gli occhi per vedere se era l'unico ad essersi sentito e invece trovò Dave che lo fissava e sul suo viso c'era più o meno lo stesso bisogno, forse perfino più intenso.
Il respiro di Kurt si perse da qualche parte lungo la strada per uscirgli di gola, così si mise a cercarlo sulla pelle di Dave, ma ne trovò solo uno sbuffo quando Dave entrò, costringendolo a stringere i denti e a trattenere l'impulso di allontanarlo quando una scarica di dolore, breve ma intensa, gli attraversò la spina dorsale.
Karofsky gli strinse forte un fianco e gli si fece addosso con più forza e più violento di prima. A Kurt non rimase che incrociare le caviglie e abbracciarlo al collo, lasciando che portasse loro due come portava la nave.
E non importava più che anche quel pensiero fosse uscito dallo stesso brutto film porno che li aveva portati fin lì. Quando pensava che non gli sarebbe rimasto che strusciarsi contro Karofsky per trovare un po' di sollievo, quello si mise ad accarezzarlo e la stretta della sua mano fu così improvvisa, che Kurt cacciò un urlo del quale non ebbe tempo di vergognarsi, perso com'era nel vortice di sensazioni che lo avevano colpito tutte quante insieme. Del suo inarcarsi violento contro le coperte e delle ultime spinte di Dave che veniva dentro di lui si ricordò solo dopo che fu tornato presente a se stesso, disteso tra i cuscini morbidi e riprese coscienza di dove si trovava. Il sonno che lo avvolse quasi subito era caldo e rassicurante e, per un attimo, Kurt pensò che somigliasse molto alle braccia di Karofsky.
Chiuse gli occhi cullato dalla stanchezza e dal rollio della nave; se volevano buttarlo in mare adesso, non avrebbe opposto resistenza. Sperava solo che si ricordassero dei suoi vestiti, sarebbe stato seccante arrivare a riva nudo. Sentì solo vagamente il lenzuolo che lo copriva e il materasso che si agitava.
La voce del capitano era sicuramente un sogno quando ordinò che nessuno disturbasse il nuovo membro dell'equipaggio.

GUILTY PLEASURE

Il rubinetto del lavandino gli si infila nella schiena quando Dave lo solleva di peso e ce lo sbatte contro senza controllare che cos'abbia alle spalle. Kurt non sa proprio come siano finiti nei bagni del primo piano. Dave che gli infila le mani sotto il pullover e poi sotto la maglia alla ricerca anche del minimo centimetro di pelle scoperta che tiene gelosamente nascosto è quanto di più lontano ci sia dall'idea che aveva in mente quando si è diretto spedito negli spogliatoi della squadra di football.
Voleva parlare, immagina, ma non ne è troppo sicuro nemmeno lui. Quello che sa è che era stufo di subire passivamente le angherie di un ragazzo incapace di venire a patti con il proprio cervello prima ancora che con la propria sessualità. Kurt vorrebbe innanzi tutto che decidesse se vuole baciarlo o picchiarlo, oppure se vuole fare entrambe le cose contemporaneamente; in qualche modo lo consolerebbe il saperlo dedito a certe pratiche, piuttosto che pazzo. L'imprevedibilità delle sue azioni lo mette più a disagio delle azioni stesse.
Alla fine, però, non si sono scambiati nemmeno una parola perché, quando ha varcato la soglia dello spogliatoio con le mani strette intorno alla tracolla, Dave era solo e non gli ha lasciato il tempo di aprire bocca. Ha emesso una specie di basso grugnito mentre gli si avvicinava minaccioso e quando Kurt già pensava di finire in infermeria con il naso rotto, ecco che lui lo ha fatto di nuovo. Gli ha preso la testa tra le mani e l'ha tenuta ben ferma dov'era, leccandogli le labbra perché le aprisse e Kurt ha dovuto obbedirgli, se non altro per evitarsi la spiacevole esperienza di essere ricoperto di bava. O almeno, questo è quello che si racconta mentre gli strattona la maglia e mugola sulla lingua di Dave che esplora la sua bocca senza avergli mai chiesto il permesso di farlo; Kurt ha il forte sospetto che non ne senta neanche il bisogno, come se il suo essere così alto, muscoloso e forte gli dia il diritto di prendersi più o meno qualunque cosa.
Il cervello di Kurt è incline a pensarla allo stesso modo mentre insinua le dita sotto la giacca rossa della squadra per fargliela scivolare giù dalle spalle e poter stringere in tutta libertà quei bicipiti che sembrano quasi scoppiare sotto la maglietta nera aderente.
Dave se lo sta rigirando tra le mani come e quanto vuole e per quanto Kurt cerchi disperatamente di aggrapparsi a quel po' di razionalità che ancora gli è rimasta nella tasca dei calzoni che l'altro sta strattonando, sa benissimo che non ha più scuse e che mentre tenta di dare un senso qualsiasi a ciò che sta avvenendo, ha già allargato le gambe per fargli spazio e sono le sue mani – non quelle di Dave! – che sganciano la fibbia, tirano giù la cerniera e calano tutto fino alle caviglie.
Dave lo tira giù di colpo e Kurt si ritrova a fissare i propri occhi nello specchio prima di essersi davvero reso conto di toccare di nuovo a terra con i piedi. Gli sembra di essere una bambola in mano ad un bambino troppo agitato, Dave non ha nessuna considerazione di lui – lo prende, lo gira, lo scaraventa – eppure non è davvero violento; per quanto lo sbatta contro tutto ciò su cui lo appoggia, Kurt non si è sgualcito nemmeno un po' e quando Dave gli si preme addosso, non ha nessuna voglia di scappare. La stretta di quelle mani sui suoi fianchi minaccia di non lasciarlo andare ma promette anche di non farlo cadere mentre lui punta le mani bene aperte sul muro, e questa è l'unica cosa che al momento gli interessi, perché la vertigine è più forte della paura, o della domanda che salterà fuori quando avranno finito, e che ora è solo un presentimento, così debole che può ricacciarlo facilmente in fondo allo stomaco, dove fa caldo, dove sta bollendo, e non pensarci più.
Kurt inspira ed espira, quando per un attimo sente soltanto il corpo pesante di Dave sulla schiena e il desiderio – suo e quello di Dave – che gli preme fra le gambe – le sue, soltanto – finché lui non scende ad accarezzarlo tra le natiche e allora si stupisce di questa gentilezza, perché non se l'aspettava affatto.
Dave si fa strada dentro di lui senza esitare, però; non rallenta nemmeno quando Kurt emette un singhiozzo confuso e tenta istintivamente di ritrarsi. Lo tiene fermo e continua, forse perché se lo facesse dovrebbe pensare e invece è meglio fare tutto di filata, in apnea e aspettare di prendere fiato alla fine se non si è morti prima. Lo tiene fermo e Kurt non tenta più di sfuggirgli perché è peggio e perché lentamente si è lasciato andare contro il lavandino, con le guance rosse di una consapevolezza completamente nuova. Per la prima volta da quando si sono scontrati, lui e Dave vogliono esattamente la stessa cosa; si chiede se anche lui lo sappia.
Quando Dave entra lo fa all'improvviso, senza avvertirlo. Entra in lui com'è entrato nella sua vita, rubandogli un'altra prima volta, spingendo forte e baciando piano. Kurt non vuole perdersi nel dolore e non vuole nemmeno piangere, così si concentra in quanto c'è di bello in tutto ciò, ed è il calore del corpo dell'altro contro il suo, che gli manca dalla prima volta che l'ha sentito. E' la mano di Dave che si stacca dal suo fianco per raggiungere la sua sul muro in un gesto tenero ma goffo che si perde per strada sui suoi polsi e torna a stringere. E' il suo respiro caldo sul collo che rende accettabile il grugnire indistinto e animalesco che gli scivola nelle orecchie mentre Dave si spinge più affondo dentro di lui, con più forza e più veloce, finché l'eco dei gabinetti vuoti non rimanda tutto il rumore che stanno facendo e del quale Kurt non si capacita finché non lo sente ovunque intorno a loro.
Dave non lo tocca mai, così deve farlo da solo; deve cercare di sostenersi e seguirlo, e non è facile quando le gambe gli si fanno molli e anche la presa dell'altro comincia un po' a vacillare. Per questo Dave lo schiaccia forte contro il lavandino, così non possono cadere mentre si riversa dentro di lui con un gemito quasi addolorato e Kurt fa appena in tempo a seguirlo, prima di sentirlo uscire.
“Stammi lontano finocchio,” è l'assurdo che gli esce di bocca, quando Kurt trova la forza per girarsi a guardarlo. E in tutta onestà è davvero colpito di trovarlo ancora in piedi, sconvolto e spaventato che lo fissa come se non fosse stato lì tutto il tempo. Vorrebbe saltargli al collo e scuoterlo, urlargli che non sono due Kurt diversi quello che offende nei corridoi e quello che ha scopato adesso, ma non dice una parola.
Si prende il tempo di rivestirsi, e lo fa davanti ai suoi occhi perché Dave si nasconde già troppe cose da solo perché possa farlo anche lui.
Questo silenzio è pesante, non è come quello che li ha accompagnati finora. Non lo rassicura affatto.
Kurt ha un serio bisogno di sentire la propria voce, la usa così tanto durante il giorno che sembra quasi innaturale non sentirla anche adesso, ma non la trova. Si è nascosta da qualche parte in fondo alla sua gola, consapevole di poter dire cose spiacevoli o troppo compromettenti. Intime, quasi.
“Stammi lontano,” la voce di Dave si fa sentire, invece, e riempie tutta la stanza, come fisicamente sta facendo lui che gli torreggia addosso anche quando si china a riprendere la maglia a terra, perché in fondo Kurt è minuscolo. “Non ti azzardare mai più ad avvicinarti.”
Se ne va con la stessa rabbia con cui è entrato e Kurt non ha nemmeno il tempo di ripetergli ancora una volta che non è sua la colpa. Ma cosa cambierebbe?
In fondo non è neanche colpa di Dave se Kurt vuole fare cose che non dovrebbe.