Irrevocable

Blaine would have done it the moment they met.

He still remembered the first time he saw Kurt, clear as day. The way Kurt had looked as he approached the schoolhouse, books clutched to his chest, a wreath of flowers in his hair, his mouth open in laughter (something the pretty, dark-haired girl next to him had been saying,) his sparkling blue eyes full of joy. Blaine's breath caught in his throat, his heart skipped a beat, and he knew, somehow—at only eleven years of age—that the world around him had irrevocably shifted.

He remembered the first time he asked him, thirteen years old. The beautiful heart-shaped valentine his Mama helped him make with her special fairy silk, the shakily embroidered letters: Be My Soulmate?

Kurt's eyes had widened, a gasp escaping his perfect pink lips as he'd taken it in his hands, reverently traced the words Blaine had so painstakingly sewn. And then—finally—he looked up at Blaine, gaze heavy with earnesty and affection and said, very quietly, "I can't, Blaine, thank you. But I will be yours."

And so he was; every day since they had lived and laughed and loved together.

Blaine hadn't asked him again until his seventeenth birthday, at the dance Kurt's father held in honor of his son's coming-of-age. Kurt was in his arms, smiling and handsome and smelling so sweet, and Blaine couldn't help but to whisper it in his ear. "Be mine forever, Kurt. Be my soulmate."

Kurt had stalled then, his arms tightening around Blaine's neck and his face falling into sadness in the middle of the dance floor. "I can't, Blaine. I'm sorry."

Blaine had nodded, had tried not to cry, and he hadn't asked again until a few days after Kurt had agreed to marry him. A three-quarter moon shown bright through the ceiling of the hastily-constructed lean-to Blaine had built for them, illuminating Kurt's pale, sweaty skin so that it appeared to shimmer. Blaine knew that neither he nor Kurt were magical, but in that moment he would have argued it to a bitter end, such was the strength of the love that throbbed between them, of the spell Kurt had cast, captivating Blaine beyond the greatest heights of human devotion.

"It's not enough," he said against Kurt's skin, weaving their bodies tightly together as a familiar desperation threatened to overtake him. "I'll never get enough of you, Kurt. Please say you'll never leave me. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't… please. You've agreed to be my husband, but life is too short and I need… I want… be my soulmate, Kurt."

Kurt had kissed him then, so deeply and purely and hungrily that it shocked Blaine when he withdrew, bent their foreheads together and closed his eyes and said, words strained. "I'm sorry, Blaine. I can't."

And so it was on their wedding day, and their first anniversary, and their second, and every anniversary after that, through to their hundred-and-seventh, through until now.

Blaine had asked him again, pleaded with him, on the day Kurt received his diagnosis: on the day they found out that the goblin dyes he'd been using for years to make his own fabric, to produce his in-demand, state-of-the-art, one-of-a-kind clothing line, were slowing poisoning him. Irreversible. Incurable.

"Kurt, you know I've always been patient, and I've never asked why, and I've… I've lived with you and loved you all these years and I've tried to accept that they're all you're willing to give me, but I can't… this can't…" He'd had to stop, then, tears overtaking him, Kurt pulling him to curl in his lap as a sob broke forth. "Be my soulmate, Kurt, please. Don't let this be the end. I'm sorry; I know it's selfish to keep asking when you clearly don't want…" he trailed off, swallowing thickly, and Kurt held him tighter.

"I'm sorry, Blaine," he whispered.

Hours passed before Blaine finally cried himself to sleep.

Kurt's pale skin was almost transluctant now, and still he gripped weakly to Blaine's hand. The doctor had been and gone that morning, and so had a local witch they both knew and trusted, and both had delivered the same news. Kurt was not long for this world. Blaine sat close to his side and tried not to cry, tried not to ask, to get down on his knees and plead and beg—anything that would buy him the reassurance of eternity, that one day he could fall asleep and wake up to a new life that held the promise of Kurt, young and vibrant and his again, his for always.

He had so little hope for it now. He studied Kurt's face, the long, too-thin form of his body beneath the blankets, wanting to memorize Kurt and store him in his heart, keep him close to Blaine and safe. Kurt was ethereally beautiful to Blaine, even hours from death. He wanted to die with Kurt, but if they both died now, like this, how would they ever find one another again?

"Blaine?" Kurt's eyes blinked open, his fingers struggling to tighten, then falling loose once more.

"Yes, my love?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt said, a solitary tear sliding down his cheek.

"Kurt," Blaine said, reaching to brush it away. "Whatever for?"

"I'm selfish. I can't… I'm about to give in, after all these years of hurting you. It's all for naught now." He laughed wryly, the sound giving way to a cough.

Blaine rubbed his chest, hoping to soothe him. "You're not making sense, sweet. How are you selfish?"

Kurt took a deep, stilted breath, turning his head to look Blaine in the eyes. "Do you remember the day that we met?"

Blaine nodded, renewing his resolve not to cry. "You know that I do."

"I remember… I remember a boy." Kurt smiled, lost to the memory. "You were so short, but your eyes… I thought they were the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen, and your curls. I wanted so badly to run my fingers through them. But more than that, I remember how good you were, Blaine, to me and to Rachel—even though she's hopelessly incorrigible—and to everyone else. You were the tiniest kid our age, but all the other kids respected you, even the older ones. They all knew what I knew: that you were an angel."

Blaine gently squeezed his husband's fragile hand, finally allowing his tears to fall unchecked.

"Of course, I was hopelessly in love with you long before you asked me, and I was so in awe that someone as lovely and pure as you would want the girlish blacksmith's son. So I made a promise to myself that day. I would love you in this life, for as long as it would last, and then I would let you go. You were always too good for me, Blaine, and you never seemed to realize it. Every 'no' I gave you was more difficult than the last."

Kurt sighed, seemed to collect his thoughts, gather his strength.

"But our time—" his voice broke "—our time is almost up now, Blaine, and I can't bear it. I don't want to go. I don't want to give you up."

Kurt's body shook with tears of his own, and Blaine hated to see it, hated the pain and sorrow etched deep in his beloved's face. "Kurt," he breathed, wanting so badly to comfort him.

"I'm selfish, Blaine. I can't face the end. Please… be my soulmate."

"Kurt," Blaine repeated, joy and grief and urgency welling up within him. "Hold on," he told his husband, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Hold on—I'll have Mary fetch the priestess."

"Hurry, Blaine."

Blaine nodded, smoothing the hair back from Kurt's face and then hastening out of the room.

When their daughter returned with the elf priestess in tow, Kurt's breathing was hoarse and shallow, and Blaine was curled around him in their bed. He lived for mere minutes after the bond was completed, just enough time to say goodbye.

"But I'm never saying goodbye to you," he told his soulmate, a peaceful smile on his face.

Blaine smiled back through his tears as Kurt breathed his last. "I love you," he whispered. "Forever."

Four years later, Kurt's mother dragged him with her to visit her best friend's new baby. Kurt whined and fussed, insisted he'd rather return home and play with his dolls, but the moment he laid eyes on the infant his breath caught, and he stilled in his seat, reaching his small arms out to accept the newborn with a look of pure, naked wonder. "His name is Blaine," his mother told him, and Kurt clutched the precious bundle close to his chest. He was too young to understand it, but the world around him had irrevocably shifted, back to a state in which everything, for a moment, was perfectly right.