"This place will always be a part of you, you know."

We're sitting in the grass on the lawn of Blaine's former residence, looking at the night sky. I have no idea what time it is - the darkness isn't pure black due to the city lights - but it's certainly late given that the honking of horns and chatting of passersby haven't been as loud in quite some time. Despite not knowing the time, leaving this space is the furthest thing from my mind. I even texted Will to tell him I need a day off; something he was all too willing to allow given how hard I've been working.

We sit in silence as Blaine gestates over what I've said.

"It's not the house," he responds. "Not really. I never really wanted to imagine someone else living here, but I told myself that even if my family had to move, another family would come and takes its place. This… thing they want to do just… destroys everything that made this house special. Hell, having a house in this part of town is special on its own which is probably why it stings even more."

I can't understand how he's feeling; the closest thing I have is how hard it was when dad and I moved in with Carole and Finn in high school and we had to leave the house I grew up in with my mom and dad. But that wasn't taken away from me like Blaine's family home has been.

"But maybe it's better this way," he sighs. "Maybe this is what needed to happen in order for me to sever the bond to a house - to a family - that no longer exists. The sooner I accept that my old life is over, the better."

"These things take time," I remind him. "Lives change but it's not like we need to change everything right away. You'll figure things out - no one expects you to have all of these answers right away. You'll find out what really makes you happy, what you need to be doing." I wish I could shake him and reinforce that his life still has meaning; even if it's just to me.

My hand brushes against his against the blades of grass, and in response he takes my hand into his. "Kurt…" he starts, but seems to hesitate on saying anything more.

"What is it?" I ask with dread.

He hesitates but then says nothing.

Given how open he's being right now though, I decide to try to push him a little into sharing; I really think a good vent session would do wonders for him right now.

"What really happened with your father?" I ask. I'm so nervous, I can barely stand it. Blaine could either go for it and tell me about it or he could clam up like he tends to do when he's trapped in a corner.

"My father?" he asks.

Come on. No need to play coy. "What's the truth about the money?" I realize that sounds accusatory so I correct it. "What's really going on?" I don't want to accuse him or his family of anything that even seems ill-willed - I certainly won't even utter the words "scandal" or "blackmail" like the Page Six seems so privy to do. But I just want to know more about what he's dealing with; how he's suffering.

He still doesn't say anything so I squeeze his hand. "Blaine?"

"You know what happened with the money," he says, oddly quiet. "I told you, he made some bad investments."

Sure, that's what he says. But it seems like there's more. "Bad legitimate investments or…"

He snatches his hand out of mind and goes to sit up. "I don't believe this. You believe what they say," he spits out.

"That's not what I-"

"Then why are you asking me? I can't believe you'd read those rags to try to even understand me. I thought you, of all people, were on my side."

"I don't trust them at all!" I clarify. "That's why I'm asking you."

"But I already told you. My father was a stupid, gullible idiot. I also already told you that those magazines and papers are pure poison." He sits cross-legged, picking the blades of grass near his feet.

I sit up and saddle myself up as close to him as possible. "I'm on your side, Blaine. I've been on your side the entire time."

"Then why do you keep asking me? How can you think I'd keep something like that from you?"

That's not fair of him to accuse me of that. He is a notoriously secretive man - of course I ask him about things because it seems like he's keeping too much to himself.

Which, of course, is when the rage kicks in and my filter goes bye-bye.

"Maybe the reason I ask is because you keep secrets! You lied about your financial situation in the first place. And the only reason you even admitted to anything at all is because Adam ratted you out. Even now, you're keeping secrets from me - taking all of these phone calls at all hours, skipping out of town without even telling anyone where you're going, blowing hot and cold and closing off when I'm just trying to be supportive. What am I supposed to think?!"

The words sit there in the now silence. I hadn't meant to say all of that, but in typical pure Kurt Hummel fashion I let my mouth run off and I got emotional. Everything I've said is true and it's certainly what's been so frustrating in trying to keep up any form of relationship with Blaine, but I hadn't wanted it to come out quite like this.

I wish I could take it back, but he needs to know - he needs to know how I feel and that I really care.

"I didn't mean for that to come out so… accusatory. But, I just - I can just tell there's still something you're not saying. And it hurts that you feel like you can't tell me things; big things or little things."

I wish I could read his expression - normally his eyes are so expressive, but the darkness from the shadows doesn't help.

When Blaine finally speaks - what feels like eons later - his voice is solemn and resigned. "We need to learn to trust each other. Without trust and understanding, we're just two people fucking."

I flinch. We've had this conversation before, but it still stings.

"That's why I wanted to not have sex when we first started this. I wanted to prove to myself that this was something beyond the physical. Something beyond the games."

Shit. All this time, I figured the games and physical intimacy was what he needed - both to keep him interested in me and keep him distracted from that worry-addled brain of his.

"It doesn't have to be only sex or only feelings," I say. "I don't think curtailing physical intimacy prohibits us from getting to know each other more." Hell, I feel like during sex I get to know more about him and how passionate and uninhibited he can be. For a man who is extremely polished and reserved, it's welcoming to see him come apart when we're having sex.

"But what happens if we're forced to be apart for awhile? What happens when we're forced to be a normal couple?" he asks.

"Maybe we're just not a normal couple. This certainly doesn't feel like any relationship I've had before," I declare.

"You don't… you don't understand," he sighs. "But I guess that's my fault. Because you're right, I haven't told you everything that's been going on."

The air rushes out of my lungs. I had suspected this was the case, but now that he admits it I can only imagine the worst.

"I told you how I've been working with a guy named Tim Renley to settle my financial affairs." I nod. "He was a close friend of my father's and he heads up a consulting firm in Chicago. Obviously this whole thing hasn't been easy for me, but it would've been much worse without Tim."

I'm still not sure what he's getting at.

"As a close friend of my father's, part of me thinks that he feels like he owes me in some way. But he also lost his own son a few years ago - a son who would've been close to my age now and I think Tim likes being a father figure now that his son has passed." He pauses and takes a deep breath. "Tim's been telling me that he actually admires my business instincts; that I'm the opposite of my father and that I actually have the acumen for getting out of sticky financial situations."

I can't see where this story is going, but I lean against him and lay my head on his shoulder.

"Kurt, he offered me a job."

I sit up. "A job?"

Why is he so down about a job? He needs a job to work and if it's something he's good at, I don't see the issue. It's the first step in starting over and feeling like his life has meaning again. He's intelligent and confident and, from personal experience, very persuasive - he would be brilliant at financial consultant.

"The job's in Chicago, Kurt."

Oh.

Chicago. The same Chicago that's thousands of miles away and in a different time zone.

"It's only an entry level position and he's taking great risk in offering me a job in the first place given my family history. But he's already arranged for an apartment and moving expenses."

My stomach is sinking as he goes further into detail on his new employment. "Have you accepted the position already?"

"Not yet," he says, rubbing his face. "But Tim is persistent. He keeps calling me - offering me more money, better benefits, anything to try to persuade me."

Something in his voice makes me pause. Blaine is so confident that I don't recognize it coming out of his mouth but once I pin it, I'm surprised; he's hesitant.

"Do you want this job?" I ask, voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn't say anything for some time and continues to pick at the grass in front of him. Finally he looks over his shoulder at me from his hunched position. "I thought about asking you to come with me. But I realized I couldn't ask you to leave. I know how much you love New York and your job here. I wouldn't force you to have to make that choice, even if I thought you'd consider it."

I can barely deal with the fluttering of thoughts going on in my head. This is not how this was supposed to go or how things were supposed to be between us.

"We...we can still be together," I say. "Tons of people have long distance relationships."

The minute I say it, I start questioning it myself. But how long could we last like that? We've only technically been dating for a few weeks and even that has been hard to maintain. Can we expect things to get better and for us to get closer if we're far apart? Eventually one of us would have to move - but I doubt he could have the same opportunities in New York given that it's a family contact that has him set for a good path at a new job. And even though Chicago would be closer to my dad and the theater scene there is decent, it's not New York - the place I've dreamed of my whole life - and giving that up could cause me to resent him; something I can't place on him unnecessarily.

All of this is even assuming he'd want to do long distance in the first place.

Which he might not.

This is why you wanted to slow things down." No need for me to ask, I know it's true.

He nods. "It's why I wanted to know if this was real. If there's something deep and true here."

I can't look at him; I'm afraid of what I'd see. "And what have you concluded?"

He reaches back and finds my hand in the grass. "That trying to stay away from you is impossible."

My heart leaps into my throat.

"I don't know where I'll be in a month from now, or a year from now. I don't have the freedom I once had. I suddenly have to think about how I'm going to pay bills and what the hell I'm going to do with the rest of my life."

I'm afraid to ask the next question, but I feel like I have to. "If I weren't in the picture, would you take the job?"

"It's a good opportunity and Tim's a good man."

I draw a shaky breath. I'm glad he's not looking at me to see how upset I am. "I would never, ever want to hold you back from anything," I say softly.

"I know."

I should let him go and tell him to take the job. It's what he wants. No, it's what he needs. My work at the Center drives me crazy sometimes but it keeps me going and it's the reason I get up every morning. It'd be selfish for me to keep him here or for him to think he has to stay just because of me. If I truly love him, I need to encourage him to pursue this opportunity.

But I can't just discard this thing between us. It's important and although work can be fulfilling, it's not something that should be my driving force in life. The one thing I learned from when my dad had his heart attack is that you never look back and think of all the extra hours you could've put in at work; you think of the extra time with your family and friends that makes everything worthwhile. And I don't want to be a person who looks back at like when he's sixty and thinks of all the things he gave up for a job.

"We don't have to make a decision yet," he says.

We.

He's not ready to give up on us yet.

I lie back in the grass and Blaine follows suit. As he lies down beside me, he weaves our fingers together once more.

Please, I pray to the stars even though I realize it's fruitless, please let him stay.

I love him too much to ask him to do that myself.

We end up falling asleep like that - in the grass outside his apartment which is DISGUSTING - but I can't care when Blaine is the little spoon against me as the colors of dawn illuminate the sky. Blaine shuffles back against me and sighs as he pulls my arm further around his waist. "We should go," he murmurs. "I don't want anyone to catch us here."

He helps me up and we brush ourselves off. As we walk toward the street, I look back at the house.
"What about…?" I don't want to mention what happened inside and the mess Blaine made, but it's worth thinking about at least.

"Let them come after me if they want. I don't care. Besides, they're probably gutting the place and redecorating anyway." He says the last part flatly, as if he's resigned this to be true.

I want to protest, but he presses his finger against my lips.
"What are they going to do? Fingerprint the place? It's New York, people trespass and damage empty houses all the time. And the only incriminating evidence I have in my pocket," he says, reaching into his pants and pulling out the shard of mirror he was carrying around. "Thought I'd take this as a souvenir anyway."

I smile as we head back toward the gate. We stand there for a moment, looking back at his former home. Blaine gently touches the wrought iron gate as we walk away - potentially forever - for the place that housed him for almost his entire life.

It's hard to miss the changes that happen when we hail a cab and head back to his place. He seems more relaxed, as if some great weight is lifted off his shoulders. It's like he's finally decided to allow himself to move on, to embrace the life ahead of him and free himself from the past.

Taking that job would help him too, I think. I should tell him to go but I can't find the words. I want to tell him I love him but I can't seem to find those words either. I want to beg him to stay. But how can I ask him to give up so much when I wouldn't turn around and give him the same courtesy? The thought of leaving the City and the Center leaves me with a jumble of emotions. Everything I have here (maybe minus the shitty walk up) is everything I've imagined. I love my job and I'm good at it. I love living in New York and maybe one day my hard work will pay off and I'll at least move further towards Manhattan. But at the same time, this choice almost feels "safe" - despite what my dad would say. It's comfortable and easy and I've found great happiness here.

On the other hand, following Blaine would be… reckless. Insane. Thrilling. I know Mercedes would judge me for moving across the country "for some guy I just met," but my heart beats faster at the thought of it. Part of me secretly craves that adventure, just as I crave the company of Blaine by my side.

But how could I leave here?

I want him to be happy, but I don't want to make myself miserable.

We spend most of the ride back in silence. I know we should talk about things, but I don't think either of us are ready just yet. Plus it's not like the plastic partition between us and the cab driver would really allow any privacy anyway. As we near Blaine's block, Blaine is the first one to speak.

"I don't want to lose this. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't," I assure him. "Even if we have to go long distance for awhile."

"A lot of couples think they can make long distance relationships work, but few actually do."

I don't know what to say to that. He's not wrong. But is he trying to tell me that he doesn't think we can make it? Or is he looking for reassurance from me?

"We're not a lot of couples. Look at us. Look how we started." I state. "Whatever it is between us, it isn't ordinary. I've never experienced anything like it. And I'm not sure I ever will again."

I see him glance at me, but I keep my eyes on the building as we creep up to his apartment building. We get out, he pays for the cab, and he takes my hand and directs me to a diner three doors down from his place. Rather than push the door open to go inside, he grabs my shoulders and holds me in place.

"I won't take the job," he says plainly.

"Don't make your decision around me. If this job is what you need to do, I could never forgive myself if you gave that up for me." It's true. I couldn't. I don't want to see him go, but he needs so much that I'm willing to help him find his happiness and hope that we can share in our individual happiness as a couple one day.

"It's just a job," he shrugs. "There will be others."

He's probably right, but there's no guarantee. And as much as I'd like to convince myself otherwise, this is the perfect opportunity for him. He needs to get away from here, start his new life. Especially if they actually succeed in rezoning his former property—I can't bear to think of Blaine having to witness the throngs of tourists that are bound to show up. He'll only heal by moving forward, by moving away.

"We could make it work," I say. "Even long distance." I force a smile. "I can think of a few fun things we might do over the phone."

The corner of his mouth curls up, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

"I appreciate the offer," he says.

The matter is far from settled, but neither of us seems inclined to continue the conversation. We fall quiet again, at least until my stomach starts rumbling.

"I suppose it's rather convenient that this diner is here to remedy that rumbling," he says with a chuckle. "When was the last time we ate anyway?"

I honestly can't remember. For all my body's insistence, I don't have much of an appetite.

The diner isn't overly crowded given that it's still fairly early in the morning on a weekday. I ask Blaine to order me a coffee and excuse myself to the restroom for a breather.

I'm a mess. A glance in the mirror further solidifies that my hair is a disaster and my clothes aren't much better off; there's even a small blood stain on the shoulder of my shirt that I didn't notice before. I do my best to adjust my hair and splash some water on my face.

In addition to wanting to take a breather to adjust my appearance, I felt like every moment with Blaine the words "I love you" were aching to spill from my lips. Our sex turned from "fucking" to "love making" and though I'm not sure exactly when that happened, it did and there's no turning back for me.

But I know that under the current circumstances that it would look desperate and seem manipulative to say that I love him. He'd think I was saying it to encourage him to stay. In like every romantic comedy, they make it seem like admitting that you love someone solves everything, but in actuality it only seems to make things more complicated. If I tell him how I feel and he stays, I'll never know if he stayed because he returned my feelings or because he felt too honorable to leave me after such a confession.

He called you perfect, I remind myself. He called you extraordinary. I've seen the way he looks at me. I've recognized the awe, the devotion. He has feelings for me—strong feelings. I've felt it every time he touches me.

I've seen him on the brink of madness, on the brink of pleasure, and everywhere in between. I've seen him in his power, in his lust, and I've seen him at his weakest and most vulnerable.

He tried to hold back. He knew this job was an amazing chance, and so he attempted to temper his feelings. I don't blame him, just as I don't blame him for testing the true worth of our relationship. At the end of the day, when you take away the sex and the games and the thrill, what do we have? We built our relationship on novelty and pleasure.

But it's more than that to me now. This is more than infatuation or sexual fascination. I love him.

And if I don't tell him, I'll regret it forever. Maybe it's selfish to confess my feelings for him right now, but I don't care anymore.

With that determination guiding my step, I head back out into the diner. I'm nervous as hell, but there's no turning back now. I need to tell him or I'll burst.

He's seated at a booth in the corner against the window, two cups of coffee on the table and he's reading the local paper.

Even before I reach the table, I see something is wrong. I can see his face clearly and his brows are furrowed and his free hand in a fist. He glances up when he hears me approaching, and something between rage and pain flashes in his expressive eyes.

I stop dead in my tracks. What could've happened in the span of a few minutes for this to change?

That's when my eyes look at the picture on the open paper in front of him. It's not just any paper - it's the latest issue of the Intown Voice. It's open to a picture of me - and not one of the smiling poses that Asher took that day. It's a shot of me at my desk, eyes looking at some paper on my desk in concentration, slight frown on my face. I look nervous and upset. The perfect victim.

I snatch up the paper to read the headline. "Exclusive Interview! One Man's Sordid Affair with the Anderson Heir!"

No.

No no no no no no no.

My eyes skim across the first few lines: 'Kurt Hummel sits at his desk, nervously steering me away from the questions we both know I'm here to ask. "Sometimes pledges are broken," he tells me, his hands fluttering through his hair, "and we have to make do." He's referring, of course, to the things he did with Blaine Anderson in an attempt to recover the money he and his boss need to maintain the Brooklyn Center for the Arts.'

I feel like someone's dumped a bucket of cold water over my head. "This isn't—he didn't…"

"So it's true?" Blaine says. "You talked to this asshole?" The accusation in his voice is like a slap across the face.

"It's not what it looks like," I tell him.

"Really? Because it looks like you had a nice long conversation with this guy."

"I did, but not about this—he wanted to do a piece on the Center."

"It certainly doesn't look like you talked about the Center very much."

My eyes skim over the article, and it's even worse than I expected and I really expected the worst already. Asher Julian has pieced together a version of events that's strikingly similar to the truth despite me not sharing much with him that day—except in the way it casts Blaine as a villain, a man who would manipulate a desperate guy into sleeping with him for money.

I shake my head. "You know as well as I that these people twist words around to meet their ends."

"Then why did you agree to talk to him at all? You knew this could happen. If you even had an inkling that he was out for blood, you shouldn't have agreed to do this interview."

"But I didn't know he would do this! He said he wanted to do an article on the Center."

"And you believed him?"

"It's a local paper. They write pieces about local community centers and do-gooders in the area all the time. He said he wanted to highlight us because we're a valuable part of the community and building up arts education in Brooklyn. Whenever he asked about you or your family, I told him I didn't know anything."

Blaine won't look at me. "So you know he was looking for information on me and you decided to ignore your gut that maybe this guy was a sleaze. Decided it was worth the risk."

I can't believe this. "I didn't realize I was risking anything at the time! The Center needed the exposure. He said our story was an inspiration. How was I supposed to know he'd go poking around behind my back?" I look at him. "You don't really believe I'd betray you like that, do you?"

He's silent for too long.

"Blaine?"

He rubs his face. "I don't think you intended to make things any worse for me. At the end of the day, you did what was best for the Center. You're sure to get a lot of attention for a story like this."

"You say that like I wanted this to happen. I didn't want this to happen."

He reaches out and touches my cheek, but the gesture is cold. "You want what's best for the Center," he says. "You've always been honest about that, and I wouldn't ask you to change your priorities for me."

I jerk away from him. "I don't believe it. You do think I did this on purpose. Why don't you trust me?"

"So we're back to that, are we? Trust?" His eyes are completely devoid of emotion. "The truth is, neither of us has a reason to expect the other to give up anything. We're just two people who came together at a weak point, two people who used each other as an escape."

"No. Not this shit again." My voice is going up once more, but I don't care if the other diners can hear me. "You can tell me that this doesn't mean anything, but I know better. I. Know. Better."

Blaine's glancing around nervously at the other patrons, obvious that we're now making a scene and the few people in the diner are starting to be drawn in by our argument.

"Maybe we should discuss this outside," he says.

"Why? Worried that will only perpetuate the story of you screwing me over?" I shake the paper at him.

"Is that what you want? To be splashed all over the tabloids next to me?"

I'm disgusted that he could even think that. "I did one interview. Because Will asked me to. Because it would help the Center. You think this is what I wanted? To have our programs overshadowed by some stupid rumors?"

Blaine takes the paper from my hand and looks down at the article.

"He knows about the Ludlam painting," he says. "He says it was sent to keep you quiet on the matter of the affair."

"I didn't tell him anything about the painting. He showed up shortly after it arrived, but I never said a word to him or Will about who sent it. I didn't tell him anything, I promise."

"You told him everything, whether you meant to or not. You shouldn't have indulged him at all, if your purpose was to highlight the Center." His eyes are like two chips of slate. "Were you ever going to tell me? Or did you just assume that I'd never see this?"

"I didn't think there was anything to tell you about. It seemed like a completely innocent interview."

"No, you didn't think!" His words echo across a restaurant that's fallen completely silent. Even the cook behind the grill has stopped his spatula from flipping pancakes and eggs.

Blaine at least has the decency to look a little shamefaced. "Come on," he says, reaching into his wallet and tossing a ten down on the table. "Let's get out of here."

He strides out of the diner, and I follow. I can feel the eyes of the other patrons burning into me as I walk out through the door.

"I can't do this," I hear myself say as we walk outside, curious eyes of the diners following us to the sidewalk.

He stops. It takes him a moment to turn around.

"I can't stand this constant fighting and making up," I say. "One minute everything's perfect, and the next you push me away. You act like I'm the most important thing in the world to you, and then you turn around and act like this is all some huge mistake. And there's always a different excuse. One day you tell me that I deserve better, that you're only using me as a distraction, and the next you act like I've committed the ultimate betrayal because I was taken in by some sleazy two-faced journalist. I can't do it."

"And what, exactly, do you mean by that?" His tone is cold and empty.

I'm not sure I know myself. Is this how it will always be—fighting and making up, coming together only to realize a short time later that there are still a hundred things between us? Do we cling to this, tell ourselves our passion will win out? Or do we admit to ourselves that we're fighting a losing battle?

He takes my hesitation in the worst possible way. "I suppose it's my fault, isn't it? You said it yourself—I always have a new excuse. Yes, I'm angry that you did this interview. And I was angry last night, when you asked me whether the rumors are true. But you know what? I think I have a right to be upset. This whole time, I thought you were the one person who understood me. The one person who was on my side. You were supposed to be on my side!" He shouts the last two words.

"How am I supposed to understand you when you keep secrets from me? When you don't tell me about things like the fact that you're considering a job thousands of miles away? I told you I'm always on your side yet you don't seem to believe that in the slightest!"

"You didn't tell me that some guy was coming around the Center asking questions about me."

"That's completely different. You were already so overwhelmed by everything. I thought it might push you over the edge—"

"So now I'm unstable on top of everything else?" He shakes his head.

He stands there, breathing deeply and looking at the ground. The next words out of his mouth are soft and yet so incredibly loud. "What are we doing, Kurt?"

I don't know. God, I wish I knew.