Kurt can't sleep.

It's not that he doesn't want to sleep, because he does.

He wants to sleep but he can't.

He has a pretty accurate biological clock so he knows he has to be up in about ten minutes anyway, but he was really hoping to squeeze as much sleep into every last second of those ten minutes that he could.

A persistent, annoying tugging on his left ring finger is doing its best to rob him of those last ten minutes and pry him out of bed. His finger, which till last night wore a platinum engagement band, twitches erratically as something tightens around it, and the first thing that immediately jumps to his mind is Blaine.

Motherfucking Blaine trying to shove that Godforsaken ring back on his finger.

"Blaine," Kurt groans, running thin on patience and thoroughly unamused, "I told you last night that it's over. Now get the fuck out of my apartment."

The tugging continues, completely undeterred by his anger. In fact, at one point, the pulling becomes stronger.

"Blaine!" Kurt screams at nearly full voice. Kurt rolls onto his back, eyes squeezed shut, and swipes at the air. He's not in the mood to see Blaine right now, but he has no problem punching him in the neck. "I told you, I'm sick of the cheating and I'm sick of the lying! Now get out of my apartment before I shove that ring down your throat!"

When his hand doesn't connect with anything, Kurt sits straight up in bed and opens his eyes.

He's in his room alone. No sign of Blaine anywhere; no sign that he's even been there this morning.

Whatever is toying with him gives one last hard pull on his finger, and Kurt jumps. He pulls his hand out from beneath his comforter and looks at his finger. No ring. Instead there's a red string tied in place of the ring. Kurt turns his hand, looking it over top and bottom and sees that the string has a tail that spills down over his hand and onto his comforter, traveling the length of his bed and then disappearing over the edge to the floor. The red string twitches and Kurt slams his right hand over it to stop it. The vibrations from his hand carry down the line of string in a shallow wave and he wonders if whoever is at the other end of the string felt it move.

Still not convinced that this isn't some silly half-assed romantic ploy of Blaine's to win him over, Kurt climbs out of bed to follow the string and see where it leads. He picks up the loose portion and winds it around his hand as he goes. The string winds through his hallway to his front door. Kurt stops, his eyes staring at the point where the string feeds beneath the door, and he suddenly gets the feeling that this whole act is absurd. This has to be Blaine's doing; Kurt knows it. After following this stupid string down to the front stoop of his apartment building where Blaine has spent the whole night, wide awake to prove his undying loyalty, there will follow hours of uncomfortable apologizing and reminiscing which will most likely result in Kurt giving in just to end the agony for a little while longer.

Well, he can't do it. Not again. A wicked smile curls his lips as he considers cutting the string. As the thought enters his head, and plans to fish out his sewing shears and snip the thing off his finger formulate the string sputters frantically, dancing around as if it knows. It knows Kurt plans on cutting it. Kurt chuckles and rolls his eyes, but the tugging that he can only describe as panicked unsettles him.

"Alright," he mutters out loud, "I won't cut you, you stupid thing."

The words tumble from Kurt's mouth in a mumbled rush and the string immediately goes still.

Kurt gasps.

The string is slack. Kurt gives it an experimental tug and waits. After a few minutes, the string tugs back.

Kurt sighs. String or no string he should go back to bed, but curiosity is eating him alive as the pulling begins again. Kurt slips on his house shoes, not stylish but sturdy, and without even taking a moment to change clothes or put on a jacket, he opens his door and continues the trail outside, through another hallway and down a few flights of stairs until he's out onto the street.

The sun, unusually high in the sky for five in the morning, drives the chill from Kurt's unprotected skin, but his attention stays fixed on the string cutting along the grey cement like a tiny river. Down one street and up another, around a corner and across a street, until the string takes him to a bus stop where the bus sits waiting for him. Kurt climbs on board and puts his hand in his pocket, searching for his metro card, but the bus driver waves him away and Kurt follows the string to a seat near the back where the string sits gathered in a small pool. Kurt takes one last peek out the front windshield of the bus as the large vehicle starts to move. The bus pulls onto the main road and Kurt can see the string stretched out ahead of it, trailed over the dark asphalt.

Kurt picks up the pile of string from the seat and sits beside a petite white-haired woman staring out the window at the cars and buildings passing by. She turns and watches him fiddle with the wound pile of string unwinding swiftly in his lap as the bus drives on.

"Where are you headed, dear?" the old lady asks, looking up into his eyes with a soft smile.

"I'm following this red thread," Kurt says, holding up his hand and showing her the string tied to his finger. "Where are you headed?"

"Oh, I'm going home," she says, looking over the red thread, her eyes following it as it pulls through the door of the bus. "You know, some cultures believe that people who are destined to be together are connected by a red thread. It's called the red string of fate."

"Have you seen one before?" Kurt asks.

"Yup," she says, nodding. "In fact, my grandson has one on his finger right now. He just can't see it yet, and unfortunately I won't be around when he does."

Kurt nods, a little bounce of his head as he looks at the older woman's serene expression. Her words sadden him, but he's not entirely sure why. She turns to stare back out the window at the stop ahead.

"Do you believe it?" Kurt asks.

The old lady shrugs.

"I think it's a beautiful idea," she confesses. "I guess the important question is do you believe it. You're the one with the string on your finger."

The bus pulls to the curb, and the old woman puts a hand on Kurt's knee.

"I believe this is your stop, dear," the lady says, pointing to the red thread continuing out the door.

"Thank you for your help, uh…"

"Marjorie," the woman says with a smile, reaching out her hand for Kurt to shake.

"Kurt."

"I know, dear," she says, gesturing to the door with her chin. "You had better get going."

Kurt walks to the open bus door and steps outside, taking one last look at the smiling older lady with the startling green eyes shooing him with her hands to get on his way.

The bus leaves him off in front of a tall building, and Kurt knows right away he's uptown, but how he traveled from Bushwick to uptown Manhattan in the space of ten minutes he'll never understand. He follows the string past the doorman and other bustling people who don't even glance in his direction as he walks by, which he finds kind of odd considering he's dressed in his pajamas and following a red thread. It's almost as if no one else can see it but him…and Marjorie. Maybe only those who believe can see.

The thread takes him to the elevator and when he walks in he sees it wrapped around the button for the 15th floor. Kurt presses the button, a sense of urgency surrounding him, the premonition something inevitable is on the horizon and he needs to get to the end of the string quick before he loses what he came here for.

His future.

His forever.

The doors barely open and he slips through, pulling on the thread, holding tight with both hands as if it is his anchor, drawing him to the place where he actually belongs. Ahead of him is a door with the red string vanishing underneath. He can see it clear as day, as well as the bronze numbers screwed into the wood.

1522

Kurt reaches a fist out to the door, preparing to knock, but the door is already opening. A light from inside floods the hall and for the first time he notices that he's been standing in darkness.

Darkness in the middle of the morning?

Then he notices that the light isn't coming from the room beyond the door; it's coming from the man's crescent moon smile, gleaming and perfect and warm, like the sunlight on Kurt's face. Kurt can't make out any of his more distinct features, but for now that doesn't matter.

"Hello?" Kurt's mouth clamps tight around the word, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as if it's covered in glue. The man's smile grows wider, and he opens his mouth to say hello back.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Kurt's eyebrows shoot up in confusion at the sound.

"I'm sorry," Kurt mumbles, his own mouth refusing to cooperate. "Can you repeat that?"

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Kurt shakes his head as the door starts to close.

"I…wait? I can't quite… No, please. Don't go away!"

But the door is already closed shut, and when the tumblers of the lock fall back into place, Kurt flies backward into the elevator – no, not flying, he's traveling in reverse, rewinding like a movie, relaying the gathered thread, until he's walking backward up the steps to his apartment and climbing into bed.

Kurt tries to gain some control but it's impossible since he never had it to begin with.

The alarm goes off one final time.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Kurt's eyes snap open.

He's in bed again.

Alone.

Alone and awake, this time for real.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

He reaches over and picks up his cell phone, the alarm buzzing away like an angry hornet. He switches it off before it can buzz one final time, and slams it back in place. Kurt's eyes sweep the room, starting with the open door and working his way to his bed, but there's no sign of a red string anywhere. He looks over his comforter, pulling up the ends and shaking the thing out, even tossing it completely off his body, but there isn't a red fiber to be seen.

He sighs, trying to convince himself that he's relieved it was all a dream. A crazy, break-up induced dream.

Kurt runs his fingers through his hair, dropping his head into his hand.

Something tickles his face.

He opens his eyes, reaching up to sweep his bangs off his forehead when he spots it – a deep flash of red. Kurt sits motionless, busy convincing himself that it's the last traces of the dream playing tricks with his mind. He pulls his hand away from his face and looks at his finger, fully prepared to mock himself for his own foolishness, but he can't.

Tied around his finger like a thin little ring is a piece of red string.

It's tied there as a reminder that maybe it was all a dream, but that doesn't mean it isn't real; that there isn't really someone at the end of that red string waiting for him.

Either way, Kurt's determined to find out. He hops out of bed, slips on his shoes, and races out the door, again dressed only in his pajamas.

He can't waste time changing.

Destiny waits for no one.

It looks as though destiny might even be on his side in his adventure. As soon as he races from his building he spots a cab by the curb and jumps in, sure he has shoved some frail old man aside, but in a very un-Kurt Hummel fashion he couldn't care less.

"Where to?" the cabby asks with a queer smirk and now Kurt's sure he shoved some poor old guy out of the way.

"The Avalon. Upper East Side." The words come out as if they were waiting to be spoken.

Kurt's rational brain knows this is all ludicrous. He knows that the dream and the red ring of string are simply ways his mind has chosen to cope with the emotionally draining events of last night. He probably tied the string to his finger before Blaine showed up to remind himself to buy milk in the morning, and the fight they had caused him to forget.

Even though he's an intelligent man and knows all of this, he fidgets in his seat with excitement.

The cab seems to hit traffic on every single street, and a trip that should have taken thirty minutes at the most has already lasted over an hour. Trapped behind some massive gridlock, Kurt can see the Avalon looming overhead, and he can't sit any longer.

"I'm getting out," he yells louder than necessary, pulling his wallet out of his pocket, amazed that he remembered it this time, and throwing a few twenties in the front seat beside the driver. He's sure he's overpaid by at least forty dollars, but he bolts out of the cab and takes off down the street on foot, the whole time chanting in his head, "This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy."

His mind fills with pictures of him racing up to apartment 1522, knocking on the door, and being greeted by the confused and slightly frightened stares of a cute old couple while he tries to explain that he had a dream that his future lay somewhere behind their front door. As the daydream gets more vivid, with images of him being arrested as he yells, "It's okay! Marjorie believes in me!", he manages to blow past the doorman and make it to the elevator without anyone stopping him.

He stops and stares at the elevator he's locked in. It looks the same – exactly the same as his dream. He pushes the button to the 15th floor and tries to recall any time he'd ever been to the Avalon, even for a moment, maybe just to use the bathroom.

With the exception of last night, he can't remember a single time.

Suddenly, his heart starts to pound.

He watches the lights on the elevator number panel bounce from button to button, his whole body shaking in anticipation of the moment when it would land on fifteen. The doors slide open and he slips out, barreling straight toward apartment 1522 with his arm outstretched.

Here's his moment. His brain screams at him to stop but his body hasn't gotten the message yet because he's at the door now knocking like a mad man, his heart leaping, every cell in his body telling him without a shadow of a doubt that this is where he belongs.

The door swings open and a man steps out, wearing a stunning black Armani suit along with a wolfish grin on his otherwise startled face. Kurt's smile dies and his racing heart stops short as he finds himself staring into the glowing green eyes of the last man he ever thought he would see in New York.

Sebastian.

Sebastian Smythe.

Kurt stumbles backward a step, wondering if he's going to be magically sucked back into the elevator, but he has no such luck.

"Well, well, princess," Sebastian says, looking Kurt up and down without shame or apology, "long time no see."

"Oh fucking hell," Kurt breathes through numb lips. Sebastian pulls back a bit at Kurt's response.

"Hello and good morning to you, too," Sebastian chuckles. "May I ask what you're doing here? I mean, I thought we had a doorman downstairs to keep people like you out."

"I think I'm here to see your roommate?" Kurt asks hopefully. "Or brother? Or cousin?"

Please fictional demigod, let someone else live here.

Sebastian shakes his head, his smile dipping at the edges at Kurt's desperation.

"Nope. No one here but little old me, and as much as I would like to shoot the shit and reminisce, I kind of have a funeral to go to, so if you don't mind…" Sebastian makes a shooing motion with his hands that pricks Kurt with an inescapable feeling of déjà vu, but he doesn't take the time to mull through it. When Kurt doesn't leave right away, Sebastian crosses his arms and watches the show of emotions on Kurt's face as they go from disbelief to embarrassment and finally disappointment.

"I…I kind of got a message to meet someone here," Kurt explains quietly, explaining it more to himself than to Sebastian and frowning when he realizes it doesn't make any more sense out loud than it did in his head. "I guess I was wrong. I'm sorry I…interrupted…I'm sorry for your loss."

"No b. d., but thanks," Sebastian says with a shrug, but Kurt can tell that Sebastian's more bothered than he's letting on. Kurt knows the face of grief when he sees it. He nods and gives Sebastian a wave as he turns to leave. With his back to him Kurt misses how Sebastian's eyes suddenly widen when he catches sight of Kurt's hand.

"Uh, Kurt?" Sebastian calls after him. Kurt stops and turns, his hand still hovering in the air.

"What?"

"What's that?"

Sebastian points to Kurt's hand, his face drawn, becoming paler by the second. Kurt looks at his hand, having completely forgotten about the piece of red string tied around his ring finger.

"Oh, this?" Kurt says, pulling his hand behind his back to hide the string, knowing it was too late and he was about to get ribbed from Egypt and back for having it on his finger. "It's…I tied it there to remember…to buy milk, on my way home."

If Kurt could have face-planted without Sebastian noticing, he would have. As it is, he's making plans to do it the second he gets back to the elevator as punishment for being such a disaster under stress.

"Is that so?" Sebastian bites his lip and looks thoughtfully at the arm tucked behind Kurt's back.

"That's right," Kurt says in defense of his lie that Sebastian isn't buying. "Why?"

"Well…" Sebastian steps out into the hallway and raises his own left hand for Kurt to see. Kurt's mouth drops, his stopped heart stuttering to race again as his eyes fall on a bright red piece of string tied in a knot around Sebastian's ring finger, "I think you and I might have something to talk about."