I DO NOT SEE THE POINT OF THIS

"Well of course you don't," Kurt muttered around a mouthful of pins, "You've been wearing the same thing for all eternity." He carefully marked a few more places for rhinestones. "It'll be classy, I promise. Night sky-esque. Death is eternity, might as well look the part." Besides, he thought, if he had to wear the same plain black cloak for all eternity he'd kill someone. Someone not for his job.

Just because most people didn't see you until the very end didn't mean you shouldn't always look your best. Nobody wanted to be escorted from this mortal plane by some hobo.

I AM TOLD THAT BLACK IS CLASSIC

If it were from anyone else, it would have been pouting. From Death, it was just a statement of fact.

"Back in black," Kurt muttered, but spoke again before Death could insist that he couldn't be back in black because he'd never left black (although he'd taken a detour into white but then white and black weren't opposites at all. White was an absence of color and black was the presence of all colors, and what was Death but the presence of absence?) "Maybe for you, but some of us like to change things up a little sometimes."

I CHANGE, Death insisted. ONCE I WAS THE HOGFATHER.

Kurt squinted at him. "The what?"

THE HOGFATHER.

Kurt thought about that. "Tell me?"

SHOULD I REST YOU ON MY KNEE?

Kurt sighed. "That's for grandfathers and their grandchildren. I'm your apprentice. Big difference." He picked out another handful of glittering black sequins. "Plus, that's for little kids. I know we all must seem pretty much like kids to you, but once a person hits puberty they don't want to sit on their grandfather's knee anymore. Most don't want it even before then." He pointed at Death with the business end of his bedazzler, "If you try that on anyone else, you'll be slapped upside the head with a harassment lawsuit. Even Death can't escape lawyers."

AH. Death sighed, and it was the sound of wailing men and bones crumbling away to ash.

"Stop sulking," Kurt scolded. "It's very unbecoming."

"Hey Kurt, your dad let me-" Blaine stopped, one hand still on the door.

Kurt distantly heard the clatter of rhinestones hit the floor from his numb fingers.

Blaine closed the door carefully, the click of it echoing apologetically throughout the room. He stared at Death and, seemingly on autopilot, offered up the bouquet of flowers.

THANK YOU. Death said, and accepted the gift as his due. They died as soon as he touched them, but he appreciated the gesture very much. Not many people still made offerings to him. Usually he just got screams or offers of money and land. Which he didn't need of course, being Death. Also, he had a very nice little investment in the chief Cheesemaker of Quirm, after Susan gave him a tip about the use of blue mold in the making. Apparently the human digestive tract provided the perfect environment for the mold spore to flourish and have lots of little moldy babies that grew up to one day take over the brain and turn it to mush. And then made them buy more cheese. Death wasn't very interested in money, but he was very interested in cheese.

He poked a brittle bud curiously. Blaine whimpered.

Kurt opened his mouth and then closed it again. There weren't really ready-made scripts for when your boyfriend met your boss, who was also Death. It was pretty niche. Kurt felt that it showed the lack of creativity among writers. He swallowed, and took a single breath the way he'd always heard you should when firing a gun. Your aim would be truer. "Blaine, this is Death." He gestures from Death to Blaine and back again. "Death, this is my boyfriend Blaine."

Blaine whimpered. His hand rose as if by itself, through the magic of politeness engrained so deep into a soul that if you ever examined his cells they would apologize for not cleaning up first.

"Thank you." Kurt said, grabbing Blaine by the shoulders before Death could do anything like actually take Blaine's hand. "I'll see you later."

ONE MOMENT. Death reached into his cloak and withdrew his scythe. Kurt nearly fell down under Blaine's sudden weight, as his boyfriend's knees apparently went out at the sight. I HAVE SEEN THIS GREETING DONE MANY TIMES. OFTEN IT IS DONE IN MY NAME.

If it were possible for a skull to look put out, Death's did. YSABELL NEVER LET ME.

"Oh no," Kurt suddenly had a horrible feeling he knew what was coming next. Oh he wouldn't dare –

But Death cannot dare, for nothing is particularly daring to Death. After all, daring is action in the face of uncertainty while nothing is uncertain to Death.

Death lifted his scythe, but as he lifted it, it was no longer a scythe. It had never been a scythe, but had in fact, always been a shotgun. Death very pointedly waved his shotgun in Blaine's face. Kurt almost put his hands on his hips, before realizing he'd have to drop Blaine to do it and settling for making a horrified face at Death.

I HAVE A SHOTGUN AND A SHOVEL. Death said solemnly. AND NO ONE WILL MISS YOU IF YOU HURT HIM.

Blaine's eyes rolled back, and he slid bonelessly through Kurt's arms to the floor.

"Shit!"

THAT IS A COMMON REACTION. Death told him.

"Oh go away!" Kurt said, throwing the first thing he could find at Death. It turned out to be a handful of cubic zirconia, which was rather less impressive than he'd hoped for, glittering around Death's cloak with pitiful pings as they hit the floor (never him). Kurt sighed, and rubbed his temples. "Please?"

I WILL BE BACK. Death promised.

"You always are," Kurt said absently as he checked Blaine's pulse. Kurt thought he might be a little messed up, that Death's promise to return for him was comforting rather than terrifying. When he looked up, Death was gone. "You should really do a pop or something. At least a flutter," he muttered under his breath.

Blaine groaned.

"Shit!" Kurt started, and accidently dropped Blaine's head. Blaine stopped groaning. Kurt went back to rubbing his temples. At least now he had a little more time to think of an explanation. Somehow he was pretty sure "yeah, I work for Death every other weekend and sometimes I try to get him to branch out from black cloaks into something with a little more flair. I mean, the guy's been around since, well, ever. You'd think he'd have picked up some fashion sense. So are we still up for Breadstix tonight?" wouldn't go over terribly well.

He dragged Blaine over to the bed and arranged pillows around him in case he spasmed in his sleep, to prevent him from hurting himself. He put a few cookies by his side, to remind him of how Kurt took care of him. After a moment he moved the vase full of Blaine's last bouquet over near his head as well, to remind him of how much he really did love Kurt.

He settled down to wait. He ran a few scenarios in his head. About 90% of them ended with Blaine fleeing for his life, quite literally. He scowled at the lights. How could he think when the lights were so… so bright and buzzy. His skin probably looked horrible under those fluorescents. He missed his basement and his dimmer switch.

Kurt glanced over at Blaine, whose eyes would open up right under his ceiling light. Kurt carefully unfolded the pocket handkerchief that Blaine had lent him just days after they first met, to wipe up the bit of grape slushie that he'd missed in his rush to meet Blaine for coffee. It was embroidered. Kurt fingered the tiny rows of lilies, kissed the B.A. Sometimes he loved Blaine so much it felt like his stomach was dissolving with it. He nearly collapsed into a puddle of so much adoring goo at Blaine's feet at the sudden rush of feeling. Instead, he carefully arranged the handkerchief over Blaine eyes instead, so he wouldn't be blinded when he woke up.

He sighed, and rocked back on his heels. Maybe if he emphasized how Death wasn't really a big part of his life? No, but that would be a flat out lie, and he knew where those ended up. In sing offs and broken chairs, that's what.

He settled down to wait in his mother's old rocking chair, tapping his steepled fingers against his mouth as he thought. Wording would be very very important here.

"Oh my god."

Kurt froze.

"Oh god, am I dead?" Blaine tugged off the handkerchief with shaking fingers, staring around him at the flowers and food with increasingly wide eyes. "I'm dead."

Kurt winced at the crack in Blaine's voice and looked at his bed with new eyes.

Ah. That was unfortunate.

Kurt wondered if it was Death's influence – that in times of stress he apparently set up a funeral reception, or if that part of him was why Death had chosen him. Kurt shook off the thought. It didn't matter whether the chicken or the egg came first, what mattered was the meal you made with them.

Kurt started to speak, but had to stop to clear his throat. He gripped his scarf tight enough for his fingers to start shaking. "No, you're not dead."

Blaine looked at the cookies, and then smiled at Kurt. Kurt nearly went lightheaded with relief. "Man I just had the weirdest dream. I'm sorry Kurt, I must have tripped and hit my head when I came in." He shook his head, grinning up crookedly at Kurt. "I'm such a klutz, I'm sorry."

And Kurt could see it, crystal clear. He could see exactly how easy it would be to make a snarky comment about how this day had been a long time coming, what with Blaine's habit of climbing all over the furniture. He could almost hear the exact pitch of his teasing "that's what you get for trying to be taller than me."

He could have this; he could keep Blaine and the beautiful, normal, boyfriend-filled life that he'd always dreamed of and keep his promise to Death. It would be the best for both of them too. He could see how relieved Blaine is to think it was all a crazy concussion dream.

It would be so easy.

"It wasn't a dream," Kurt said firmly. "That was Death. As in the Reaper, the one who takes you when it's your time."

There is a difference between what is easy and what is right, and Kurt's never been one to take the easy way out.

He had to remind himself of the consequences of lying in the face of the way Blaine suddenly tensed. Broken chairs and trucker hats and Mellencamp, he reminded himself. No one wanted that again. Kurt was done lying about who he is.

"You're friends with Death?" Blaine's face was frozen into his smile, except for his eyes. The right one was twitching. Kurt fidgeted.

"Not friends exactly."

"Then what are you?"

Kurt fiddled with his scarf as he pretended to think about his answer. It was particularly great scarf, he'd found it at a sample sale. Pure silk with beautiful flower detailing.

"Kurt."

Kurt tore his eyes off the tiny stitches on the scarf, the way they blended almost invisibly into the fabric and yet changed it completely. "I don't know, I see him sometimes and we talk." Kurt shrugged, feeling almost embarrassed, "He promised me a ride on his horse Binky."

Blaine grabbed his hand, like that would stop Death from taking him if either Death or Kurt wanted him to go. Kurt had to take a grounding breath against the heady swell of love for Blaine's blind faith in them. He curled his fingers around Blaine's hand to feel the pulse pumping in his wrist.

He counted the beats, and on the tenth he said, quietly and with the most perfect diction he can muster, "I'm his apprentice. He hasn't taken me to… to collect anyone yet, but. Well. Someday." He couldn't help the smile curling around his lips. It was the first time he's spoken the word out loud since he day he made his promise. "I'm his apprentice," he repeated, wondering, and licked the words off his lips.

To his credit, Blaine didn't sputter or scream or scoff or anything else that begins with s and ends with 'I think I have a lovely new sweater for you to try on Kurt, don't pay attention to the fact that the sleeves buckle in the front, it's the newest fashion in Paris I promise.' "Apprentice?" Blaine echoed.

"Apprentice." Kurt confirmed, and felt like they'd somehow exchanged the word, passed it back and forth between them for inspection. He swallowed it back down, and he knew it should sink like a stone but he felt warm with relief instead.

Blaine fiddled with the end of Kurt's scarf. If it were anyone else, they'd be losing a finger. Instead, Kurt carefully guided his fingers to smooth along the stitching to get the full effect.

"So you'll be Death someday?" Blaine asked, circling the outline of a rose with his pinky finger.

"That does seem to follow," Kurt snapped, and apologized by flipping over the scarf so Blaine could feel the rougher texture underneath the smooth silk, examine the backstitches that weren't pretty per se but held the whole thing together.

Blaine touched the back of the rose carefully. "So can Death have a boyfriend?" He smiled, and it was a shadow of the confidant grin that Kurt had seen that day on the stairs. But Kurt knew now that smile was as fake as a sunlamp. "I ask the important questions, I know."

Kurt laughed, and curled his fingers around Blaine's wrist even tighter until he could feel the blood thumping underneath as though it ran through his own veins. "If you'd asked me anything as clichéd as 'what comes next', I'd have had to dump you."

"I keep things interesting." Blaine kissed his knuckles, and Kurt blushed despite himself. "What would you do without me to shake up your life?"

"Oh I don't know," Kurt said breathily, "Just have a pretty boring life I guess." He shut up Blaine's slightly hysterical laugh with a kiss, and then another and another until he was flat on his back with Blaine's hands buried in his hair.

Blaine kissed him so hard their teeth clacked together, so determined to be okay that Kurt didn't know what to do but kiss him. Blaine swallowed the air from Kurt lungs as he gasped against his lips, clutching at him as though he could consume every part of him and leave nothing for Death to take. He cradled Kurt's face between his hands, his fingers grasping greedily at the flush on Kurt's cheeks.

"It's okay," Blaine's voice was the barest hint of a breath between their lips, less spoken word than thought crystallized into being through sheer force of will. He kissed Kurt's ear. "Everything little thing is gonna be alright." Blaine's voice was shaking, soft enough that Kurt knew Blaine was just thinking it hard enough that it slipped out by accident, but it was still perfectly in tune.

Magic and music, Kurt knew, were incredibly similar. They were only two letters apart for one thing. He didn't think Blaine was magical. But if he squinted, music could turn into magic before his eyes. It happened all the time at McKinley. Why not here too?

Blaine had sung life into him once before. Maybe he thought he could do it again.

Kurt closed his eyes and let Blaine engulf him.