"Anyone up for a college camp fire tonight?" ask Santana as she enters the house from the patio. She is dripping wet and looks immaculate. Noah is practically drooling. Finn left me to attend to a crying Rachel, so I return downstairs to join the rest of the group. I heave a sigh of relief when Blaine isnt in the lounge room. "I just met a couple of guys down at the beach. They invited me down to some camp fire drinking party. Were going."

"Probably not best to accept invitations from strange men. Didnt your mother taught you that?" I ask, taking a seat next to Noah, and far from Sam. He doesnt look at me either. Maybe that odd moment truly was an offer for distraction, and Im too much of a bookworm romantic to accept it as it is. "No, but she did taught me how to not have a gag reflex." Puck offers to test that theory and I roll my eyes tiredly at their back and forth. Maybe this is how the rest feel with my back and forth with Blaine. "So how bout it?"

"Im down," says Sam. Noah agrees too and since I dont have anything better to do than to sit around and get smothered in my own thoughts, I accept the offer. Just as quickly do I accept it though, is just as quickly I regret it. "Count me in too," says an annoying voice somewhere in the back. Hes not worth turning my head for, then my brothers words haunts me. If he was hurting too, he has to resent me like I resent him now. My brother didnt tell me the entire story. I know there is more, but I dont know if I want to know. Im hoping I get through the rest of this retreat without being dragged back to the past. Santana glances over at me and I scowl at her. "Cant wait. Im hoping to get some tonight."

Later that afternoon, I follow Santana to the local town to meet with some florist that has agreed to do Rachels wedding. Being alone in a car with Santana isnt exactly ideal, but Rachel didnt want to leave the bedroom let alone the house, and I didnt want to stick around and be walking on eggshells. When I left, the boys were playing a video game which was great because I didnt want them to invite me to play only to have Blaine end up with a busted lip when I inevitably smack him with the controller. I find it hard to forget what Finn said to me today. Was I too focused on my own heart? I try to picture how I was after our break up, and the state I left Blaine in but the memories are too dark for me to see.

Santana is a horrible driver. With Finn, hes naturally bad at driving, but Santana is more of an indifferent driver. You just know she would gladly run over a child if she was late for work. I have to keep my legs pressed against the dashboard should I run the risk of being thrown into the windshield. I offered to drive, but her exact words were, "It is said that woman cant drive. That doesnt mean queers can." I dont have suicide ideation or anything, but maybe being thrown into a windshield wouldnt be so bad right now. "So were you always the bottom?" ask Santana, but I ignore her. I tell her that my past sex life with Blaine isnt any of her concern, but she scoffs. "Its okay that you are, Hummel. There always has to be a dominant guy in a relationship otherwise there is no balance."

"Thats a horrible notion. Especially coming from a woman," I tell her. Woman werent made to be submissive to men. There is an inaccurate ideology that suggest woman are meant to cook and clean and nurture infants. They werent meant to do those things, theyre just naturally good at it but it doesnt mean they are to subject themselves to those things. In certain cultures, woman are prohibited to work. Balance does not mean a man works while the woman stays home. That is an imbalance. The real balance is a spread of duties to both genders, thats how a weighing scale works.

"In bed, Hummel. I always knew you took it up the ass," says Santana. I continue to ignore her by pressing the buttons of the radio to get a decent station, one that is not screeching Selena Gomezs monotonous songs. "So how deep exactly did you take his?"

"Can you drop it?" I hastily snap. "If you think Im going to sit here and indulge you in Blaines cock size, youre mistaken. In fact, lets not indulge in any topic that involves Blaine. Please." I am an active human volcano - unpredictable but always emitting hot steam. Santana falls silent. At this rate, Im about to make everybody hate me. That doesnt sound like a bad thing, actually, because right now Im pretty much hating on all my friends. Except Noah, which is the biggest plot twist in my life. "I didnt want to rile you up or anything, I just wanted to give you an opportunity to bash on him. Say he had a tiny wiener or something."

"So you think I need to belittle Blaines human anatomy because - what? I need some mechanism to make me feel better about myself? That shaming him somehow should give me pleasure? That I depend on him?" I say. Santana frowns at me like Im crazy. She abruptly pulls the car over to the side of the street and stares at me. "Whats going on with you?"

"Whats going on with you guys?" I spring the question back at her. I am heated, my fists practically clenched in tight balls of anger. "Blaine and I ended 6 years ago yet all of you are making ridiculous remarks as if we broke up last week! He shouldnt affect me! I dont love him so stop making ridiculous comments that put us both in really awkward circumstances because its hard enough being around each other!" If my late mother could see me now, she would be shaking her head in absolute disappointment. She was a woman of kindness, she never screamed at anyone about anything. If I counted the times Ive snapped in this retreat, Id be ashamed to tell her. I wipe away the tears that form in the corners of my eyes before Santana sees them. She is quiet in her corner, and I think Ive for once I made my point clear enough to shut her up, but I know better than to think the Devil doesnt feed on negative energy.

"The problem here isnt us or our inappropriate, yet very witty, remarks," says Santana. "Dont you hear how contradicting you sound? He shouldnt affect you but its hard to be around each other? What kind of crap is that? He does affect you. He was a part of your soul, of course hes going to affect you. Anyone will be affected by somebody they used to love! But thats not your case here. You want to know the theory I had?" I stare out the window, to the far distant ambiguous horizon where I wish I was at right now. Sailing away from all this ridiculous drama I didnt sign up for when I agreed to retreat from my real drama. "My theory is that you stayed for closure. The second you found out what Blaine did, you took off without so much as a Fuck you Im Leaving. Then you declared to cancel your subscription to The Daily Anderson and for 6 years you thought that was enough for you, that your version of closure was all that you needed. Fast forward to three days ago when you saw him looking well and happy. You didnt take off right that second because youre curious of the person he has become and the reason why he continues to affect you is because that closure door was never shut, its still wide open to this very day."

I refuse to believe Santana. Ive made my peace when I left Blaine. Ive made peace with it all until I brought myself here. There is a small voice in my head pressing me on why didnt I just leave then? Has the tides changed? Did Santana hit this one right in the bulls eye? It might explain why I get so aggressive when Im around him but it begs the question - does closure involve an amicable parting or can closure be found within yourself? Ive let myself believe I was independent, carefree, but have I been living my whole life putting up a facade, to hide the fact that Im still very much a slave to Blaines heart? I feel the heat creeping up to my face. I cannot cry. I refuse to shed any more tears.

"Theres a simple solution for this," says Santana. Her tone is gentler, like a mother comforting a broken child. "You need to sit down with him, talk about every single facet of what happened between you two so you can shut that door once and for all and finally leave him - the right way, with no ropes still tied to you." Santana places a hand over mine, but my instinct doesnt tell me to pull away. I hate to admit it, but Santana is right. Blaine shouldnt affect me this much unless I was still, in some twisted sense, tied to him. I cant leave the past behind because I dont know what the past is. Fear is something you run from, and that is the base of my feelings. Ive been running for too long.

"I dont know if I can," I confess to her. My words are shaky and hesitant, but they creep out of me gradually. Im a broken dam, and the water is slowly pouring. "What if I go back and realize that I made a mistake?" I ask. Its been in my head for too long, wondering if leaving was really a detailed solution. Was my decision too young, too fragile? Going back would mean going back to the dark memories Ive kept hidden and i dont know if I can brave that.

"Well then you made a mistake. Whats important is that you know. You cant live your life with your head in wonder, you need to know for sure. Talk to him," says Santana. My head feels like a deadly tornado, making inaccurate assumptions about everything that Blaine does. I never thought I would say this, but this time Santanas dart hit me square in the ring. I dont ask her how am I supposed to go about doing that - seek closure. Shell only tell me to do it right away, and though I should, it isnt ideal. Im not idealistically ready, but I know what I need to do, to officially close the prolonged chapter of Blaine. "Youve grown up, havent you?" I say to her, and she shrugs in a nonchalant manner. "Im just that good."

She starts up the car again and resumes the worst driving skills in the history of time and I let myself forget about Blaine - for now. I dont know how Im going to harvest every facet of Blaines side of our post break-up. The concept is unnerving, to peer behind the curtains. What will I find out? With what my brother said in mind, I know I will uncover a lot. But for now, I let my thoughts be left behind like the mailbox Santana just ran over. We meet the florist in the central of the town area. She is a middle-aged, ostentatious woman who wears excessive gold and diamonds. They practically blind me. Santana is busy discussing floral and bouquet arrangements with her. I let myself wander around her shop, letting my fingers trail the soft, delicate petals.

I wonder how long it took to grow these. Probably a long time, and a lot of energy too. The ostentatious woman probably had to water them, made sure it received sufficient sunlight for it to grow. She probably nurtured these flowers because watching it grow gave her a sense of accomplishment, a sense of happiness. They are beautiful, perfect. The colours are rich and they bloom with a passion. Then I trip over something on the ground, but I catch my balance before I come crashing. There is a scrappy wooden box sitting there, with rusted nails barely holding it together. The contents inside are dead flowers. They are dried up, the colours arent rich but sickly and brown, the petals have fallen off and what lies in its wake is nothing but the memory of what it used to be. I guess you can put your all into making a flower bloom, but that doesnt ensure its survival.

Santana takes an extremely long time. At one point I even heard her screaming at the woman, and at that point do I realize that shes pretty good at being a wedding planner. You dont get worked up over something youre not passionate about. When we enter the car, I ask her, "Did Rachel hire you or, in true Santana fashion, did you just take the job without asking?"

"I convinced her she wasnt going to get the wedding of her dreams if I wasnt her dream maker," she tells me. I can call Santana all the mean things in the book, but when it comes to persuasion, and a little bit of blackmail, Santana is the person you sought for. I ask her why she wanted to be Rachels wedding planner to begin with. If what Rachel said was true, Santana probably had a list of clients pending for her expertise. Rachel isnt exactly Santanas favorite person either. "Contrary to what you may believe, Hummel, I do want whats best for my friends, and the best usually comes from me." I realize then that time is powerful thing, its inflexible on its own but changes everything around it.

When we return to the house, there is no one around. I didnt realize how long Santana and I took but its drawing closer to evening by the time we return. Santana tells me she needs to nap before the camp fire party so I go back to my room. When I come out of the shower, I find that I have an email in my phone. When the sender reads Chelseas name, I contemplate whether opening it would really be the best thing for my soul right now. But my curiosity takes the steering wheel and crashes into the Open button.

To: kurt_hummel@hsco.ny

Kurt Hummel is a talented individual. He was a strong contributing factor in the Hugh Shepard machine, had the most eccentric, interesting ideas and always strived for perfection in his craft. His creativity is unique, and boundless. One in particular was a couture gown he had designed which included aspects of a sparrows feathers. Much like a sparrow, the gown flew in the market. He is a force to be reckon with and has limitless potential.

OR

Kurt Hummel is an egotistical, proud, plagiarizing snake in the fashion industry. The only real talent Mister Hummel possess is his ability to share the credit of someone elses work just because he added a ghastly button onto a beautiful plaster dress. Hugh Shepard rarely make mistakes, but hiring Mister Hummel into the company fold was by far the biggest one since the color pallet chosen for the Winter Collection, also an idea forced upon by Mister Hummel, claiming he knew best from a flimsy degree. Degrees doesnt not prove talent, they prove money. (Written on page 6 of the New York Times. Yes, I have connections in the publishing world.)

Regards,
Choose wisely.

I never thought Chelsea would be an adversary in my situation. Sure, she was a tough manager but I always thought its because she is passionate for the company or was secretly blowing Hugh. Now I know shes really out to get me. I dont know how many more stress I can take. I thrust my phone and it hits the corner of my bedroom door. At this point, Im going to have to get a new phone, which really backfires at me. Then a head pops through the small creak of my door. "My nose has waved a white flag, you know," says Blaine. I let out an inaudible groan. I want closure, but not when I feel like ripping off someones head. Always sign out of your work email when youre on holiday.

"We all know I can aim now, so it would have hit you if I wanted it to," I tell him as I slip into the bathroom and quickly pull on some clothes. Blaine probably thinks of me like how I think of Chelsea - out to get him. I should tell him it was truly unintentional, maybe that will make textures less rough for us. When I emerge out of the bathroom, I find Blaine lingering around my coffee table/drawing board and whats worst, he is flipping through my sketch book. I basically sprint and rip it away with his fingers still on the pages. He raises his hands in surrender and apologizes. "It was just lying there." I fight the urge to remark that my heart was just lying there too, he didnt had to take it and stab it five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred times either, but I swallow them back. If closure is what I want, then a back and forth of vile remarks would do nothing but push us further away from the closure.

"I want to apologize," he says when I turn my back on him to put my sketch book in a further distance. I stop in my tracks and wonder if Santana gave the same reality check to him too. "What I said earlier was uncalled for and you didnt deserve to be publicly humiliated like that. Im sorry. Obviously I dont think youre weak," I sit on his words for a second longer, wondering if apologies were this quick to give, there wouldnt be wars because wars happen from two stubborn parties. I sigh and turn to him, clutching on my sketch book for some form of balance. I dont want to contribute to war either. "I want to apologize too. The whole ball thing really was an accident, but Im lying if I said there wasnt some part of me that wanted to hurt you. I really am sorry, for breaking your nose."

"Its not broken, just fractured," he tells me as if that was supposed to be a consolation. I do feel terrible about hitting Blaine with the ball. Violence never resort to anything positive. "Youre allowed to be mad. I should have told you about being in New York." I dont say anything because he should have. I breathe in deeply and take a seat onto the small sofa seat. "I would have liked to know, but you werent obligated to tell me. I was just - surprised. Thats all."

He takes a seat on the edge of my bed but doesnt say anything. The sun is slowly setting outside, and the sky is in my once favorite color - Blaines eyes. "I didnt plan on being a doctor," he tells me. "I went through some stuff that made me realize that I wanted to go into a line of career that helps people, and not just in the lines of charity or anything like that, but as a person who is physically saving lives. Its satisfying going to sleep knowing I helped somebody today. Tired, but satisfied." I want to pry deeper, know what he went through but Im in no position to demand to know his life, no matter how much I want to. "Plans change, you know?"

Plans only change when you go through something traumatic that sets you off on a different course. People dont just decide on a different route, especially since theyve planned that route since forever. Their hands are force into consider other options. I am burning inside, desperately wanting to know but I extinguish the dangerous fire inside of me. I cant force him to tell me something he doesnt want to. "I do, and Im glad youve found something that youre passionate about." He looks up to me then, and it is like Im looking at the sky again. I know I played in role that set him off on a new course, but what I left in the wake of my leaving is something unclear to me. What did Blaine go through? My gut feeling tells me that my brother knows.

"You have something youre passionate about too, evidently," he says, nudging his chin to my sketch book in my hands. I laugh sheepishly. He cocks his head and watches me, as if dismantling me and I am reminded how he used to love me in those eyes. "What are those for? Some cool, fancy project?" he presses, and I sigh.

"Theyre supposed to be an offering to spare my soul," I tell him. In some ways, it is true. Without these, Im as good as unfashionable. He looks questioningly at me. I debate within myself on whether I should tell him, then I realize that if he could give me a glimpse of why he wants to be a doctor, I can tell him about my career too. Maybe this is how we could reach closure, to slowly move towards each others lives. I tell him about Hughs sadistic fashionable game and how if I dont get it, Ill be unemployed. I also tell him about Chelseas recent email and how shes blackmailing me.

"You could sue her right out of this planet. Thats horrible," he tells me and I shrug, telling him that this is the world we live in, that people would sacrifice their humanity for materialism. 6 years ago, if something like this happened to me, Blaine would cross burning bridges and leap off cliffs to remotely save me. I cant help but to wonder what he would do if we were still together, but were not, and the best thing he can do is offer his agreement that Chelseas a vile creature. "It doesnt matter anymore. My chances have obviously been obliterated. The smartest thing to do here is to accept her stupid letter."

After Chelseas threatening call, Ive been lying to myself thinking I still had a shot at this competition. Chelsea is one of the ten people you have to get through in order to get to Hugh, so in some sense she does hold a sizable stake. Only Rebecca and I are left, and I have no strings in there to pull. Rebecca does. Its sad how it ultimately does not matter how hard you work if you dont have connections. After years from high school, my worth still depends on where I stand in the popularity chart. I can feel Blaines eyes on me but I dont look at him. I focus on peeling the corners of my sketch book. Now he knows my side of the story and I didnt come out on top. Our break-up wasnt as good on me as it was on him but I refuse to let him sympathize for me. Itll only make me feel worst about myself, and this whole situation.

"Thats not the smartest thing to do, actually," he points out and I look up to him. I would have guessed he would agree with me, but telling me something else is actually - the Blaine I knew. "Thats the easiest thing to do. Theres a difference. You can take her stupid letter and let her define you, youll probably get further if shes reliable at all on her promise, but thats not the smartest thing to do. The smartest thing would be to walk the hell away on your own accord." I frown at him. Did he completely misunderstood me? Does he not understand the thin ice Im on right now? "You dont need some pseudo-intellectual, ignorant snob to tell you youre not good enough. Creativity - art is subjective. You create art. If it doesnt appeal to him, to hell with him. You dont have to live under a persons label, Kurt. Create your own. Youve always been talented. Remember the dresses you designed for the Glee club? We won for best costume at Regionals because of you. You dont need Hugh Shepard because he doesnt deserve somebody as bright as you are."

I want to tell him that life isnt as innocent as we thought it was when we were sheltered in the hallowed halls of McKinley. Dont stop believing is merely just a catch phrase, a tangible optimism you can hold on to, but the reality is you cant depend on believing. You have to work for what you want. I am flattered that Blaine thinks Im talented enough to turn my back on a global brand, and there is some truth to art being a subjective concept, but I have too much at risk. I dont tell him because I see the Blaine I know in his eyes, but I fear he wont see the same Kurt he knew in the past, someone who had courage. Im all out of bravery. "That would be a great risk to take," I tell him. He does the unexpected. He reaches across to me and takes my hand in his, gazing into me with eyes like the sky. "Its scary, I know, but sometimes the greatest outcomes come from the scariest risk."

He releases my hand, and I realize how much Ive missed his gentle touch and his caring nature towards me. Have I been wrong about Blaine? People make mistakes, so did I base all of Blaines character off something he did 6 years ago? Have I been unfair? Because it feels that way. Ive seen the glimpse of the old Blaine. Maybe he hasnt changed that much. Then he tells me to take some time to consider what I want to do because ultimately I would have to live with it. Now Im torn. After the call, Ive been fixated that taking the letter would be my best bet at making it after years of wanting a break, now Blaine presents me with another option, but this one takes a moral high ground and though my father has always taught me to be morally in-check, the moral high ground is a longer route and I dont know if I can handle the drive. "Sounds like youve been taking huge risks yourself," I tell him, in an attempt to reroute or topic of conversation. He smirks mischievously and tells me that being a doctor is a profession for risk takers.

"I still cant picture you with a stethoscope around your neck," I tell him and he chuckles. If I had to be honest with myself, the idea of Blaine in a sharp white coat and a clipboard in his hands does sound rather - sexy. Hes always looked preppy and sharp anyway. "Yeah, well I packed them with me if you want me to make your dreams come true." I blush crimson and realize that if we gradually move towards a peaceful common ground, maybe we can find closure without digging into our messy past, but that would mean living with my head in wonder.