“I love you.” Kurt tried not to let the sinking feeling come through in his voice as he said goodbye. He’d promised himself that he would never let Blaine see him as anything but happy in New York, never let anyone in Lima see him as anything but totally content here. It would make things easier, he rationalized, if they didn’t know how desperately Kurt missed them. It would keep them from trying to convince him from returning because if they started asking him to come back Kurt wasn’t so sure that he would be able to turn them down.

The smile Blaine gave as he returned the affectionate statement was blatantly not real and Kurt worried that he’d said or done something wrong. He stared down the empty laptop screen for a moment after Blaine had ended the call, resisting the temptation to try and make contact with Blaine again. He decided, instead, to busy himself by searching for audition notices in the area. There was probably nothing worth looking in to, but it was something that would keep him busy. He plugged in his headphones, started his latest playlist, and opened the web browser.

When Rachel returned home that night Kurt’s door was shut and no light glowed beneath the door so she made her way to her own room and went to bed. Kurt was still awake; however, he just didn’t want to deal with Rachel’s glee-full recap of the night’s events. He’d spent the past few hours scanning everywhere he could think for casting notices and finally found one that looked sort of promising. Now he lay in bed, lights off, listening to what Finn used to call Kurt’s Blaine playlist – it was what he listened to whenever he was missing Blaine and it was entirely stupid, but the songs reminded Kurt of him and so, when he felt lonely he would put it on and pretend that Blaine wasn’t quite so far away.

The next morning Kurt’s alarm went off far too early for his liking, but he begrudgingly removed himself from his covers and began to get ready for what was sure to be a very long day. He took a long shower, trying to fill his mind with steam and scalding water instead of the lingering questions and thoughts that had been floating there since his conversation with Blaine the night before. The last thing he needed right now was to be distracted. He dressed quickly, grabbed a few copies of his headshot with his less-than-ideal resume printed on the back, and headed out, stopping on the way to grab a medium drip.

The audition process was torturous; hundreds of people crowded into a too-small room, all jittery with nerves and anticipation, and even as the numbers dwindled as the hours passed the nervous energy that coursed through the room only grew. When Kurt’s name was called a few hours after he’d arrived he took a steadying breath and stepped forward.

“Here,” he offered, raising his right hand and offering a headshot to the short, clipboard wielding girl with his left.

“Follow me,” she said, ignoring the headshot and turning on her heels. She led him down two doors to an auditorium, empty save for three seats about mid-way back. “Headshots?” she demanded, the boredom in her voice palpable. Kurt quirked an eyebrow and handed over a couple copies. He watched as her silhouette marched down to the three figures, cloaked by the darkness of the theatre and blocked by the brightness of the stage lights.

The lights; the warmth, the gentle hum, the blinding, too-brightness they had about them. Kurt loved stage lights, he loved the feeling of being bathed in them, the kiss of their warmth on his pale skin, the feeling of being encompassed by them, with everything their glow didn’t touch being plunged into pitch black nothingness. He loved being on stage and good God he had missed it.

“Kurt Hummel?” a voice called from the darkness, snapping him from his revelation and bringing his attention back to the moment at hand.

“Yes, that’s me,” Kurt said, voice echoing slightly in the empty venue.

“What are you reading for us today?”

On the walk over Kurt had decided that, since he couldn’t get Blaine out of his mind, he was going to use that to his advantage at the audition today. As he journeyed through the heart of Manhattan to find the theatre he racked his brain for a monologue to use and finally landed on the perfect one. In it, a man bemoans his lover’s absence and waxes poetic about loneliness, heartbreak, and the feeling of just not knowing. It was as if it had been written for Kurt to use in this moment.

When Kurt finished the monologue there was a shuffle of papers from the sea of seats before him but no useful reaction of any kind. He stood there for a moment, waiting to be directed further. Just as a feeling of self-consciousness began to creep up his spine the director spoke once more.

“And song?”

Kurt’s face fell. He’d been expecting at least some feedback from his monologue. But he shrugged it off and replied. “I’ll be singing ‘As If We Never Said Goodbye,’ from ‘Sunset Boulevard.’” He closed his eyes, took a moment to center himself, and began to sing. And God did it feel good to be singing again. He hadn’t sung for anyone, except maybe Rachel or Blaine, since graduation. He’d almost forgotten where he was until the director cut him off mid-lyric.

“Thank you, Mr. Hummel, you’re free to go.”

Kurt’s heart shattered. “Th-thank you,” he managed to get out before giving a curt head-twitch of a bow and exiting the stage.

He went home, threw himself onto his bed, burrowed under the covers, and wallowed. He spent the afternoon trying to figure out what had gone wrong at his audition, how he’d messed up. He questioned everything from how he recited his monologue to which song he’d chosen to sing, to what shoes he’d matched with his outfit. He lay there for hours and would’ve stayed longer if he didn’t have to work that night. At 8:00, for the second time that day, his alarm alerted him to the fact that he must peel himself out of bed and make himself presentable. He readied himself once more and made his way to the P.I.T. where he would work from 9 until 2.

The shift, which normally flew by in a blur of laughter and conversation, dragged as never before. Kurt felt sluggish and had to force a smile as he took orders and poured drinks. He tried to find amusement in the various topics being discussed, even managed a chuckle at a joke his fellow bartender told, but he couldn’t seem to break the sinking depression that was starting to set in. His tips, normally on the higher end of average, were barely notable tonight and it was obvious that no one wanted to tip the unfriendly bartender. It was the perfect end to the perfect day really, Kurt thought as he trudged up the stairs towards his and Rachel’s apartment. Rachel, who had been waiting to talk to Kurt all day, was waiting for him in the kitchen.

“Hey! Where have you been? I have great news!” She was, as ever, oblivious to Kurt’s blatantly bad mood.

“Out,” he replied, offering no more information.

“I got a show!” she cried, wasting no time on an intro. Kurt stopped in his tracks on his way towards his bedroom and turned.

“What?”

“Well, not, like, a real, show, but a student production!” She hurried over to him and shoved a flier in his hand. He scanned it quickly before looking back at Rachel’s beaming face. Of course. Of course Rachel Berry got a goddamn show. Because she was Rachel, she was the talented one who got everything she ever wanted.

“Congratulations,” he muttered and retired to his room before he let himself get angry at Rachel for the unfairness of the world. Rachel stood, confused by his reaction, and watched as he closed his door just a little too hard.

“Hey, do me a favor?” he asked Finn as he entered the office of the tire shop.

“Yeah, what’s up?” It was Saturday and, until weekend rehearsals started the next month, Blaine spent every Saturday working the office while Finn tended to the cars.

“Send me a text message, or call me, something.” Finn looked up at Blaine, finally taking his attention away from the schedule he was working on, confusion etched on his features.

“Dude, why? You’re right there, if I need to talk to you I’ll just, ya know, talk.” Finn had taken over the day-to-day at the tire shop for Burt once he graduated and spent the majority of his time talking to Rachel when he wasn’t fixing cars or dealing with paperwork.

“Just do it, Finn. Please?” Finn shrugged and pulled out his phone. He quickly found “Blaine” in his contacts list and Blaine’s phone sprung to life, vibrating loudly from where it sat on the counter. “Oh,” he said softly, hitting the ‘ignore call’ button and placing the phone back in his bag. “Thanks.”

“Uh, no problem?” Finn said, returning to the schedule and leaving Blaine to get ready for the day’s work.

Blaine had been hoping desperately that his phone was somehow broken, that Kurt had been texting or calling or something and it just wasn’t going through. He’d been holding on to that hope more than he realized, but now that it was gone he felt the gaping hole that it left. A hole the was filled with thoughts of Kurt, running around New York, being happy, and, most importantly, not needing Blaine.

As the day dragged on Blaine busied himself with whatever odd jobs needed doing around the shop, from fielding calls to filling out estimates, to re-organizing one of the giant tool boxes that sat in the corner of the workshop. He did whatever he could to keep his mind off New York, and made sure to disappear to the office when Rachel called Finn to give him her daily update about life in the big city. By the end of the day there was literally nothing more for Blaine to do; the back-log of paperwork had been finished and filed, the workshop was clean and organized, the office was immaculate, and there were no customers that needed to be called. He bade Finn farewell and headed home.

When he got to his room he had been planning on throwing himself into school work and college applications, but time and again he felt his eyes drifting towards his nightstand where his phone sat, still as ever.

“Oh for goodness sake,” he said, throwing down his pen and striding across his room. He picked up the phone and shot off a quick note to Kurt, though he knew that Kurt was probably at work. He dropped his phone on to his bed and went back to his work. At least now he might wake up to a reply.

Some six hours later, college applications now much closer to completion, Blaine stripped off his clothes and collapsed in to his bed, completely exhausted. Sunday was his day off from everything, well, everything except for homework, but he usually let himself sleep in a little while anyway. When he finally woke at nearly noon there was sunlight streaming through his windows, mingling with his curtains to form a gentle striped pattern across his rug. The room was cool and the sky outside a light baby blue. It was a perfect fall day, really, and Blaine hated it. How, when he felt like this, was the light so kind, the air so crisp, and the day so bright? Shouldn’t there be clouds, fiercely pelting the world below with rain? Shouldn’t the wind be blustering through the air, disturbing everything beautiful and leaving only chaos and havoc in its wake? He groaned loudly as a bird began to chip just outside his window and reached for a pillow to chuck in the general direction when he noticed the small blinking light coming from his phone – he had a message!

Blaine bolted into a sitting position and grabbed his phone, hastily checking to see what Kurt had said. His eyes gleamed with hope and expectations as he clicked open the text message and read what Kurt had sent.

“How was work?”

Blaine’s face fell. That was it? Days of nothing and then all he got was “how was work?” He sighed harshly and decided to ignore the text for now. Kurt would still be sleeping for a few hours and Blaine didn’t want to text him back, he wanted to talk to him. In the meantime, Blaine got up and dressed before spending some more time on a particularly demanding application for one of his top choice universities.

At 2 o’clock, when he was finally happy with the last part of the short-answer section of the application, he decided to take a break and give Kurt a call. He answered on the first ring.

“Hello?”