12:36 AM

"Get out!" He screams, and suddenly, Kurt is absolutely horrified. He feels chills run through his bones, and he backs away, hitting the back wall.

"I.. I thought.." Kurt stuttered, looking at this man - this face without a name, with widened eyes. He felt his heart beating much too hard in his chest.

"What, did you think I loved you?" The man let out a heartless laugh, looking at Kurt with a soulless smile. "You think I loved you? Someone so pathetic? You think I cared enough to look at you, while we did this? God, get out of here."

Kurt scrambled, running out of the apartment as fast as he could, outside and into the darkness. He ran. He ran. He kept running until he felt like he just couldn't anymore.

Hot tears stung the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall in what felt like a dangerous way. He was so done with crying. He hated crying. It used to be a release - something to do when he was upset, sad, angry. He was all of those things, right now - but.. he's cried so many tears. He didn't want to cry again.

He stopped in Times Square, the bright lights shining in a blinding fog over Kurt's tear-filled eyes. Where else could he go? He didn't want to go home. Rachel would scream at him, asking him pointless questions like 'Where have you been?' or 'Why didn't you tell me?'

He didn't want to say that he was off having sex with some stranger. He didn't want to have to lie and say that he was okay, perfectly fine. He didn't want to have to tell Rachel the truth. He'd previously convinced her that it was just a phase - the sex, the drinking, the smoking, and he'd managed to hide the cutting - and he was out of it, now. He didn't want to worry her. He wanted to bottle things up. That supposedly wasn't the best thing to do, but for him, it surely was. He liked keeping things inside. He liked having his demons scream at him when nobody else could hear. He liked being so alone, for the most part.

Except when he didn't like being alone. Except when he felt like he needed to be needed, to feel like he had to be loved all over again. Because that's how it used to be. One night stands were a joke to Kurt, years ago. His young mind only believed in things like love, because that's what he had. He was filled with love. Everything was love.

It wasn't like that, anymore.

Kurt's heart has been drained, it seemed. Love was almost nonexistent to him. It's been so long since he's had love, emotionally and physically, that it disappeared into the New York skyline.

It wasn't that Kurt didn't have any feelings. That wasn't the truth. Because he had so many feelings, he just hid them away in the safe little box inside his chest. He hid them so far away that nobody would be able to find them again.

The men Kurt slept with were usually nice. Or.. somewhat nice. Kurt was rough around the edges, but anyone would realize that he was delicate - he needed gentle. They said their goodbyes when they were finished, and that was it. Kurt felt as satisfied, as needed, as loved as he could.

Honestly, though, he didn't ever feel those things. Maybe in the moment. Rocking together with another person, feeling whole with them - it made you feel stronger, somehow. It made you feel.. it made you feel everything. That wasn't true, either. Kurt hasn't felt in a long time. He hasn't felt anything real, anyway.

He thought the man tonight - the face without a name, he rarely asked for those - was different. He thought that he was attractive, and he was sweet. He claimed that he'd noticed Kurt looking a bit lonely on the other side of the bar, a bit sad. As always, Kurt complied.

He went home with the man, he followed him into his shoebox apartment, he let himself be led to the small bed, be stripped of his clothes. That was how it always was.

But the man with no name was rough. He obviously didn't realize the gentle factor of Kurt, and he was rough. He was wordy and mean - and Kurt didn't like it. He felt absolutely no pleasure. He felt nothing.

He was numb.

He's been numb for years, but never like this. It was never anything like this.

Kurt was in pain. He was hurt. Here, on these New York steps, the glistening lights shining around him - he felt worse than he's felt in ages.

His mind was reeling. It's been so long since he's thought of.. him.

The man whose name Kurt knew - a beautiful name. The man with the dark curly hair, the man with the whiskey-colored eyes. The man with the tanned skin that he used to kiss, the man with those lips - soft as clouds.

The man who broke his heart, ripped it out of him and threw it onto the cold ground, took away Kurt's right to feel. To love.

The man who Kurt hasn't talked to in three years.

Blaine.

The name still sounded beautiful, even in his mind. He repeated it internally like a mantra, a perfect song that he didn't ever want to end.

He thought of the memories, he thought of how he used to be able to make love because he was in love. He hasn't made love since.

He thought about how Blaine's lips used to tickle his skin, making goosebumps appear all over his pale body.

He thought about how Blaine made him feel wanted, needed, loved - everything, because he honestly thought those things about him. He didn't think Kurt was pathetic like.. they did.

He didn't want to think of Blaine. He wanted to hate him, honestly. He wanted to hate him for the things he had done. He cheated, he broke one too many promises. It seems that he's ruined love for Kurt forever.

He rarely thought of Blaine - the boy with the beautful name and the whiskey-colored eyes. He distracted himself from him, tucked those thoughts in the back of his mind. He drank, he smoked, he cut, he hurt - because he wanted those unreachable things to be gone. He didn't want to think about them.

But all he could think about was Blaine, now, on these red steps. All he could think about was how badly he wanted to be touched by his smooth fingers, wanted to be kissed by his soft lips.

He couldn't ask for those things. It would be unfair. It would even be unfair to call him, after so long.

Suddenly, none of those things matter. His hands were shaking - violently so - and his fingers were pressing down on the buttons, searching for Blaine's number, the one he'd never erased.

Because right now, all he wanted to do was hear that voice. The voice that once sang him lullabies, angelic in its own way. The voice that gave him hope. The voice that killed those demons locked up inside.

He just wanted to hear it. Just once more.

He was panicking. His mind was in a frenzy, thoughts going to bad places - just as they always did. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell. He wanted to cut. He wanted to hurt. He wanted to -

"Kurt?"