Blaine tosses and turns in his king-sized bed, sleeping restlessly. Nightmares plague his subconscious and haunt his dreams. Moonlight filters into the room through a large window, illuminating the luxurious furnishings. The bed is mounted on a dais in the center of the room. A couch and coffee table sit in one of the corners, beside a television. A school desk is populated with mounds of papers and a shiny laptop computer. Pictures, posters, and song lyrics cover three of the walls. The third has two doors, leading to a private bathroom and a walk-in closet. Truly, the room would be a source of envy for almost any teenager. Pity that Blaine Anderson is not an average teenager. He rolls over in his bed, whimpering slightly, as if in pain. Behind his closed eyelids, a scene plays out.

Kurt stands in front of him, staring blankly ahead. Fog surrounds the two, and shadow shrouds them in darkness. Blaine reaches forward with his arm, making as if to touch Kurt. To feel him, to confirm that he exists. Only cold, damp air meets his questing fingers. Fear surges through him, and he attempts again to reach his beloved, desperation growing within him.

"Kurt!" He yells, the sound ripping from his throat before he can contain it. "Please!"

Kurt's eyes flicker, as if finally registering the boy standing before him. Recognition dawns on his face, followed by pure hatred. This, if anything, is worse.

"You," he says, voice harsh and cold.

"Kurt, please! It's me, it's Blaine!" Blaine feels the pain growing within him. The utter agony of rejection.

"Blaine." Kurt says, as if contemplating the name. Pain floods his eyes, replacing the anger. "You hurt me, Blaine."

"Kurt, I-"

"What are you doing here, Blaine?" Kurt asks, sounding so much like the real Kurt that Blaine falls to his knees on the damp ground, sobbing violently into his hands.

"I love you! I miss you! Please Kurt, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Once again, he reaches out an arm to touch the boy in front of him. This time, though, his fingers brush against  smooth skin before that, too is yanked out of his grasp. Kurt sneers down at him, disgust written all over his face.

"No." He states coldly. "You ruined me. You ruined us. It's your fault, all yours." His words fly out and attack Blaine, stabbing him with their harshness and making him howl out in pain. Kurt turns and walks away, slowly being swallowed by the shadows as he leaves Blaine crouched in the dirt, tears streaming down his face as he moans his emotional anguish. No one hears.

"My fault, my fault," he says, rolling into the fetal position and clutching his knees close to his chest. There is nothing left now. Nothing without Kurt. "My fault."

Exhaustion weighs down Blaine's movements throughout the school day. His eyelids are heavy, constantly dragging down to hide his hazel eyes and obscuring his vision. Dark circles are painted on his face, giving him an almost comical resemblance to a raccoon. His limbs feel like lead, and fog clouds his mind, making his usual quick reactions slow and sluggish. When he first woke up and saw his face in the mirror, he feared that his ex friends and fellow glee clubbers would notice that something was amiss, and inquire about it. It seemed though, that his worries were unneeded. Everyone noticed, he could tell. It was just that no one said anything. At least, not to his face. He may have been tired, but he hadn't missed the stares or the whispered conversations that followed him through the hallways. The realization dawned upon him, during his walk to the parking lot at the end of the day, that quite simply, no one cared anymore. Kurt had cared. Kurt would've fussed over him and insisted he rest. However, as even his subconscious thought necessary to remind him, Kurt was no longer here. Literally, or figuratively.

Blaine walked slowly to his car, debating a quick stop by the Lima Bean for a caffeine pick-me-up before he had to go home and do his homework. In the end, his need for a coffee boast won out, and he walked into the small shop that he'd come to know so well in the last two years, taking care to keep his eyes from wandering to their table. He approached the cheerful barista at the cash register, trying not to envision Kurt in the barista's apron as he'd been in the beginning of the year and failing miserably. A pang shot through his chest as he gazed around. Coming here had been a mistake. The place held too many memories he wasn't ready to look past.

He was standing by the counter, waiting for his medium drip, when he felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned immediately to see who it was.

"Blaine!" Wes said, with a massive grin that threatened to split his head in two. "Oh, my god. We haven't seen you in forever! Do come sit with us, won't you? We've missed you so much."

A fake smile seemed so natural and easy to come by these days, Blaine speculated as he felt his lips stretch in return to Wes's proposition.

"Of course!" He responded, turning to look where Wes was gesturing and seeing David, Thad, and Nick, three more of his Dalton friends, sitting at a round table. "Just let me grab my coffee." Making good on his word, he turned back to the counter and took his drink, thanking the barista before continuing with Wes towards the round table.

"Blaine, you dog, it's been so long!" David crowed, the second he'd sat down. "How's public school treating you? Better be pretty good, as you seem to have completely lost touch with your former best friends."

Blaine's eyes shot up in alarm, thinking for a moment that David was actually angry with him. His fear was dispelled when he saw the twinkle in his friend's eyes and Nick chortled and slapped him on the back.

"Been busy," he responded, lips once again slipping into the easy, fake smile he often wore. "Started senior year, won class president... Did you know I'm top of the class now?"

"Jeez!" Said Thad, speaking up for the first time. "Damnit Blaine, you put the rest of us to shame. Class president! You and David here should talk foreign relations."

"David?" Blaine asked, triangular eyebrows furrowing in genuine confusion as he looked at his senior friend.

"He's president too," Nick supplied. "Beat out Wes here by three percent." He nudged Wes, who scowled in mock indignation.

Thad leaned over to Blaine and whispered loudly into his ear, obviously intended for the others to hear "He couldn't get the warblers to vote for him, we've seen how he acts with power when he's on the council." He smirked at Wes, who blushed a deep scarlet, but didn't deny his words. "Isn't that right, mister don't touch my gavel?"

"Oh shut up, won't you?" Wes asked, playing exasperated and throwing an unopened sugar packet at Thad, who held up his arms and practically squealed.

"Help! Attack!"

All five of the boys burst into raucous laughter, earning themselves several glares from other customers. They were quickly silenced by a warning look from the barista.

"Really, though, Blaine, we need to see you more often. You should swing by Dalton sometime," David proposed.

"Maybe," Blaine said hesitantly. If he returned to his safe haven, with all his friends, there was no way he'd ever want to leave.

"No," Nick stated, "not maybe. Tomorrow. There's nothing pressing we need to work on in warblers practice. We all miss you so much. Just stop by and say hi to everyone, okay?"

"Alright," Blaine conceded, grinning genuinely for the first time that afternoon without even noticing. "I guess I could come hang out with you guys. God knows McKinley homework doesn't exactly require all my attention."

"Awesome," David agreed, flashing the same diplomatic smile he used when settling an argument in Warblers practice.

"Well, we've got to run," Thad said, glancing at his watch. "You will stop by tomorrow, right?"

"Of course," Blaine responded, knowing his words were true.

"Excellent. See you then, Blaine. It was so nice running into you."

"You too, guys. Bye."

And with that, the four prep school boys got up and left the small coffee shop, leaving Blaine sipping at his drink which had long since gone cold. He got up and tossed the remains of his coffee in the trash, suddenly feeling a lot more wide awake than he had earlier.

On the way back to his car, Blaine suddenly looks up, right into the eyes of Finn, who had apparently just arrived with Sam. Both were glaring at Blaine with identical looks of utter disgust. Their facial expressions reminded Blaine of the Kurt he'd seen in his dream last night, the one who'd showed no emotion barring utter hatred. Without thinking, he shrank into himself slightly, crossing his arms over his chest and hunching his shoulders. Both of the other boys simply turned their gazes to the shop and walked inside, leaving Blaine alone in the parking lot. He went to his car.

As usual, the house is empty when Blaine enters. His parents are gone, probably on another one of those business trips they seem so fond of. He hasn't spoken to either of them since last nights dinner debacle, and probably won't speak to them again until they return from their current trip, which could take anywhere from four days to two weeks. He wouldn't put it past them to simply leave him alone for weeks on end without so much as a note of explanation--they'd done it before. Luckily for him, cooking and other household chores were things he'd mastered long ago, and his debit card was seemingly never ending, so he didn't want for much. Except company, of course.

He strode into the grand (and useless) foyer and deposited his keys on the hook before continuing to the kitchen. He opened the massive fridge and stared at the shelves of food. Nothing in particular jumped out at him. Eventually, he took a loaf of whole wheat bread and some cheddar cheese to make a grilled cheese sandwich. He powered up the panini maker and slid in his modest creation, closing the lid and settling in a chair to wait for the machine to ding, indicating his sandwich was ready. He remembered a story Kurt had told him once about Finn, and how he'd somehow imprinted the image of Jesus into a sandwich and called it grilled cheesus. When Kurt had originally told the story, it had been with much eye rolling and sarcastic jabs at Finn's intelligence, which had in turn prompted a great deal of laughter from Blaine. Now, though, the story failed to even bring a smile to his lips. All it did, really, was make him think about Kurt. Of course, everything made him think about Kurt; it wasn't exactly an unusual occurrence.

The panini maker dinged, and Blaine got up to put his toasted sandwich on a plate. He set it at the table as sat down, staring at it, appetite suddenly gone. After a while, he decided to just take it up to his room and eat it if he got hungry.

He strode up the steps to his room, passing magnificent decorations and paintings that he didn't even look twice at anymore. Upon entering, he sat down at his desk and pulled out his homework to begin working.

A scant hour later, he was done with his work. Blaine stood up to go to the bathroom when something caught his eye. He turned to face the object of interest, and found that it was himself, reflected back via the full-length mirror on his wall. He stopped, raking his eyes up and down his own body, his face winkling in the same expression of disgust that he'd already seen so many times today.

He lifted his shirt, grimacing at the sight of his slight belly before dropping it back down. A quick resolution was made to work out more. He glanced up at his face, and immediately wished he hadn't.

His eyes appeared sunken, the usually vibrant hazel rendered dull and lifeless by recent events. Dark purple shadows colored around them, making him look haunted. His face appeared pinched somehow, his eyebrows were less triangular. Even his lips looked chapped and more yellow than pink. He dropped his gaze to the floor, staring at his shoes. How could he expect Kurt to love someone like him? Perfect, lovely, wonderful, beautiful Kurt, with his piercing blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed and his adorable nose that scrunched when Blaine tapped it playfully. Kurt deserved better than him, he'd always known that. Maybe it was time he accepted it and moved on. It was selfish of him to try to hold Kurt down when he could have done so much better than Blaine. He didn't blame Kurt for trying to distance himself from the person in the mirror. And how had he responded? He'd cheated. God, Blaine thought, he really was an awful person, wasn't he?

Of course, there was no one there to answer his speculations.