Kurt has work in the morning and he has to force himself to stop thinking about Blaine and Kevin possibly going out for lunch or for coffee or giggling or any of those adorable things people do when they realize they may actually like each other. He's angry. And he's jealous. And he's positively fuming. And he really shouldn't be working because he thinks he may actually rip a pretentious customer's head off when they ask for non fat, triple this, quad that.

Fuck you, lady.

"I can help the next person," he says with as much enthusiasm as possible.

He doesn't expect to see Blaine walk up to the counter, sans Kevin, and greet him with an excited smile.

"Hello, good sir!" Blaine greets happily. "I'll have a medium mocha!"

Kurt doesn't know how he missed seeing him walk in and he doesn't know how he didn't see him standing at the end of the line, so his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"What…are you doing here?" Kurt finally has enough breath to ask.

"I came to visit you, of course," Blaine grins broadly, pulling out his wallet. "Also, you don't have a coffee maker in your apartment. Which I find strange."

"I get plenty of coffee here, I don't really need it at home," Kurt tells him, still not having punched his order in the register yet. "And put your wallet away."

"I-"

"If you think I'm going to make you pay, you're delusional," Kurt says, snatching a cup and beginning to make Blaine's drink. "You're not with Kevin?"

Blaine furrows his brow, confusion reaching his hazel eyes. "No…? Why would I be? We're seeing him tonight anyway."

"Oh right," Kurt says, pretending he might have forgotten such a tiny little detail.

"When are you done with your shift?" Blaine asks him.

Kurt glances at the clock on the register as he pops a lid on Blaine's cup. "Twenty minutes." He hands it to him.

"Cool," Blaine nods, looking overly excited. "I'll just wait for you outside."

"You don't have to."

"I know," Blaine shrugs, his smile beaming. "But I want to."

He watches Blaine slip through the door and for some stupid, fucked up reason, he wants to strangle him.

He looks too damn cute with his bouncy head of curls and that t-shirt was stretched far too tight over his toned chest and his lips were too full and kissable.

Kurt groans and next to him, Caroline laughs.

"Funny," Kurt says flatly.

"He's waiting for you to get off work," Caroline states. "And he was smiling like just seeing you is the best part of his day."

"He's just being overly friendly," Kurt denies her claim. "That's how Blaine is."

"Mhmm."

"Don't even start with me, woman," Kurt warns her.

"I'm only spitting out the facts."

"Go make a latte."

Caroline laughs when she turns away from him and Kurt suppresses the urge to strangle her as well.

Twenty minutes later, Kurt sheds his apron and clocks out. Blaine is sitting outside, just like he said he'd be, taking a drink of his mocha and watching people cross the street with distracted eyes.

"What time are we supposed to be meeting Kevin tonight?"

Kurt's words seem to startle Blaine because the guy jumps like, a foot in the air and Kurt can't help but chuckle at his frightened expression.

"Jesus," Blaine breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. "Don't sneak up on me like that."

"No sneaking involved."

"There was sneaking. You were sneaking."

"You're an idiot."

"You're a sneak."

"Oh my god," Kurt laughs loudly.

Blaine smiles and sets his cup down, willing Kurt to sit next to him in the vacant chair. Kurt does so and pulls his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket.

"I like making you laugh," Blaine says to him as Kurt lights up.

Kurt cringes, almost visibly. "Don't."

Blaine recoils and the smile falls from his lips. "Don't what?"

"Do…that."

"What?"

"Act all…flirty and – and nice."

"But I'm…I'm just…being me. Around you."

"Well don't."

"What, be myself?"

"You know what I mean."

Blaine falls quiet, picking at the lid on his coffee cup. "I don't know what you want from me," he finally confesses.

"I don't know what you want from me either," Kurt tells him.

"I just want to be your friend."

And Blaine says it so quietly that Kurt can't believe he just heard it.

Friends? He wants to be friends? He wants to pick up the broken pieces he left behind and start all over? Kurt doesn't know if he can actually do that. Because being around Blaine is hard enough, sitting across him at this table on an LA sidewalk is hard enough. How is he supposed to sit there and pretend that Blaine Anderson still had most of his heart his soul his every breath?

"Why?" Kurt asks softly. "Why?"

Blaine bites his lips and looks up from his cup. "Because I don't want you to hate me anymore."

Kurt's not sure if he can give him that. He nods anyway. Though, he can't exactly say what the nod meant.

So they go home and Blaine says he'll make them lunch. While Blaine is busy in the kitchen, Kurt excuses himself and heads into his room, sure to close the door. He leans against the inside of it, breathes deeply, and then makes his way over to his closet. He reaches up and feels around until his hand connects with an old shoebox. He pulls it down and settles himself on the floor.

He lifts the lid and sets it aside.

Kurt nearly cries because Blaine's faded scent hits him full in the face and seeps into his heart and into his lungs. His hands shake as they reach inside, pulling out an old, grey, balled up t-shirt. He lifts it to his nose and inhales, gasping as his shoulders begin to tremble while he forces back the tears.

Memories are flooding back at a scarily rapid pace. He sees them having a snowball fight. He sees Blaine sick in his bed at his parents' home and Kurt brings him a mug of soup. He sees their hands clasped on a foggy spring morning and he sees their hands clasped on a hazy summer afternoon. He sees their first time, he sees unsteady hands on heated flesh and fumbling, messy kisses in the dark and soft, young sighs soaked up by thick walls.

Overcome with grief, he sets the old shirt aside and pulls out the journal, the notebook in which he'd planned their trip to Europe.

He doesn't want to read it. He lays it on the ground.

He fiddles with a small pendant in the shape of a canary that Blaine had given him when his beloved Pavarotti had passed on.

He unfolds a piece of paper, worn and soft from constant handling, the only note he'd kept.

Coffee after school? Wes and David are going to a movie with their girlfriends tonight. I can't wait to kiss you again.

That's all it said.

Kurt emits a fraught, dry sob that was more like a pained choke in his throat.

He still refuses to cry.

He drops the note and brings his hands to clutch at his chest, where he knows his heart is. He fists his hands into the fabric of his shirt and bites his lip so hard that his teeth cut through and he starts to bleed a little bit.

He doesn't want to cry, he doesn't want to cry, he doesn't want to cry.

But he hurts, he's rocking himself back and forth and it feels like his heart was just ripped out of his chest and thrown in front of an oncoming train.

Why did you leave me, he can't help but ask in his mind. I loved you so much and you just left me alone to whither away.

There's a knock on his door.

"Kurt? Lunch is ready."

He wants to vomit.

"B-be out in a minute!" he shouts through the door.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, his voice slightly muffled. "Are you okay?"

No, he thinks.

I'm broken.

"I'm fine," he replies, hastily and yet still with care, replacing the items from his past back into the shoebox.

He puts the box back on the shelf in his closet and takes a few, quivering breaths before he opens the door to see Blaine still standing there. Blaine's mouth opens and then snaps shut.

"What?" Kurt demands.

Blaine's eyes are suddenly shadowed and he looks like he's about to cry.

"You look…so sad," Blaine whispers, his eyes searching Kurt's face. "Why do you look so sad?"

Kurt shrugs and hangs his head.

Suddenly, without a single word, Blaine envelops him in a strong, affectionate hug. He doesn't ask any more questions, he just holds him. His hands are warm, wrapped around Kurt's back and Kurt releases some sort of sigh and presses his cheek to Blaine's hair, the scent of his own shampoo drifting up to assault his senses. Kurt's arms come up to wind around the smaller body in front of him and he's holding on for the sake of anything and everything.

"Don't let go," Kurt whimpers.

He wants to curls up somewhere and die after he lets those words trip over his quivering lips.

But Blaine doesn't let go. He simply holds him tighter and for at least ten straight minutes…they stay like that. They don't speak. They don't move except to hold on tighter. Kurt doesn't even know if he's breathing.

His entire world collapses when he feels Blaine's soft, chapped lips press against his neck.

When Blaine pulls away, he steals the bit of Kurt's heart that somehow still resided in his chest even after it was just wrenched from his body minutes ago.

But he doesn't say anything at all. Blaine simply brushes a stray lock of hair away from Kurt's forehead, gives him a weary smile, and leads him to that tiny table where lunch is waiting.