“When do I get my surprise?” I asked, overly eager, a state I had been in for a week since Kurt had mentioned the possibility of a belated birthday present.

“Tomorrow,” Kurt said, looking quite pleased with himself.

It was the first time he had actually given me any form of an answer. Excitement bubbled up underneath my skin. I had spent days upon days attempting to guess what it was, my mind creating outrageous scenarios, ranging from puppies to a getaway somewhere in the Virgin Islands. I never asked him what it was, though, only when it was to be gifted.

When tomorrow finally became today, I was more effervescent than I can ever recall being in my life. I woke far earlier than Kurt, which was always hard to do, and made us both a pot of coffee. I sliced up some strawberries and we ate them with toasted croissants and cups of orange juice.

“Should I dress up?” I asked him as he gathered his bag and headed for the door.

“Hm,” he said, pausing for effect. “I think you should probably dress down, actually.”

My smile faltered somewhat, but rekindled itself when Kurt kissed me goodbye and walked out the door. I wondered if it could be like this all the time, they way it was before, with kisses and breakfasts and happiness. Maybe I just had to let myself see it, let myself feel it, and let Kurt back into my heart. We hadn’t argued in ages.

Perhaps I was finally doing something right.

I spent the entire day humming as I cleaned, grinning over our dirty breakfast dishes and I even allowed myself an hour or so to watch some television. I felt lighthearted, carefree, and I thought I was falling in love all over again.

Dressing down, however, proved to be a problem. I was still unsure as to the meaning, but it obviously meant I was to forego the suit jacket and tie. Instead, I pulled on a nice pair of jeans, a pair that always made Kurt get this dark, hungry look in his eyes, and a soft, blue button-up that made me feel a little taller. I made sure I smelled lovely, just enough cologne to entice but not enough to smell like I had bathed in the stuff.

Thinking back on it, I know I tried too hard.

My room here is still furnishing itself. The atmosphere doesn’t seem so heavy or sad, not that I can feel either of those things. Maybe I’m not explaining it very well. I’m sorry, I never was very good at explaining things.

It’s a little lighter here, like morning sunrays filtering in through an open window even though the sky is still dark with little white stars that shine like diamonds on a black and purple, glossy background. The sleek, leather couch remains beneath the window and the murals look to tell a story now. Sitting on the corner of the glass coffee table, the one that so reminds me of the one in Kurt’s apartment, is a small bowtie.

I don’t know what it means. It seems like an innocuous thing, or maybe it’s something Kurt might have worn when he was younger. I just can’t be sure.

Also, a small table has cropped up near the end of the sofa.

There’s an empty birdcage perched atop it.

Nothing makes sense here anymore.

I leapt from the sofa the moment Kurt walked through the front door later that evening.

“Blaine?” he called.

“I’m here!” I answered excitedly.

“Okay, go into the kitchen and close your eyes,” he instructed. “I have to set some stuff up.”

Nodding vigorously, I darted into the kitchen, my fingers trembling with excitement because it was so nice to feel something that wasn’t that soul aching, hollow depression I had been caught up in. I heard Kurt whispering, followed by the sound of another’s footsteps following him toward the bedroom. Someone must have had to help him set up my surprise, I reasoned with myself.

I only opened my eyes when I felt Kurt’s hands settle on my shoulders.

“Now,” he said, guiding me out of the kitchen and through the living room. “Maybe it’s a little unorthodox. But I think it’s something you’ll really like. And I know it’s something I’ll like if you like it.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” I told him as he led me down the hallway and to the closed bedroom door.

“Well, I think it is,” Kurt said.

He reached in front of me and pushed open the door.

My heart sank.

There were no candles, no rose petals, nothing out of the ordinary save for a man I had never seen. He was stretched out across our bed, clad in nothing but a pair of tight, Diesel brand boxer briefs and he was palming his half-hard erection through his underwear.

“I – I don’t understand,” I said honestly.

“I got him for you,” Kurt explained, stepping around me and into the room. “He’s yours for the next hour.”

I stared down at the strange man in our bed who returned my gaze with a lazy, crooked smile. It took a moment for me to realize that Kurt had actually…purchased a prostitute. Or an escort. I was a bit fuzzy on the terminology, but it boiled down to the fact that Kurt had paid for someone to come into our bedroom and have sex with me for an hour. I watched as Kurt bent over and brushed a lock of light hair out of the man’s face before looking back to me with bright eyes.

“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Kurt asked.

“Y-yeah,” I answered because he was. He was very…good looking. He was tan and his blonde hair accentuated that aspect. His abs were the kind you only ever see in underwear commercials and I briefly wondered if he ever was an underwear model at some point in time. The man was tall, lean, and toned in all the right places and he was laid out for me like a delicacy on a silver platter.

“Don’t be shy,” Kurt said gently, taking my hand and leading me over to the bed. “He won’t bite. Not unless you want him to.”

I wished he would, because at least I’d have had a reason for saying I didn’t approve of the entire thing.

“Just relax,” Kurt advised, bending over and unlacing my shoes.

At least I finally understood exactly what ‘dress down’ meant.

I allowed Kurt to slip off my shoes and socks. I think I was pretty numb to everything else, even the strange man’s smile as Kurt urged me onto the bed beside him. I remained very, very still until I realized that Kurt was seating himself on a chair in the corner of the room.

“You’re-” I had to swallow to wet my dry throat, “you’re going to watch?”

“Of course,” he answered. “You know I’m not fond of sharing. But this is for you.”

I nodded, knowing that I couldn’t get out of this, not without making Kurt angry.

So I let him touch me. I let him undress me and I let him lick long, wet lines down the column of my throat. He never kissed on the mouth and I assumed it was against company policy or something. I let him peel away my underwear while I snuck a peek to Kurt, taking in his heated gaze while he peered over his balled fist in front of his face, looking completely at ease with his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair. I let the man whose name I never learned reach between my legs and stroke me until I hardened enough to make it seem like I was enjoying everything. I couldn’t help it, not really. I was still a man and it was still stimulation.

Trying to join in on the escapade, I placed my nervous hands on his back while he sucked a bruise into my shoulder. It had felt nice. But it wasn’t what I wanted. Kurt was the only one I ever wanted to share my body with but his hard, hot gaze hinted that he was content to sit on the sidelines and watch it all go down.

I let him stretch me with his fingers.

I let him roll me over and tug me down the bed.

And I let him have sex with me.

The sex wasn’t horrible. I still gasped and squirmed when he brushed that spot inside of me that only Kurt had ever touched. It still felt good.

But I didn’t come.

Maybe because I hadn’t really wanted to.

When the man spent himself into the condom, he pulled out of me and backed away with a kiss to the base of my spine. He climbed off the bed and dressed himself. Just as he was about to leave, he leaned down and whispered into my ear and said:

“Try getting more into it next time. They like when you do that.”

And he left.

Kurt followed him out, presumably to pay him, and I stood and dressed myself as well. I felt numb and stiff, like I hadn’t just been spread out over a bed with someone else inside me.

I could only hope that Kurt enjoyed watching, even if I wasn’t all that keen to participate.

I padded barefoot into the living room to see Kurt leaning back against the front door, eyes closed and lips stretched into a thin line.

“Hey,” I said awkwardly. I couldn’t help it. It was awkward. It was really, really awkward.

“I hope you had fun,” he said, his tone cold and full of venom.

“W-what?”

“Do you think that was fun for me?” he asked, opening his eyes to glare in my direction.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered. “He said I should have tried to get more into it, but I just – it was my first time with anyone that wasn’t you and I-”

“I just watched my boyfriend get fucked by another guy for half an hour,” Kurt states, like I didn’t know.

“But, I mean, I thought that was what you wanted!”

“If I had just wanted to watch you get fucked, I’d have dragged Julian home from the office! At least I know I’d enjoy watching him.”

“What – but he – I thought you hated him,” I gasped. “What does he have to do with anything? Why would want him to – you said he was the one you caught in bed with your ex.”

“Oh, please,” Kurt scoffs. “Are you actually that naïve?”

“What’re you-”

“Julian didn’t sleep with Harrison,” Kurt reveals. “I slept with Julian. I slept with him and we got caught and Harrison fucked off to wherever.”

I stood, frozen to the spot and completely dumbfounded. Kurt had lied to me. He had lied, flat out. Bile rose in my throat, hot and acidic and I nearly vomited on the spot. If Kurt had lied about that, what else had he lied about? What life have I been living these past few years? Why is this happening to me? What did I do wrong to deserve such spite, such horrible, horrible words?

“I – I can’t believe-”

“You were supposed to let me join,” Kurt told me, striding over toward me. “You were supposed to bring me in. You think I actually wanted to just sit there at watch some stranger, a very good looking and expensive stranger at that, pound you into the mattress?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted!” I shouted at him. “You could have just told me what-”

“You should have known!” Kurt screamed into my face. I'd never seen him so angry, not even when he made me pick up the glass from all those broken vases. I'd never seen such hatred, such fire in his eyes and this was it, this was where everything crashes, this was where it ended. I just knew it. “You’re my fucking boyfriend, you should know these things by now!”

“Well I didn’t!” I admitted in a screech filled with terror. “I didn’t know! Do you – do you think I actually enjoyed doing that?”

“Obviously not, considering you just laid there like a dead fish,” Kurt snorts. “Jesus, you could have at least given me a good show!”

“Fuck you, Kurt!”

And he slapped me. It stung more than the bile still creeping up my throat.

“I gave you everything!” he hollered, advancing on me as I stumbled back and away from him, rigid with fear. “I give you a nice place to live and brand new clothes! I gave you money and I gave you sex and you think you can talk to me like that? You think you can just treat me like I’m nothing? I gave you everything! Every fucking thing! I gave you a room so you could hole yourself up like some wretched, disgraceful recluse! I gave you space and time and nice things and flowers! I gave you everything!”

“You took away everything I ever had!”

My head throbbed, my cheek burned, I tasted blood inside my mouth from where my teeth had cut my lip when he smacked me. Everything was falling apart. Kurt was a liar and he was mean to me. He was so mean to me and as soon as I yelled at him that one last time, he shoved me back with too much force for me to keep my balance.

I stumbled, toes catching on the edge of the rug, and I fell back.

I smashed the side of my head against the sharp edge of that perfect, pristine coffee table and a sickening crack echoed throughout the room as the corner punctured my hairfleshbone and –

And everything went black.

I died instantly. The damage was irreparable. I lost too much blood. The corner of that coffee table dug straight into my skull and I was dead.

I was dead.

Dying wasn’t so bad, though. It was really quick. I think my cut lip hurt more, just because I didn’t really get the chance to feel myself dying.

So that’s the story of how I died. I don’t know if you’re still listening. It was a long story, I suppose. My funeral was probably better than my life. At least I got the chance to feel loved, even if it was just for a little while, even if it wasn’t real. I’m sorry if it was anticlimactic for you. It wasn’t something I was really expecting, but that was my life. It might not mean anything to you, but it meant everything to me.

I think the important thing, though, is that…I know it wasn’t me. Looking back on it all, I never did anything so bad to warrant the slaps or the shouts or the glass in my palms. Perhaps I trusted too quickly and too easily, but if that’s my only fault, then I guess I turned out alright.

I can breathe now. I can look around the little room that heaven has made for me and I can breathe. I can look upon a vase full of red and yellow roses and be curious without feeling heavy. I can see the empty birdcage and I can lounge on the leather sofa and I know that I’ll be okay.

I’ll be okay.

A door appears. The knob turns. I tilt my head in confusion as it opens, and I am confused, I can feel it. I feel again, though the emotions are new and slight.

Someone walks through the door.

It’s Kurt.

But I’m not afraid. He looks different, younger perhaps, without the lines around his eyes. His smile is easy and adoring. It isn’t a smile I’ve ever seen on his face before, but he holds out his hand and waits patiently in the doorway.

“You promised you’d come to the funeral with me,” he says simply.

Unable to stop myself, as if I’m drawn to his energy, I stand and take his hand. I figure it’s a nice version of Kurt, a version where his hands never harm and only heal because his palms are so soft and maybe this nice version of Kurt is going to take me to watch my funeral. Maybe, when I was watching my funeral earlier, I was there next to Kurt but I just couldn’t see myself.

He leads me through the doorway and I bid farewell to the room that heaven built as I’m immediately engulfed by a blinding flash of white light, the kind of light I figured I would have seen when I died.

The light collapses. I squint into the sun, peering around to find myself in a field. I’m standing next to Kurt and it’s fairly cold outside. We’re dressed in heavy, black coats. I peer down to see a grave. Of course it’s a grave, it is a funeral, after all.

But it isn’t my grave. The mound of dirt at our feet is most certainly too small to be my grave.

And the headstone. That’s not my headstone.

“It’s not just that, though,” Kurt is saying. “Honestly, I’m upset that we lost at Regionals.”

“The competition season’s over, but we’ll still get to perform,” I say, though I don’t know why I say it or how I know to say it. “We do nursing home shows all the time. And do you know how many Gaps there are in Ohio? Tons.”

I see Kurt smile; though it’s slightly strained, it’s still there and it comforts me in a way I never knew his smile could. I must be doing something right.

“Yeah, I just really…really wanted to win,” Kurt says as he tosses a rose on the tiny grave.

Just below a headstone that says ‘Pavarotti’.

All at once, I know that Pavarotti is a small, yellow canary and I know that I’m in high school and this tie around my neck, it means I go to Dalton Academy. I know that Kurt and I just shared our first kiss and I remember being nervous but going in for the kill despite it all. I know that Kurt sang ‘Blackbird’ in honor of the little bird at our feet and I know –

I know that this is a new beginning.

“You did win,” I say, meaning every word. “So did I. We got each other out of all this. That beats a lousy trophy, don’t ya think?”

Kurt’s smile in response is true and young, adoring and precious, and all of the pain and helplessness from my past life drifts away into the breeze as I reach out my hand.

And I know Kurt will take it. When he does, we turn and walk away, me smiling up into the setting, evening sun. I forget all about the room that heaven built and the glass coffee table with too-sharp edges. I fill my heart with bowties and yeah, maybe a sad empty birdcage.

But empty things can be filled with new memories when you’re granted a second chance at happiness.