Chapter 3

Songs used in this chapter: 
Taylor Swift – Trouble (Music Video Interlude)
Taylor Swift – Last Time

Blaine's the first of the two to startle awake, from a dream having to do with a psychedelic wedding in the middle of Central Park.  The image of Kurt in a tie-dyed tuxedo is not as unwelcome as one might think, although Blaine has no doubt in his mind that his love looks great in anything, even after all this time.  He stares at the ceiling, counting the eminent cracks he can make out above and openly ponders if all he's had with Kurt is gone forever after the words they exchanged last night.  Santana stirs and mumbles something still not remotely English and Blaine opts to find his way to the kitchen for coffee instead of waking her up.  It's the safer scenario of the two. 

The apartment is quiet, especially for it appearing so lived in.  He looks around and bites his lip when he can't find anything of substance to eat or drink.  There's almost nothing in the refrigerator.  He peaks into Kurt's room and when it's obvious he's not home, he sneaks back into Santana's room, almost tip-toeing to maintain any reflection of grace.  He zeroes in on her keys thrown on her desk and steals them before she has a chance to see what he's up to. Waking Santana Lopez will ultimately turn into a game of twenty questions, and he really can't risk conversation before his caffeine intake. 

This is New York; there has to be some sort of nourishment for purchase nearby.

He finds his damp tee shirt that now smells of mold from the night it was balled up on Kurt's floor.  He throws it on, shuddering at the cold, uncomfortable feeling of the fabric assaulting his skin.  He ruffles his frizzed mop on the top of his head, unstyled since the downpour, and finds his glasses since he slept in the only pair of contacts he brought with him.  Appearance is not something to care about right now; Brooklyn is usually not a place of judgment. 

Apparently, Bushwick does not have a market for coffee.  There only appears to be one, ironically reminding him of his safe haven back home in Lima.  He opens the door and immediately hears a ribbon of bells identical to the one back home and he gasps as he leans back to read the sign.  He breathes in the familiar scent of ground espresso beans and a hint of cinnamon, warm vanilla, and something else that he's missing entirely and looks around suspiciously before retreating to the end of the line.  It's surreal, coming off an urban street and being transported directly into his hometown.  His brain before coffee has been rather questionable lately; there's no way he could have just walked into a New York version of The Lima Bean.

He hops to the end of the line and looks around.  As the line moves slowly but surely past the pastries and cold drinks, Blaine can't help but feel like he's right back where it all started, but when he sees this morning's special – the Blaine – he knows he's come to the right place. 

He taps his foot out to the melody of the music flowing above him, assumingly from the same exact playlist, and moves forward in the queue.  A large, burly woman with a mullet moves out of the way with her coffee-drug and there stands the most perfect, beautiful barista to have ever lived.

His eyes lock with Kurt's – Kurt, behind the counter in an embroidered navy blue Brooklyn Bean apron, an updated but similar logo to the original from years ago.  They stare at one another, never before as broken and further from each other as this moment.  Kurt breaks away and starts to prepare a croissant and a Medium Drip without a word. 

Blaine waits patiently, confident to the bone that Kurt is making what he would have asked for anyway.  He picks up a branded gift card at the edge of the cash register and fiddles with it so he's doing something and smiles at his beautiful ex-boyfriend when he comes back with his brunch. 

He replaces the giftcard where it belongs and swallows the saliva pooling in his mouth.  “Um, if you have time… come join me?” 

“Blaine.”

“If you can.  No pressure, okay?”  Blaine chews at his lip, puts a five-dollar bill in the tip jar, takes his croissant and coffee, stares at Kurt for a few too many seconds, then finally turns to search for a seat.  He's grateful for the empty table for two by a large floor-to-ceiling window, delicately decorated with a swirled design, almost as though it is a see-through mural of what his life would be like if his coffee had been laced with LSD.  He shakes off the second 1970s thought he's had today and stares at nothing in particular, allowing all the time necessary to pass until Kurt makes up his mind and convinces himself to join Blaine. 

He pets the glass that covers a slew of dried flowers, tracing each bleeding heart with his pointer.  The metaphor in this moment is almost too easy.

How did he let it get to this point, to the point where he didn't even know that Kurt bought a brand new business in New York?  When was it considered too long, too unfixable, too lost?  He's not sure what he was thinking; he can't lose Kurt now, at least not completely because if he loses him – really lets him go – he'll absolutely forget to take care of himself and it won't be pretty. 

As he sips his familiar coffee, he reminisces back to the time they were together, so deep in love that nothing else mattered.  He remembers feeling Kurt's warmth, his love resonating out of his veins and into Blaine's skin, like there was no purpose for Kurt but to supply Blaine with life.

He takes the time to watch Kurt putter around behind the counter, as he did several times before they got together, or even talked, at the original Lima Bean.  It's surreal to watch the exact same man go through identical ways to avoid him, nearly five years later and just about eight hundred miles to the east.  He can't help but frown as he compares current Kurt to the Kurt he was when he was twenty-eight, and it's like he doesn't even know him anymore.  He's still beautiful as ever, of course.  That's never going to change.  It seems, though, that the world isn't so bright for him any longer.  It feels as though he's carrying himself differently, with an added weight on his shoulder that Blaine can't help fight off this time.  He seems… different, lagging behind the rest of the world, done.

Blaine is out of his trance the instant he feels a woman trying to gain his attention.  She seems pissed off, when he looks up, that he's not answering her.  She taps him on the shoulder, blinking rapidly as if to say what the fuck, dude?

“Oh, I'm sorry.  What did you just say?”  She's suddenly invisible when Blaine notices that Kurt is directly behind the woman, holding his own coffee, coming to join him.

“Can I have this chair?  My book club… we're one short…”

“Oh!  Oh, my um, you see, my… Kurt, here, is just about to join me.  Kurt!  Hey!”  The woman raises an eyebrow at his stutter but Blaine doesn't care; he sees right through her to Kurt, his one and only, his Kurt. 

“Hey.”  Kurt smiles at Blaine and then looks over to his customer.  “How's everything, Tami?  Jonathan has a few extra chairs in the back if you can't find any.  Let him know you need one, yeah?”

Tami, the petite Brooklynnite, nods her acceptance and smiles.  “Thank you, Kurt.  Sorry to bother you and your…” She blushes and goes to excuse herself but Blaine shoots up – anything to make this forthcoming conversation with Kurt prolonged in some way, now that it's staring him in the face.

“Oh, wait.  Here.”  Blaine takes the extra chair by the armrests and walks it over to the table Tami came from a few minutes prior.  “I'll get one for you.  Go relax.”

Blaine hurries over to the counter and talks with the barista, whom he could only pray is Jonathan.  After a confirmation and the retrieval of a new chair, Blaine carries it back to their table and smiles at Kurt.

“Wow.”  Kurt smirks, having watched Blaine's every move.  “I'm impressed, B.”

Kurt's smirk is contagious; Blaine mimics him teasingly.  “What?” 

“If Tami would have asked for your chair even three years ago, she would have had a black eye by now.”

Blaine laughs.  He laughs from his belly the way he used to with Kurt, the way he hadn't since Kurt.  “Shut the fuck up.”  He grins.  He's kind of getting whiplash from Kurt; the conversation they had earlier left him feeling nervous and angry.

Kurt hides a smile by pushing at his cuticles.

Blaine focuses on his coffee so he doesn't blatantly stare at Kurt, truly more gorgeous than he remembers now that he's able to look at him fully in the sunlight shining through the window.  He looks up to Kurt watching him, a small smile escaping his lips and a slight tilt to his head.

“Hi.”

Blaine shrugs.  “Lima Bean the second, huh?  Who knew?” 

Kurt shrugs with one shoulder.  “I needed something to keep me rooted to New York.  I was so close to going back to Ohio after you left and I didn't belong there.  Actually, I just opened three weeks ago.”

“But you had the diner.”

“I needed something that was mine.”

“Understandable.”  Blaine takes a sip of his coffee and looks at Kurt again.

“Was the Navigator still there?”

“Oh shit!  I have no idea.”

Kurt grins.  He's clearly teasing, testing the waters.  “It was.  I moved it to the garage under our building this morning.  Santana can show you where it is…”

“Oh.  Thanks.”  Blaine takes another sip of his coffee, but doesn't dare lose the eye contact with Kurt.

“Blaine…”

“I'm so sorry, Kurt.  Fuck.”  Blaine reaches for his hand and sparks fly when Kurt takes it and squeezes.

“Uhhh, Kurt?”

At the call of his name, Kurt pulls away and turns around.  He's shocked to see this mysterious man ready to burst at the seams of rage, jealousy becoming more apparent as the seconds tick on.  The guy crosses his arms messily, like he's never really mastered the art of appearing eloquent.   

“Babe, you didn't call me when you got back from Indiana.”

Blaine snorts; this must be Oliver.  This is too perfect.

Kurt seems ashamed and looks down, shaking his head.  He's definitely embarrassed that he's sitting there handing Blaine, on a silver fucking platter, easy reasons why he and Oliver shouldn't be together.

Blaine clears his throat in an effort to not laugh.  He whispers.  “Sorry.”

Oliver looks to Kurt and then to Blaine.  “And you are?”

Blaine looks up and blinks.  “Just leaving.  Hummel, call me when you get rid of the boytoy.”  He gulps the rest of his coffee and tosses his trash into the garbage.  He turns to look at Kurt again.  “Kurt?”

“Yeah.”  He lifts his head. “I'll call you.”

“Okay.”  Blaine pushes the door open and pauses under the frame to take one more look at Kurt.  He turns and steps out of the coffee shop.

“Blaine!”  Kurt is standing now and can't seem to care that Oliver is watching the entire exchange.

Blaine sighs, complete with a sad smile, as he catches the door and turns around to face him.

“I'll be back to the apartment in an hour.  Don't leave without saying goodbye.”

Blaine nods and smiles.  “We don't say goodbye to each other.”  He raises his eyebrow.  “Have fun with your boyfriend, pretty boy.”

Kurt smiles his actual smile, the one that hopefully says that said boyfriend will never have a chance, and shoos Blaine away. 

Blaine rushes out of the coffee shop and tries to blend into the streets as he had two years ago.  It's so true; New York has the tendency to swallow and spit, leaving one even weaker than they began, but Blaine reminds himself that he would do it all over again for Kurt.  Of course he would; it's Kurt. 

He's ripped out of his pleasure thoughts when there's a tug on the strap of his messenger bag, dragging him back toward the person behind him who clearly needs to speak with him urgently. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”  He surges forward out of the grasp of Oliver's clammy hands, most definitely ruining the expensive leather strap against Blaine's back.  Blaine turns and laughs without humor at the sight before him. 
“Oh, you.”  He really thought he was getting mugged in the slums of Brooklyn.

“You stay away from him, dickhead.”

“Wow!  Possessive and eloquent.  Seriously, how did Kurt not find you sooner?  Oh, right.  He was busy… with me.”

“Fuck you!  Don't let me catch you near him ever again, he's mine.”

Blaine sighs and goes to walk away but quickly turns around again to approach Oliver.  He stands on his tippy-toes, trying with all of his might to at least appear taller and bigger.  “I dare you to ask him to choose.”  He says through gritted teeth.  Looking into Oliver's eyes then all the way down his body, Blaine makes it obvious he is disgusted beyond his wildest dreams. 

“He's my boyfriend.  He loves me.”  Oliver invades Blaine's space, inching in closer so they are nose to nose.  “You stay away from him.  I know exactly what you did to him.”

“What the hell do you two think you're doing!”  Kurt finally catches up, nearly out of breath, shoulders slouching and chest heaving.  He pulls them apart and holds Oliver back a bit.  “Go home, Blaine.”

Blaine backs off of them and blinks.  “He chased after me.  I was merely defending myself.”

“Go, Blaine.”

The next thing he knows, Blaine is being slammed into the brick wall behind him.  He's being brutally punched and kicked while choking on blood dripping from his mouth to the sidewalk.  He looks up at a raging Oliver who's being held back and screamed at by a terrified, wide-eyed Kurt.  Blaine wipes at his mouth, dabs at his nose, and stumbles to his feet. 

“Jesus, Kurt.  Way to reign in the tiger.”

Kurt keeps his eyes locked on Blaine, although he's still grasping at Oliver's biceps to calm him.  Blaine throws his arms up and stares back at Kurt, his bleeding face twisted in disappointment. 

“It's gonna take a lot more than that to get rid of me, Oliver Twist.”

He turns and walks away toward Kurt's apartment.

xK&Bx

“Asshole!  You had them this whole time.  I have to be at work in a half hour!  Jesus, what the hell happened to you?”

“Sorry, Striptease.”  Blaine throws the keys at her and sits on the bare couch, grinding his teeth and seriously trying with everything he is to calm down.  He lifts his shirt over his head and applies pressure to his nose.  He probably looks so small, cocooned in the couch, his head barely peeking over the arm with the lack of cushions on it. 

“Why the fuck would you throw the couch cushions into the kitchen, though, San?”

“Blaine?”  Santana's response actually sounds somewhat sincere.  There's no underlying gay sex joke at all.  Blaine absently believes that might be the first time she doesn't tease him about something related to his sexuality since he got his ankle bracelet off years ago.  Since before he stopped being her client.

“Why didn't you tell me about the Brooklyn Bean or whatever the fuck?”  There's a beat when Santana shrugs and Blaine sighs dramatically.  “I met Douchebag.”

“Wait!  Oliver?  He hit you?  Where's Kurt?”

“I don't know, probably making sure his boyfriend calms the fuck down before I fucking kill him.”  There's a beat.  “I don't think this is going to work, honestly.”

“Anderson, Oliver is just a distraction so Kurt could stop crying over you; trust me.  Shit, I really have to get to work and I'm already late.  Hang out here and I'll call you as soon as I get settled in.”

Blaine shrugs and smiles, although the twitch in his lips would probably set Santana off a cliff if there was one available.  “I think it's really over.  He's so… Kurt's so different and it's breaking my heart.  Again.”

“Dude, seriously?  That's who Kurt is without you in his life.  That's who he was in high school and pretty much leading up to the time he met you.  Now he's stuck here without you, paranoid that Christian or even fucking Eddie is going to find him and he's gonna be done for.”  She claps twice and sits next to him to hug him from the side.  He brings his arm up and his head over to rest against hers for a second.  “We'll figure it out, if that's what you still want,” she says and kisses his temple.  “I'll call you as soon as Kurt leaves so we can talk freely.” 

“You fucking work there, too?  Santana!  You are supposed to tell me these things!”

“Love you, lover boy! Don't hate me!”  She slams the door behind her and Blaine is once again left with the awkward silence he's never gotten used to, living alone.  He stares at the dark television screen, not really seeing it.  He curses himself for meeting Kurt in the first place, not because it wasn't a beautiful relationship while he had it, but because it has caused so much despair for Kurt.  Because of Blaine, Kurt is in New York, miserably looking over his shoulder after every step for Blaine's father or the one person that could have ever made him leave New York in his past life.

Blaine knows a bit about Eddie, having been told the whole story about him while trying to fall asleep one of their first nights in New York years prior.  He knows that he abused Kurt and left him for all he was worth, using his body as just a basic hole.  He knows that Kurt left New York the first time to run away from Eddie.

Even worse than all of that, Kurt willingly returned to New York because Blaine made promises he couldn't keep, like every word he'd ever said to Kurt was store-bought and generic.  Blaine feels horrible for leading his love into an environment probably still poisoned from before.

He finds the flannel pants he borrowed from Kurt again and one of Kurt's tee shirts he must only use to lounge in.  He walks to the kitchen and trashes his own shirt (God, does he have a great amount of previous experience of getting blood out of clothes; he just doesn't want to deal with it now and in somebody else's sink) then moves to replace the couch's cushions, haphazardly thrown anywhere as Santana turned the place upside down looking for her keys.  He runs around the apartment straightening up the way he always had when he lived with Kurt, stopping abruptly when he realizes it's not his place to keep up with.  He sits back on the couch staring at the screen again, contemplating just leaving and never looking back.

He gets up and explores Kurt's area a bit, shamelessly petting an old picture of them that very first Thanksgiving that's still up, taped next to Kurt's dream board.  There is also a suspicious piece of folded up and lined loose-leaf paper pinned almost as a border to the picture.  He moves both of them down off the wall and unfolds the paper carefully.

It's Kurt's handwriting, he'd know that from a mile away.  He reads it because he can't put it down, so much so that it might have been coated in super glue waiting for hands to latch on.

I think… I think when it's all over, it just comes back in flashes, you know?
It's like a kaleidoscope of memories.  It just all comes back.  But he never does.
I think part of me knew the second I saw him that this would happen.
It's not really anything he said or anything he did, it was the feeling that came along with it.
And the crazy thing is I don't know if I'm ever going to feel that way again, but I don't know if I should.
I knew his world moved too fast and burned too bright. 
But I just thought, how can the devil be pulling you toward someone who looks so much like an angel when he smiles at you?
Maybe he knew that when he saw me.
I guess I just lost my balance.
I think that the worst part of it all wasn't losing him, it was losing me. 

Blaine finds himself sobbing on the floor of Kurt's bedroom.  The sting of Kurt's words, the way it burns as the knife twists in the worst angle possible, it's all unbearable beyond belief and for that, Blaine cries.  Two years ago, the last thing Blaine would have ever wanted to do was intentionally hurt Kurt, and he managed to keep digging deeper every single day he stayed away. 

xK&Bx

“Santana!  Where is Santana?  I'm going to kill her.  She's late.”  Kurt stands up from double-checking that Blaine didn't hit Oliver back. 

This is like his worst nightmare. 

He's on the verge of tears, digging in his pocket for his phone just as she slams into the door, twirling into the coffee shop like Sonic the Hedgehog. 

“What the hell, man!  Watch where you're going, and welcome to Bushwick!”  She curtsies to a tourist, clearly lost, and quickly scans the room, obviously looking for Kurt.  She drops her shoulders when they lock eyes.  “Hey.  Sorry!  Blainers stole my keys while I was sleeping and I couldn't find them until him and his bloody face and black eye came dancing through the door twenty minutes ago.  Care to explain that one?  Because he refused.”  Kurt watches as she gives Oliver the best possible disgusted face, although the question was directed to Kurt.  When he has seemingly gone mute, she disappears to the back, muttering a slew of profanities in Spanish.

“Well!  Now that my trusty Assistant Manager is officially here, you'll be okay?”  Kurt tilts his head at Oliver, and when he nods, Kurt follows Santana to the back room to grab his computer.

“Kurt.  What the fuck-”

“San, please not now.  I need to go make sure he's okay.”  Kurt cuts her off, complete with a pointed look, as he works diligently to pack up as quickly as possible.

“Kurt!  Oliver is fucking fine.  Apparently, he's the one who started it and he's the one who should be bleeding all over our couch right now.”

“I am not going to check on Oliver, Santana.”

“Oh.  Well.  I still think you could potentially be ruining your life with all of this drama.”

“Blaine ruined it when he moved across the country without so much of a conversation with me to see what I thought about it.”  There's a beat.  “I can't talk about this again, San.”

“He's here now.  He is across the country from where he usually is.  Now.  For you.”

“Which is why I need to go make sure he's okay.  Thanks for caring.  I know it all sounds so ridiculous, like I should just drop everyone else and run straight to Blaine, but…”  He shrugs.

“You're not running straight to anyone, Hummel.”

Kurt shakes his head and laughs without sound.  “That was the easiest and I'm offended you even went for it.  See you later.”  He kisses her cheek and rushes out, pointedly ignoring Oliver's call out to him to wait up.  He sprints all the way home and rushes through the door and up the stairs, franticly needing to be in front of Blaine.

xK&Bx

Kurt likes Oliver enough, just possibly not as much as Oliver likes Kurt.  There is certainly a possibility for the relationship to get serious and comfortable, but it's only been four months.  He's officially made the decision that he'll say no to the proposal simply because Oliver is not Blaine, but he needs to let him down easy and he's never been in this situation before.  He really needs to think it through. 

Besides, Blaine present in New York fighting for him has definitely thrown him for a loop.  He needs to think about everything going on with Oliver without any distraction, and Blaine Anderson is the epitome of the word.

He rushes home and hopes to God that Blaine has ears that work properly and that he actually listens to Kurt's suggestion of waiting for him.  He prays to a god he doesn't believe in that he'll find beautiful, petite Blaine sitting on his couch, cleaned up from before, waiting patiently so they can discuss all of the drama they need to get through and they can get on with their lives together.  He's not entirely sure why he's ditching his current boyfriend for his ex; there's really no explanation besides that jumble involving a magnet or a yin yang or something supernatural, superficial, fake.  Regardless, he takes the stairs two at a time and swings the door open with force only to find an unfortunately empty and lonely apartment.  He falls to his knees and blinks away empty tears.  He feels as alone as he did the day he heard the door slam on 70th street, but he picks himself up and finds his way to the kitchen for a cup of tea anyway, eventually forgotten when he can see Blaine's handwriting stuck to his refrigerator.

I went to the condo… needed the piano.  Please meet me there.  Please.  xx – B

Kurt may not know Blaine so well anymore, but he knows that Blaine only needs his piano when he needs to get in touch with the deep, dark feelings he stores away for his lowest moods.  He plays the piano to make sure he can still feel something.  Kurt had been well aware of this fact since the beginning, since Blaine was just a teenager trying to win Kurt over.  He needs to check on Blaine right away.

Kurt still loves Blaine, of that he's absolutely sure.  He is not, however, positive that jumping right into a relationship with Blaine is exactly what either of them need right now.

On the cab ride to the Upper West Side, Kurt decides what he needs to do.

His key hasn't budged from his key ring since they moved in together four years ago.  He waves shyly to the doorman and leads himself to the elevator, checking his hair in the mirror on the way upstairs.  He allows himself into the condo and heads straight to the back, all of his surroundings utterly unchanged and eerie and theirs, and he leans on the doorframe as Blaine pours his soul out onto the keys of his baby grand.

This is the last time I'm asking you this,
Put my name at the top of your list,
This is the last time I'm asking you why,
You break my heart in the blink of an eye.

Kurt pushes off the molding and sits next to Blaine on the crushed velvet bench identical to the one Blaine left behind in Ohio.  The piano sits next to the window overlooking Broadway and Kurt waits patiently as Blaine goes through the last eight-bar of the song, slower than originally scored, gazing out into the crowd below. 

If you love something, let it go…

“Kurt, I-”

“Wait, let me see you.  Are you okay?  He hit you pretty hard.”

Blaine turns his body to face Kurt's, slouching over himself ever so slightly.  Kurt can't help but stare at Blaine's pitiful face, wearing every emotion he's feeling at the tip of his nose.  Blaine, beautiful and distant Blaine, with red-rimmed eyes and a wet tear falling down his cheek.  Kurt's beautiful Blaine is sitting in front of him, at the end of his road and ready to give up all because of him.  He lifts his hands to smooth Blaine's curls as flat as they'll go and smiles. 

“Talk to me, honey.  You're okay?”

“I'm fine.  I didn't start it.”

“I know you didn't.  There's not a mark on him.”

Blaine sighs and looks down to his hands.  His fingers, visibly shaking, are doing nothing for his confidence and he exhales all the air out of his lungs, quivering with each nerve splitting in two.  

“Blaine, I'm… I-”

“For the first time ever, it feels over.”

“Honey.”  Kurt curls his own fingers around Blaine's forearm and squeezes as a form of acknowledgement. “Look at me.”

Blaine is crying, his shoulders insecure and jittery with each sob escaping.  “I can't do that, Kurt.”

“Blaine, look at me.  Let me see your eye.  I need to make sure he didn't hurt you too much.”  He pushes his fingers under Blaine's chin and lifts up and forward.  Blaine finds his eyes, but shifts away quickly.

“Kurt.  I miss you.”

Kurt tilts his head and examines Blaine's eye, ensuring that there are no damaged blood vessels.  “I love you, okay?  I will never, ever, ever, ever love anyone else as I have loved you, but Blaine. Honey, I can't… I honestly cannot trust you when you say you'll never hurt me… again.  At least, not yet.”  He takes a deep breath, letting the words bleed into Blaine's soul so that maybe he'll understand what he's trying to say. After a few seconds, Kurt continues.  “It was so unfair of me to call you after… I'm so sorry.  I wasn't thinking at all.  Please help me make this easiest for both of us and let me let you go.  We deserve so much better than a constant state of wondering if we were ever good for each other.”

“Kurt.  Please.”  Blaine tries to catch his breath but fails miserably.  “Pretty, please don't do this.  I can't… it hurts.  Oh God, it hurts.”

This is like the conversation that should have happened two years ago, but entirely opposite.

Kurt gets up and reaches into his pocket, unraveling his keychain, and places the key to the condo on top of the piano.  He sits back down next to Blaine, straddling the piano bench with one leg on each side horizontally.  He palms Blaine's thighs and leans into him.  “Blaine.  Stop with the helplessness.  That's not you.  You are going to go on and do such great things; I'm just going to be a blip on your radar.  You'll see.  I'm letting you go because I love you.  You have to let someone else in, baby.”

“Don't leave me, don't do this to us.”

“You left me, and I've forced myself to move on since.”

“I'm sorry, fuck I'm so sorry.”

“There is so much better out there for you than silly, old me.  I love you and that's why I need to say goodbye.  Do you understand what I'm telling you?”

“No.”

Kurt laughs through his tears.  “Listen, smart ass.”  He tilts his head and looks at his ex again.  “I don't want to, but I have to.  I love you, I love you so much, it has to happen this way even if I'm settling.  I'm not marrying him though, so... just know that.”

“This doesn't make any fucking sense.  We're both unhappy… without each other, so why the fuck… why are we without each other?  Please let us try again. I need you, Hummel.  You said that you'd always-”

“Every single thing ever that you want, you'll get.”  Kurt stands and pushes a kiss into Blaine's curls, inhaling slightly, closing his eyes to remember this moment until the end of time.  “Take care of yourself for me.”  He straightens his back and stares at Blaine's crouched shoulders for the last time ever.  He sighs and turns, exiting Blaine's life and breaking every promise they ever held for each other since the beginning of Kurt and Blaine.