Chapter Eight - Never Forget
Saturday 27 August, 2044

“Honey, before we turn the page,” Kurt began, his fingers stilling at the corner, “you know we don't have to.”

Blaine took a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his eyes and pinching between them. Seeing this, Kurt reached across into the top pocket of his jacket, producing Blaine's black-framed reading glasses. Blaine took them with a tight smile, and after putting them on, caught Kurt's hand with his own.

“I think it's important that we finally do,” Blaine said thickly, his voice laden with grief, and Kurt's heart broke a little for him all over again. He was still so young in so many ways. “We've always skipped it in the past, but... Everything that's in here is in here for a reason. It's all important, even the things we'd rather try to forget. And he asked me never to forget.”

Kurt squeezed his hand, and Blaine nodded mutely before turning the page.

---

Thursday 31 March, 2016

The loud rumble of an engine; the garage door closing with a screech of metal on and metal and Kurt had been awake instantly, stumbling over to the window and peeking through the blinds just in time to see Blaine's car turning the corner at the end of the street, undoubtedly heading to the nearest open bar. Seeing him without a bottle of beer hanging limply from his hand had become a rare sight over the past few days. It was past midnight and not knowing who else to turn to, he had called Finn, who had made it to Westerville in under ninety minutes. Kurt had been waiting outside the Anderson family home when Finn had arrived, and after Kurt had climbed into the car, they had driven downtown in silence.

As they got out of the car, Kurt's head whipped around in every possible direction as he searched the streets for any sign of his boyfriend.

“What the hell was he thinking, just getting up in the middle of the night and taking off?”

“His dad just died, Finn, and the funeral is,” Kurt paused, looking at his watch, “in about twelve hours, how the fuck would you feel?”

Finn froze, and Kurt realized exactly what he'd just said. “I'm so sorry, Finn,” he said, resisting the almost overpowering urge to kick himself. “I wasn't thinking.”

“S'okay,” Finn said, hands digging into his pockets. “Let's just find him and bring him home, okay? We should split up.”

Kurt nodded, feeling even worse than he had been, before taking off in the opposite direction to Finn, eyes passing over stores that were long since closed but lingering upon bars and twenty-four hour drugstores until he was positive he'd scoured every last inch.

The previous week, Blaine's father had been out to lunch with some prospective clients when he had suddenly and without warning collapsed—he had suffered a heart attack, and upon arrival at Richard M Ross Heart Hospital, was immediately put on life support. Kurt and Blaine had caught the next flight into Columbus, college be damned, and had made it to the hospital with an hour to spare. Not wanting to intrude, Kurt had paced the waiting room until Blaine had come to him with hollow eyes, asking silently to be held. Kurt cried a little, then—mostly for Blaine as he knew that the late William Anderson had never exactly approved of their relationship. After a few minutes Blaine had stood, brushing himself off and clearing his throat. “There's a lot to do,” he said, his voice sounding so flat and devoid of emotion that it had scared Kurt a little.

“Baby, are you—don't you want to talk about this?” he asked, taken aback, raising a hand to cup Blaine's jaw.

Blaine took his hand and gently lowered it back to his side, breaking contact before simply repeating, “there's a lot to do.”

The rest of the week had passed by in a blur of funeral arrangements, of family friends and relatives visiting to express their sympathies, of a Blaine who was cold and distancing himself from anything that came near. Everything about him screamed bereavement, and it was all Kurt could do not to break down every time his eyes met those of his boyfriend; orbs usually so full of warmth and love and life, now completely empty. The only time Blaine even showed any outward sign of emotion was at night. He tossed and turned all throughout the night, dozing fitfully for an hour at a time before waking again and simply lying on his back, staring into the darkness.

While Blaine was dealing with the almost endless stream of visitors and well-wishers, Kurt had, at a loss for anything else to do, busied himself with helping Mrs Anderson; dealing with the funeral directors when she had been too overcome with grief and calling as many numbers as she gave him to try and track down Blaine's older brother Cooper, who was traveling abroad. The arrangements were coming together slowly but surely, yet it was something that Kurt would never take pride in.

By Tuesday morning he had managed to reach Cooper, somewhere deep in the bowels of Italy, and felt his own voice faltering and heart breaking as he had to deliver the news of his father's death. Cooper had barely managed to hold himself together as he told Kurt he would be on the next flight home—he arrived late Wednesday evening, greeting Kurt with as warm a hug as he could muster and thanking him profusely for everything he had done. Mrs Anderson had taken one look at her eldest son and fallen to the floor, sobbing harder than Kurt had yet witnessed, and as Cooper crumpled to her side and clung to her like a boy of six, he quietly excused himself from the room.

For long periods of the day, Blaine had taken to sitting beneath the cherry tree in the back yard, guitar propped next to him as he stared blankly into the middle-distance. Kurt would watch him from the kitchen as he washed dishes, cooked meals, or worked on that stubborn spot of limescale on the drainer. He'd lost count of the number of meals he'd taken out to him that had gone untouched. Blaine's eyes wouldn't meet his when he draped blankets around his shoulders to keep him warm. Kurt would sit with him for those long stretches of early evening until the setting sun streaked the sky with colors that seemed somehow muted; Blaine was completely silent. It was as if Blaine had died, too, leaving only a vacant and brittle shell of the man he loved.

Wednesday evening, Blaine had gripped his mother's hand tightly for a brief moment before climbing the stairs to his old bedroom. Kurt had followed silently, undressing quickly and climbing into bed beside him with the least amount of disturbance possible. Blaine was lying on his side facing Kurt, pain etched across his features as Kurt tentatively took his hand.

“Sleep,” he whispered, and Blaine's eyes had closed as if he were the ship and Kurt the commander.

Kurt felt guilty for a moment at how easily he was falling into sleep's cold, waiting embrace. The next thing he knew, Blaine was gone.

His phone buzzed loudly in his hand. “Finn? Have you found him?”

“Yeah. Jimmy V's on South State Street,” came the reply. “Kurt, you need get here right now. He's... not good.”

“I'm coming.”

Five minutes later, Kurt rushed into the darkened bar, eyes frantically searching the room. He was halfway through dialing Finn's number again when he caught sight of him at the far end of the bar, half-standing, half-sitting next to Blaine, who was sinking shots like it was going out of fashion.

“Again.”

“Dude, slow down,” Finn attempted as Kurt reached them.

“Again,” Blaine rasped, slapping down a ten on the bar. It was the first time that Kurt had heard his voice in days, and it tore from his throat like it had been dragged along a dirt track.

The bartender poured out another shot of Jim Beam before replacing the bottle on the shelf. Blaine downed it swiftly with a grimace.

“I'll go bring the car around,” Finn muttered, and Kurt shot him a grateful look.

“All right, that's your last,” Kurt said firmly, taking Blaine by the arm and dragging him from the bar. Ignoring protests that he was fine, Kurt guided him outside to sit on the curb. Blaine held his head in his hands, breathing shakily.

“Nothing hurts in there,” he said, finally, voice barely audible.

Before Kurt could respond, Finn had pulled up alongside them and was helping Kurt maneuver Blaine into the driver's side backseat. His body was almost limp, and Kurt fought back the lump that had formed in his throat.

“Please don't make me go back there,” Blaine whispered as Kurt leaned over him to fasten his seat belt. “I can't, not with... Not with everything.”

Kurt said nothing, setting his jaw and willing himself not to cry. He had never seen Blaine like this before, and he was terrified that he was losing him to the dark and roiling storm inside his head.

“Hey,” Finn said as Kurt closed the door. “I don't want you to take this the wrong way or anything, but you look terrible. Do you need to come home tonight?”

Kurt took a deep, steadying breath, and shook his head. “No. Blaine needs me, this is where I need to be.”

Finn nodded in understanding. “Let's get him home, then.”

By the time they returned to the house, Blaine had lapsed back into silence. Bidding Finn a short goodbye—he, along with Kurt's dad and Carole, would be in attendance at the funeral the next day—he took Blaine upstairs, helped him get changed into his pajamas and settled him in bed. As he slid between the sheets, Blaine curled into him. Kurt held him tightly, and it was the first night of undisturbed sleep he could remember since before they had come back to Westerville.

---

Thursday dawned bright and terrible, and Blaine's head was pounding. It took him a moment before he remembered where he was and why, and then the air was knocked out of him as it all came rushing back. He sank back into the mattress, wishing he could be swallowed up until this horrible, horrible day was over. The empty space in the bed next to him was still slightly warm and smelt of Kurt, his only light in the dark and shuttered world to which he had retreated since he had witnessed that thin lifeline becoming entirely flat. That continuous, earth-shattering tone rang constantly in his ears. He felt beyond the reach of comforting words or open arms. His body moved without any conscious thought; right, left, right, left.

“Morning.”

Blaine glanced up at Kurt, who was standing in the open doorway, leaning on the frame. He was already dressed, wearing a simple black suit with a soft gray tie. His eyes slid to the left to rest on the garment bag hanging on the closet door, and he swallowed hard.

“It's almost ten-thirty,” Kurt said, crossing the room to perch on the edge of the bed. He leaned over, pressing a light kiss to Blaine's temple. “It's time.”

Blaine stood slowly, stretching as if limbering up to run the gauntlet. Eyes downcast, he ran his fingers across the thick plastic of the garment bag and unzipped it.

“Is it okay?” Kurt asked as he began turning the bed down, hoping that it would deter Blaine from wanting to get back in.

Blaine nodded. “You... The tie.”

Kurt straightened, suddenly unsure. He had been a mess of worry when he'd packed their suitcase, feeling nauseous as he made the decision to plan for every eventuality while Blaine rushed around in the background, making phone calls as he tried to gather his wits. “I brought a black one, too; I just thought that... since it was a gift from your father...”

“No, it's—it's perfect. You keep telling me that sage is my color,” Blaine said, running the tie through his fingers. Kurt approached him slowly, tentatively taking hold of his arms and kissing his bare shoulder.

Once Blaine was ready, he held tightly onto Kurt's hand as they descended the stairs into the oppressive silence of the lobby, where Cooper was waiting with Mrs. Anderson.

“Oh, Blaine,” she said, wrapping her arms around him. It took a few moments before he returned the hug. Stepping away, she adjusted his tie slightly and smoothed it down with a tearful smile, turning to Kurt. “I can't thank you enough for everything you've done for us.”

Kurt cleared his throat. “You don't need to— We're almost like family,” he said quietly, hoping it wasn't the wrong thing to say.

Fiona nodded, almost to herself. “Yes, that we are. And William was certainly beginning to think so,” she finished, before walking quickly out into the hall, motioning for the boys to follow. Blaine and Kurt exchanged a brief glance somewhere between surprise and disbelief, before joining hands and stepping out into the cool March air.

---

All things considered, Blaine mused, the service was very respectful; befitting the quiet dignity with which his father had always held himself. Kurt had made most of the arrangements, he knew, and he felt the fire of his love burning a little brighter beneath the veil of his grief. Kurt was by his side for the entirety of the service and its aftermath, even after only very briefly greeting his own family at the heavy oak doors to the church. Blaine didn't once let go of his hand; Kurt was his only anchor to the earth.

He didn't cry. His mother did. Cooper did, a little, when giving his speech. Even Kurt did, though Blaine could tell he was trying his best to hide it. He wanted to cry—needed to—but it was like something inside of him was being held far away, only numbness left behind. He drifted through the service and the journey home for the wake.

Somehow, the grandfather clock was already chiming three times, and Blaine was overcome by a wave of nausea. His father's lawyer, Jeremy Meyers, stood solemnly with his briefcase in hand. He offered his arm to Fiona, who accepted it gratefully, her grief bearing down on her like a physical weight. Cooper followed slowly, and with one last look at Kurt, Blaine made his way out of the room and upstairs to the library, taking a seat in front of the mahogany desk at which his father had often worked into the early hours of the morning. Cooper briefly laid a hand on his shoulder.

“As you are all aware,” Jeremy began, after producing a manila folder from his briefcase, “William was a shrewd and careful man. We are here to read his last will and testament, dated March first, two-thousand and sixteen.”

Blaine heard his mother gasp from behind him at the proximity of the date.

“Now, there are separate letters to each of you, which William asked that you read privately, after we have concluded,” Jeremy continued, leaning across the desk and handing each remaining member of the Anderson family a cream-colored envelope. “Shall we begin?”

Cooper and Blaine nodded in the absence of their stunned mother's assent.

“I, William Michael Anderson, residing in Westerville, Ohio, being of sound mind do hereby declare this document to be my last will and testament, and revoke all previous wills and codicils. I direct that the disposition of my remains be as follows...”

Blaine screwed his eyes shut; he couldn't listen to any more, not wanting to spend a second longer than necessary thinking about the word 'remains' and how it in no way related to his father. Nothing remained except the gnawing, churning ache deep in his gut. If he was entirely honest with himself, he had no idea how to feel about—and, therefore, go about dealing with—his father's passing. His family never had been one for really addressing the core of the issue, choosing only to scrub away the surface blemishes. Though it was true that his father had come a long way in his acceptance of Blaine, they had still had so far to go. Blaine still had so much to prove, and now he would never get that chance.

He turned his head to look out of the window, and saw Kurt laying out a blanket underneath the cherry tree before sitting down and leaning back against the trunk. The back yard was empty; it was too cold and too late in the day to spend time anywhere other than inside, yet there he was. For a while, Blaine simply watched him sit, arms wrapped around himself against the chill. He wondered for a moment why Kurt wasn't spending time with his family, but realized that it had been a big day for him, too. He had been the one making sure things went without a hitch; organizing the caterers, staff, cars and flowers. He must have been exhausted, and at that moment, sure enough, Kurt turned his head into his shoulder as he tried and failed to stifle a yawn. Blaine felt his lips curve ever so slightly upward—the first time since before the phone call that had set this whole awful week into motion.

“And finally to my younger son, Blaine,” Jeremy's voice was saying, and Blaine turned back towards him, “I leave a living allowance including tuition fees, as outlined in Section Four-A, to be used to support himself and his partner, Mr. Kurt Hummel, until October eighteenth, twenty-eighteen, at which time half of my estate—excluding all other bequests contained herein—will pass to him.”

Blaine's mind was reeling, his eyes wide. He gripped the chair's armrests with white-knuckled hands, replaying the words over and over in his mind, none of it making sense. Once more he looked out of the window, and this time found Kurt looking right back at him. After a long moment, Kurt signed 'I love you”—one of the many languages in which they had learned to say the words back in high school.

“That about wraps things up,” Jeremy was saying, gazing at them with sympathy. Fiona stood, thanking him and quickly making her excuses as she left the room, enveloped clutched tightly in her hand. Cooper soon followed, squeezing Blaine's arm as he rose, and Jeremy settled the documents back inside his briefcase as he motioned to leave.

“Thank you very much, Mr Meyers,” Blaine said, standing quickly and holding out his hand. The lawyer shook it firmly, with a nod.

“I'm so sorry for your loss. William was a dear friend,” he said, his voice betraying his true feelings for the first time. “You are so very much like him.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Though sometimes, I think of it as that he was so very much like you. You may not know it, Blaine, but you taught him a lot about the world and the way that it should work.”

Blaine fiddled with the envelope in his hands. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

Jeremy nodded once more, before departing the room and closing the door behind him.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Blaine walked around to the other side of the desk, fingertips trailing over the calendar placed squarely in the center. He sat down, remembering himself at the age of seven wondering why the chair was so big if it was made for people. Once there were giants. Using his father's letter opener, he gently eased out the pages inside the envelope and began to read, his hands shaking.

---

It's peaceful here, thought Kurt, gazing upwards through the sun-dappled cherry blossoms which had yet to begin falling. They were holding on, despite the chill breeze that made him shiver every now and then. He felt exhausted, and whenever he stopped to stifle a yawn or blink away the grit from his eyes, he felt that familiar stab of guilt. He couldn't help admitting, however, that it was nice to be taking a break away from all of the sad relatives with their prying eyes and questioning glances—especially here, under the tree that clearly meant so much to his boyfriend.

“Kurt?”

The broken-sounding voice startled him, and he looked up to see Blaine standing over him, shaking like a leaf with tears in his eyes. He was clutching a piece of paper in his hands.

“How was it?” Kurt asked softly as Blaine sat down next to him.

“Better than I could have hoped for,” Blaine said.

“How... How much better?” Kurt asked cautiously, not wanting to be insensitive but also desperate to know. Blaine smiled, but it met his eyes only for a fleeting moment.

“There'll be enough for us to live on. Comfortably. Comfortably even if we were living on the Upper West Side. And there's more—a lot more—in trust until I turn twenty-four,” he answered, taking a deep and shuddering breath. “Dad wrote a new will at the start of this month. Coop and I are each getting half the company.”

Kurt was stunned silent. The amount of times Blaine had bitterly joked about being written out of his father's will...

“He wrote me a letter,” Blaine continued. “Kurt, he—he was... He was okay with us. He was proud of me.”

Kurt turned to kneel in front of him, placing his hands on Blaine's knees and squeezing gently. “You can let it out, if you need to,” he said in a near-whisper, and that was all it took. Blaine folded in on himself; collapsing, imploding, his body racked with sobs.

“He s-said that I should follow my d-dreams; that he wants me to be a silent partner in the company unless I want to be involved,” Blaine choked out. Kurt pulled him close, heart breaking at how Blaine clung on to him. He'd known this would come sooner or later. Blaine was the king of “everything's fine”. He could do funny, romantic, happy, serious... But it wasn't in his nature to do sad in front of anyone else. “He said that I'd taught him the value of going after your dreams and he hoped that I'd do the same. He apologized for the pain he'd caused us and... And he said that he l-loves me no matter what. And that I should never... Never forget.”

Kurt fiercely fought back his own tears as he held his boyfriend, broken and bleeding, in his arms. “Just let it out,” he whispered, guiding them back to lie against the tree. As Blaine cried harder, Kurt began to sing quietly, soothingly rubbing his back and letting himself lose track of time completely.

Some time later, when Blaine had regained some control over himself and they sat in silence, he finally spoke.

“I'm so sorry for the way I've been handling things. Or not handling things,” he said, shifting slightly in Kurt's arms.

“I understand,” Kurt replied, turning his face into Blaine's hair and inhaling deeply.

“I've been so weak.”

“Hey. Blaine, look at me,” Kurt said, and Blaine's eyes finally met his own. “You are not weak. You're my hero. You have been ever since you took that slushie for me in senior year, and you still are.”

Blaine pressed himself closer into Kurt's side, whispering a thank-you into his chest.

Hesitantly, Kurt asked the question that had been playing on his mind since Blaine had emerged from the house and told him about the letter. “What was the thing that your father wanted you to never forget?”

Blaine paused, smiling a little. “It's... It's this quote. He used to say it all the time when I was younger and he still wanted me to grow up to be just like him. It doesn't even make sense, really, when you think about it. Apart from the sun, the closest star is like, four light years away. Anyway. I'd be out here climbing this tree, and he'd come out and just stand there watching me for a while. I never told you, but he planted this tree with my grandpa when he was four years old. 'Blaine', he'd say, and I'd climb down and he'd be sitting right where we are. He'd say, 'shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars. Never forget that.'”

Abruptly, Blaine sat up, having caught something out of the corner of his eye. Then another, followed by another.

“Blaine, what—“ Kurt began, and then he saw it. Blaine took his hand, an almost serene smile lighting up his every feature.

The cherry blossoms were finally beginning to fall.

---

Two weeks later, when they were home in New York and settling back into their routine, a stiff cardboard envelope arrived in the mail. The return address was that of Blaine's house in Westerville.

Blaine opened the envelope after dinner that evening and, along with a short note from his mother expressing her hope that they were well, there was a photograph. His mother explained that she and her friend Marcia had gone into the kitchen for some quiet away from the rest of the mourners, and had seen Kurt and Blaine underneath the tree, catching the falling cherry blossoms. In the photograph, they were sitting cross-legged, knees touching as they smiled at one another with their hands full of petals.

Blaine ran his fingers across the photograph as Kurt pulled him close. I'll never forget, Dad. I promise.