"Kurt? Baby?" Blaine called out, half-asleep by his side.

Kurt quickly exhaled, still shaken.

Blaine drowsily sat up, his eyes landing on the fragile silhouette.

"Another nightmare?"

Kurt silently nodded although Blaine did not need an answer. It was like this every night.

"Baby, you know I'm not going back for a while."

Illuminated tears continued to spill from Kurt's ducts, lacing his porcelain cheeks with drops of twinkle.

Blaine wrapped his arms around Kurt, allowing him to sob into his shoulder. He coyly played with his hair, counting to ten at an attempt to soothe the weeping boy.

"What was your dream about?" He asked softly, now that Kurt wasn't gasping for air.

Kurt clutched onto him tighter, "It was about y-you. But this time, you-" Another round of sobs croaked out of his mouth, Blaine winced at seeing him so hurt, so affected. "You d-didn't come b-back this t-time."

More gasps racked through his body. Blaine pulled him closer. "I will always come back." He sighed, shaking his head, "You shouldn't have to deal with this."

Kurt whimpered into Blaine's warm torso, "I miss you so much."

Blaine smiled, "I miss you infinitely."

Oh what a lovely dream Kurt was having.

Kurt woke up with a shock. It had all seemed so real.

So concrete.

So attainable.

But no one was there to hold him. No one was there to comfort him. No one was there to keep him from falling apart.

He shuffled out of bed meekly, not having enough energy to look at the empty space beside his bed. The familiar Lima traffic- or lack there of- glared through his shutters and filled the lonely silence.
Kurt sighed, I should be in New York right now.

It killed him. Oh yes it did. He couldn't so even see a picture of the city without breaking down. Envy seeped out of his pores at the thought of all the civilians currently living there who were most definitely complaining about the population or economy.

Ungrateful jerks, one side of the boy thought.

Just hold in there. One more year, the other countered.

Nonetheless, he made his way out of his bedroom, but quickly halted at the calender.

Still three more weeks, Kurt inhaled fearfully, as if the number of days would somehow magically increase if he looked away.

"Kurt! Breakfast's ready!" Burt Hummel called from the kitchen.

Kurt dragged his feet over to the kitchen, plopping down on the familiar wooden chair located in front of the matching table.

Burt scanned his son over, grimacing at his delicate state. It hurt him to see his child this weak. However, he put on a smile, "How was your sleep? You didn't wake up screaming this time, so that's a plus."

Kurt shuddered at the nightmare and how real it had seemed. How much it taunted him. Yet he simply shrugged his shoulders.

Burt eyed him a little more closely, examining the dark violet bags under his eyes, and the loose fit on his already small pyjamas.

"Are you sure you're okay?"
Kurt quickly pulled his sweater tightly to his chest at an attempt to silence the worry in Burt's eyes.

"Yes, I'm fine. And I'm sick and tired of people treating me like I'm some delicate piece of china that is going to break at any moment."

Burt winced at the truth and venom in his statement. "We just care about you, Kurt."

Kurt rested his head in the crook oh his arm. "I know. I know. I'm-I'm just tired. I've been having troubles sleeping ever since..."

"He left." Burt finished. Kurt thanked him silently for not saying his name.

Burt placed two pieces of jam toast in front of him. Kurt tentatively picked one up, taking a bite and forcing himself to keep it down.

"Well, on the bright side, that apartment in New York is for sale now, so I was thinking maybe we could spend a bit of time tonight talking-"

"I don't want to live there if I'm not with him." Kurt cut him off, avoiding eye contact.

"But-" Burt began.

"We both picked it out. It's just...it wouldn't feel right." Kurt spoke sadly.

Burt gently sat down beside him and placed an unwelcome arm around his back; affection from his father was the last thing Kurt wanted.

"I know you're going through a hard time right now, but it's not always going to be like this. Besides, when's the next time you're going to see him? Three weeks?" Kurt nodded. He continued, "Bud, you're nineteen years old. You're still figuring things out. So is he. Just give it time. You'll see him soon."

Kurt inclined his head slightly, giving off the impression of contemplation, when really he was attempting to force down more unwilling pieces of toast. He got up from the table swiftly, thanked his dad for breakfast, and got dressed, wanting to visit the only person who'd understand. Rachel.

Kurt anxiously rung the doorbell, his fingers trembling at the thought of spending another day alone.

Suddenly, an apprehensive figure with kind eyes appeared in front of him, "Kurt? What are you doing here this early?"

Kurt guiltily looked down at his Rolex watch: 6:48 am appeared in flashing numbers.

"Oh, Rachel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come this early..."

Rachel shrugged, "Nonsense. Come in, I was just about to make some smoothies."

Kurt looked around the room, surprised to see Finn absent. "Finn at practice?"

Rachel promptly met his eyes as she chopped up fresh strawberries. "Yes. He's been so busy lately. The coach has really been working him hard. Preparing him for first string. I just-" She stopped chopping, gloomily staring into the distance, "I just, I hope in a way he doesn't get it. So him and I could move to New York like you and I had planned..." She continued her routine quickly, "I know that's really selfish-"

Kurt interrupted, "No. No, it's not. I know what you mean. Sometimes I wish that Blaine would give it up, but I know that he wouldn't. He's just too good of a person too."

He was fine using his name around Rachel. It was comfortable to. They understood each other. They suffered together.

"Can I tell you something?" Rachel asked quietly, her breathing becoming ragged.

"Of course." Kurt replied.

"I-I, I'm thinking of leaving Finn if this works out for him."

"Wow, Rachel..." Kurt began, shocked yet unsurprised by this sudden announcement; he knew it would be coming.

Rachel cut him off, attempting to justify her statement,

"It's just, I'm not happy here. I didn't want anyone to hold me back, of course not. But Finn said that the scout was just going to have a meeting with him. Then a meeting turned into a try-out. A try-out turned into a practice. A practice turned into a secure spot. And a secure spot is turning into first string." Her eyes fluttered down and her voice broke, "I'm suffocating, Kurt."

Kurt hugged her warmly, his mouth next to her ear as he whispered, "I am too, Rachel. I am too."

Later that night, Kurt excitedly turned on his laptop, anxiety pumping through his veins. Once the home screen had loaded, he hastily plugged in his webcam and waited for Blaine- halfway across the world- to do the same.

Blaine Anderson has requested a video chat with you.

The mouse almost broke at the force that Kurt used to hit Accept with.

Connecting your call, one moment.

He used this time to fix any stray hairs and to calm his over-zealous heart.

Call successful. Connection is stable.

Abruptly, an all too familiar face appeared in a medium-sized box on his computer.

His eyes were golden and friendly, his dark curly hair free from pounds of gel, his face was bruised in specific areas- accompanied with a split lip, but his mouth turned into a gleaming grin full of hope, kindness, and love.

It was Blaine.

Overwhelming tears of relief poured down Kurt's porcelain cheeks. Blaine was alive.

Blaine wiped his eyes, attempting to suppress the flood of tears falling down his chiseled face. Kurt was safe.

And for a minute, they simply sat there, scanning the other's face, tears falling down their own.

"Hi, stranger." Kurt said first as he subtly pinched himself, wanting to ensure that this was not another dream.

Blaine's eyes grew big, "Hi."

They both laughed lightly as the world around them grew more and more obsolete.

"How-how have you been?" Kurt asked, on the verge of a breakdown.

Blaine swallowed hard, "I've been better. How about you?"

Kurt broke down now, sobs catching in his throat, "I-I miss you."

Blaine longed to hold him. "I miss you more. Just hold in there, baby."

Kurt's eyes grew red as he gasped for air.

Blaine's eyes darkened as he was on the brink of tears, but he couldn't cry. He had to be strong for Kurt.

He began to deter away from the heaviness of the previous subject, "How are Rachel and Finn?"

Kurt laughed vacantly through his tears, "They're falling apart. Rachel's going to leave him."

Blaine looked away woefully, hoping that Kurt wouldn't follow suit and decide to leave him too.

Kurt caught a glimpse of Blaine's pained expression, "I would never leave you." He comforted.

It was Blaine's turn to weep now. The tears slid down his face like raindrops leaving their mark on the earth.

Kurt continued, "Only three weeks until we're together, right?"

Blaine's face contorted; he couldn't keep it together anymore. He shattered like an accidental drop of a wine glass or the breaking of a family's precious china.

"K-kurt, I-I need t-to tell you something." He choked out.

Kurt held his breath.

Blaine went on, "I-I'm not coming back for a little wh-while l-longer."

"How long is a little?" Kurt whispered as Blaine continued to sob.

"Three m-more months."

Kurt didn't respond. He was having an outer-body experience. He felt as if he was watching someone else. Surely this couldn't be his life.

"Kurt?" Blaine asked as the tears receded.

Kurt looked at the boy he loved. The scared eighteen-year old boy who was sacrificing his life to ensure the lives of others.

Kurt closed his eyes and spoke, "I can't do this anymore."

Blaine inhaled sharply, "What?"

Kurt's eyes flooded again, "I can't do this Blaine. I need you here. I need you safe."

"Why? Just-just hold on! It seems like a long time, but it's not! Please, Kurt!"

Kurt moved his gaze, already feeling selfish for the question he was going to ask, "Why don't you come home?"

The question was left in the air. It settled in with a bad taste. They could both feel the tension. They could both feel the repertoire of a fight.

"You know why, Kurt."

"I know this has a lot to do with your father." Kurt challenged.

"Kurt, please-"

Suddenly, a large, African-American man came into view behind Blaine.

He spoke gruffly, "Anderson, your time's up. Turn off the computer."

Blaine acknowledged him with a polite nod, then turned his attention back to Kurt, his sad eyes gleaming.

"I have to-"

"I know." Kurt finished. The tears came too fast. They didn't even give him warning.

Blaine's eyes flashed with fear. Kurt chuckled emptily at how much the soldier in front of him paralleled with a scared boy clinging to his mother.

"I love you." Blaine spoke quietly.

"I love you too." Kurt said in a whisper.

Blaine Anderson has ended the call. Please abort the task.

And that was the last thing Kurt Hummel read before he broke into hundreds of pieces.

Weeks passed slowly, days dragged on, and hours came and left tortuously. Kurt received a letter from Blaine, explaining that the internet had been knocked down by a bomb and that he would be unable to write for the next few weeks. Kurt still shuddered at the six tear stains he had counted that were embedded in the rugged document.

Kurt grew more and more frail; his weight continued to drop as his insomnia and night terrors grew worse, he declined almost all forms of food, and his visits to Rachel became quite irregular. He isolated himself from everything and everyone.

One day- after Kurt had refused lunch again- Burt Hummel had decided to intervene. He sat in the living room next to Carol, stroking her hand and anxiously loosening his collar. After a reassuring gaze from his wife, Burt called his son downstairs.

"Yeah, Dad?" Kurt asked feebly as he reached the bottom of the steps.

Burt loosened up, "Come sit down, son." He gestured towards the plush armchair.
Kurt's intuitive mind could easily pick up on the intensity amassing in the living room, as he immediately recognized his father referring to him as 'son' instead of 'bud' or 'kid.'

Oh joy, He thought sarcastically while sombrely making his way to his seat.

"Well, Kurt, we're worried about you..." Burt began as soon as Kurt had taken his place.

Kurt leaned back in his chair tiredly, not having enough effort to keep up his posture.

"What exactly are you worried about?" Kurt questioned, although he knew the vast number of reasons to back up their statement.

Carol tenderly placed her right hand on his leg, "You haven't been eating, hun. Finn says that you told Rachel that you've been feeling very...numb."

Kurt cursed Rachel silently, the first few drops of venom beginning to boil in his veins.

Burt spoke meaningfully, "You've been wasting away, Kurt. I'm tired of seeing you this weak..." He rambled on, but Kurt wasn't listening, no, he was too busy counting the stitches in the antique armchair.

"...you're young, Kurt, don't throw your life away because Blaine is."

Kurt didn't know what enraged him more; the fact that his father used Blaine's name or the fact that he thought that Blaine was throwing away his life.

Kurt snapped his head up, anger now reaching the boiling point, "He is not wasting his life!"

"Yeah, but you're wasting yours. Life is going to go on. Okay? It does. Just look at me and your mother." The venom multiplied in Kurt as he continued, "Your mom isn't here Kurt, and I know that that was hard for you. Hell, it was hard for me too, but you will not waste away just because Blaine made a difficult decision."

Kurt's eyes filled with tears, tears of aggravation, grief, and loss, "Mom is dead, Dad. She's not coming back-"

Burt placed his heads in his hands, not bearing to look at his son as he spoke, "And Blaine is?"

Kurt winced from the impact of his words. Tears flooded to his eyes, only this time, it was because Kurt knew that Burt was right. He always was.

Burt saw his expression and went on, "Nobody wins in war, Kurt. You have to be realistic here, kid. He might not come home-"

"Yes he will!" Kurt yelled, tears pouring down his face. He couldn't accept that Blaine wouldn't come home. It just wasn't a viable option.

"You don't know that, Kurt!" Burt offered at an attempt of realism.

"Yes, I do! Blaine will come home! Blaine will come home!"

Kurt pulled his legs to his chest at an attempt to protect himself from things that he could not control. Sadly, he whispered, "He has to."

Carole sat up quietly, "I'm going to make some tea. Burt, let's go into the kitchen." She rubbed Kurt's arm meekly at an attempt to comfort him.

Burt softly squeezed his shoulder on his way out of the living room, leaving Kurt to digest the previous ordeal.

Several minutes later, the doorbell rang out, and Burt yelled from the kitchen, "Oh, Kurt, can you get that? I called Rachel to come over and take you out- she said she'd be late!"

Kurt glowered at the idea of someone seeing him in this vulnerable of a state, but nonetheless attempted to collect his thoughts and make his way to the entryway to send her away.

He melancholy opened the door and began, "Rachel-"

But the person at the door wasn't Rachel.

No. It wasn't Rachel at all.

Kurt took in his appearance. A newly-formed split lip, a bruised jaw, and a black eye graced his chiseled face. What was the most shocking, however, were the crutches helping to steady his broken foot while his damaged wrist hung limply in a sling.

Blaine smiled slightly, "Hi, stranger."