“Hey, Kurt, let’s just do it.”

Of course he’d regret the argument now; regret it more than words could say, but there was nothing Kurt could do. He knew he’d made the right decision in one aspect, at least, saying no to something he didn’t want. If he had known the consequences of that night, of those few short moments that had resulted ultimately in Blaine’s death, he knew he wouldn’t have changed his mind. Kurt Hummel had pride; Kurt Hummel would not back down to a Neanderthal jock, or a fellow diva, or even a crush.

But it took Kurt Hummel all the pride he had to keep his back straight with Blaine.

“-but hey, all that matters is us, right? I-“

“That’s right! It’s about us!”

A single tear escaped Kurt’s eye as every little detail of Blaine came flooding back in.

“Why are you yelling at me?”

Kurt knew he didn’t have to yell, but goddamn it, he was angry, and upset, and the boy that Blaine had met the whole of three times had occupied him for almost the entire night, and now here Blaine was expecting Kurt to jump his bones in the back of a car outside a gay bar and fuck-

“I-I think I’m just gonna walk home.”

It was that sentence that Kurt regretted the most. He wanted to rewind time, to run after Blaine and tell him yes, I love you and I’m so proud to be with you or even just don’t leave, can we talk this out?

But he hadn’t.

And Blaine had left, from a bar in Lima to walk to Westerville. Alone, in what must’ve been miles of pitch black darkness filled with thoughts, and anger at himself, and I thought Kurt loved me’s  and he must think I’m some kind of animal.

But Kurt didn’t want to know what Blaine had thought about himself that night. He didn’t care. He just wanted Blaine back; Blaine, who had come to his school within hours of meeting Kurt just to give him courage. Who had danced like an idiot on top of every piece of furniture within sight in the Dalton commons. Who had been looking for someone forever–and that someone happened to be Kurt–and had transferred to Kurt’s school for his senior year because he loved him that much.

He took my breath away.

Blaine, who was dead.

___________

Kurt’s father found out first, instantly transformed from a happily warm mood to a frozen wreck by just a few sentences. Kurt found out in a much more unorthodox way.

Kurt had been debating what items of clothing to put into his spring wardrobe when Burt had suddenly appeared at his doorframe, a nonchalant expression on his face. Kurt looked up at the shadow cast across the room, noticing his father and smiled.

 “Hey, dad, what do you think; off-white or cream?”

Burt looked down as Kurt alternated the two scarfs against the V-neck shirt that was lying on his bed, trying to come up with a decision before deciding, after about ten seconds of confusion, to leave it up to Kurt.

“They both look the same to me, kiddo. By the way, dinner’s almost ready, so finish up all this-“ he waved his hand across the room “-fashion stuff.”

Kurt mockingly sighed as he began to pack up his scarfs, folding them neatly over his dresser for later. Burt noticed one behind his chair, and bent over to pick it up.

“Hey, Kurt, you missed one,” he said, holding the scarf out to his son. Kurt perked up, before reluctantly taking it, running his fingers across the clean wool. It was an untasteful yellow, with short black stripes sewn across the middle.

“There something wrong with that one? Can’t say it looks too great.”

Burt attempted joke hung in the air awkwardly, and Kurt expression did not change as he placed it over his chair, away from the other scarves.

“It’s Blaine’s,” he said reluctantly, folding the V-neck and putting it away.

Oh.

Kurt hadn’t spoken about Blaine since he got home the previous day, refusing to answer Burt about his location or why he had been out so late. He had assumed they were fighting, or that Blaine had done something to temporarily upset Kurt, or vice versa, and he left it at that.

But Blaine hadn’t texted him (Burt had confiscated his phone) or called the house, and Burt was worried. He knew the way the boy looked at his son; it was how he used to look at Elizabeth. Like they were the only source of air in the world; the brightest light. Like nothing could keep them away from each other, come heaven or hell, life or death.

He knew he loved him too much to let him go so easily.

Burt began to head down the stairs when he heard Carole call up to him.

“Burt, honey? There’s a call for you. Eleanor Anderson?”

Burt smiled to himself, guessing that the boy’s mother was worried too. He hurried down and took the phone.

“Hi, Eleanor? This is Burt, Kurt’s dad. Kurt seems okay, but I’m a bit worried. Is Blaine okay? He didn’t try to contact Kurt all of yesterday, and I was just wondering if he was sick or anything.”

“…You don’t know?”

Burt furrowed his brow, searching his mind for something he could have possibly left out.

“I’m sorry, it seems I don’t…Listen, is Blaine okay?”

He heard a quiet shuffling on the phone, and almost fell over when he very clearly heard Eleanor sobbing through the background noise of the phone. A professional sounding female voice began to speak to him.

“Mr Hummel? Are you there?”

“Yeah?” Burt didn’t like the sound of this one bit, and he was desperately hoping this wasn’t anything too serious.

“I am very sorry to inform you, Mr Hummel, that Blaine Anderson passed away approximately one hour ago. He was hit by a truck early this morning and taken to the ER immediately. He went into a coma quickly after arriving, and he died from blood loss before we could save him. I am so, so sorry.”

Burt had gone numb. He was clenching the phone so hard that his knuckles had turned white, and he was barely able to squeeze out thank you for letting me know before almost smashing the phone against the wall.

Carole came out, carrying a salad bowl and a pair of tongs, before setting them down quickly and walking over to where Burt stood rigidly against the wall.

“Burt, honey, are you okay? You’re crying.”

This came as a shock to Burt; he hadn’t cried since Elizabeth had died. Feeling the newfound wetness seep through his skin, he told Carole about the phone call.

A few minutes later, as they were solemnly debating how to tell Kurt, there came a shout from the stairway.

“Kurt! Kurt, let me in! I know I’m not good with this emotional stuff, but I care about you. Let me in, please!”

Finn was pounding on his brother’s door, and he was getting kind of desperate. They had just been watching a news bulletin about some crash near Lima, and next thing he knew, Kurt was practically running to his room, tears streaming down his face. He hadn’t been listening to the finer details, but he could tell Kurt was pretty upset.

Crouching down against the door and facing his ear against it, Finn began to listen for any kind of disruption. He heard Kurt’s TV going with the same bulletin they had been listening to, listing the injuries of the people involved.

The guy in the truck was fine, but there was a pedestrian that got hurt...whoa, got killed.

Finn paused in his thinking, and there was a small moment of silence before the newsreader spoke again, with a sense of cruel excitement in her voice.

The deceased pedestrian has now been identified as 17-year-old William McKinley High student Blaine Anderson, who was hit by the identified truck early this morning and almost killed instantly, passing away one hour ago due to severe blood loss. Blaine died in the company of-

The TV clicked off.  

There was a horrible, suspenseful moment of silence before Finn started his pleading again.

“Kurt. Kurt, please, you’re my brother, I’m here for you, let me in-“

He was cut off as the door swung open and Kurt hurled himself at Finn, arms flying everywhere, cursing and screaming in his face.

“You weren’t there then! You weren’t there when I used to get shoved into lockers and dumpsters and slushied daily! You didn’t give a fuck! Karofsky threatens to kill me and you don’t even fucking blink! But the guy, the guy that I meet hours before he helped me confront Karofsky, he was there, not you!”

Kurt was absolutely sobbing now, but still batting his limbs against Finn’s body in a vain attempt to cause damage. Finn wanted to hurt, wanted to do anything to stop seeing Kurt act this way.

”He transferred for me, Finn! He changed my life from shit to amazing and he was there and now…now-“

Kurt collapsed against Finn, drained. They crumpled on the floor together, Finn slowly whispering words of comfort to him, just holding him. It wasn’t supposed to be romantic, or awkward, and it wasn’t. Kurt needed somebody, and Finn was there this time.

The unsaid words hung in the air, and both figures on the ground knew what message they sent. It didn’t need to be spoken.

And now he’s gone.