Chapter 7:

Blaine pushes the door to the Lima Bean open and he's hit by the familiar aroma. He looks to the side, expecting to see...someone, but there isn't anyone there that he recognises. He remembers all the times that Kurt had him drive out here, remember the taste of mocha on his sweet lips. He smiles as he takes a seat at the back of the shop.

There's something about this coffee shop that makes him feel right at home, like he was born there. He closes his eyes and breathes it in, the familiarity and the sense of...love he gets there. He feels like maybe he's fallen in love here once, but knows that's impossible. He's only ever been in love once and that happened in his own back yard.

Santana arrives as the clock hits the thirty minute mark and she slides into the seat facing him.

"We should buy something," she says.

Blaine doesn't reply.

Santana groans. "Go buy me a coffee, dwarf."

"Oh," Blaine says, dumbly. He gets to the end of the short line and waits, realising he hasn't asked Santana what her order is. He tries to catch her attention, but she's too busy examining her nails.

It isn't long before he reaches the top of the queue and the girl behind the counter gives him a bright smile.

"Hi, Blaine," she says and he doesn't know how she knows his name. He's never seen her before. At least, he doesn't think he has.

"Hi, Suzy," he says. Apparently he knows her. He doesn't think anything more of it. He doesn't know why.

"The usual?" she asks.

"Um, yes," he says.

"Medium drip and a non-fat mocha!" she shouts.

"Wait!" Blaine says.

She turns, gives him a blank stare.

"It's just..." He opens his mouth to ask why she knows Kurt's order as well as his own. He's sure she's never served him before. "I mean, a medium drip is right, but instead of a mocha, could I get..." He stops and thinks, but he doesn't know what she wants. "A vanilla latte?"

The girl, Suzy, she blinks at him, but shouts the order back anyway. She rings him up on the till. "He's not with you today," she remarks as Blaine hands over a twenty.

"No," he replies, doesn't need to ask who she means.

"Did you kiss his friend again?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your change," she tells him and empties it into his open hand, like they haven't just had the conversation that they did. "Thank you, sir."

Blaine stares for only a moment more, before moving down the line to wait for their coffees. When they're ready, he grabs them and makes his way back down to the table.

"Everyone's acting really weird," he tells Santana.

She smiles. "Maybe you're the weird one."

He doesn't answer that.

"Hmm, you know my coffee order," she says, taking the cup in her hands.

Blaine looks up quickly, like he's been stabbed. "Of course I do," he whispers.

Santana doesn't dwell on it. "So, what do you want to know, hobbit?"

Blaine isn't even sure. "Anything you're willing to tell me," he says. "I want to know what happened and why he thinks leaving me is saving me."

"Haven't you ever heard the saying, 'If you love someone, you'll set them free, if it's meant to be, they'll come back to you'?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe that's all it is."

Blaine shakes his head immediately. "I want to know what happened to him. And what does this Karofsky guy have to do with it?"

"Weren't you listening? I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but Karofsky was a monster, especially to Kurt."

"Tina said he shoved her."

"Did a lot more than shove Kurt."

Blaine looks up from his coffee.

"Kurt, he never really had anyone," Santana says. "I mean, we were all there for him, but maybe just...not enough. He knew..." She shakes her head. She lowers her voice. "He knew I was like him."

"Like him," Blaine repeats.

"Gay, Anderson. What are you, dense?"

"Oh," Blaine says.

"Look, not a lot of people know that," she says, voice softer. "Just me, Kurt, Brittany and now you. And Karofsky. He knew."

"You were friends?"

She splutters, like it's the most insane thing she's ever heard. "Hell, no," she says. "I blackmailed him. But I'm not proud of it, okay?"

Blaine nods, lets her go on.

"Karofsky committed suicide because a bunch of guys found out about him being...like us."

"Gay," Blaine says, because he needs to be sure.

"Gay," she confirms. "I caught him staring at Sam's ass."

"Sam?"

"Oh, right," she says. "Sam Evans, AKA, Trouty Mouth, AKA, Froggy Lips. He and his family moved here for a while. Until they got homeless."

"They got homeless," Blaine repeats because how does someone 'get' homeless?

"Quinn tried to help him out some, until she went bat shit crazy and stopped washing herself," she tells Blaine. "They went broke anyway. Rumor has it old Sammy boy is selling his body down South some place. Guess his impressions just weren't good enough for the stage. Shocker, huh?" She shrugs. "Not important. So, I blackmailed Karofsky into being my fake boyfriend."

"Why?"

"Because Kurt stopped coming to school, okay? And we needed him for competitions. We were going to lose without him. I mean, you've seen Jacob Ben Israel and Zises, right?"

Blaine doesn't comment on that.

"We needed him," she says again. "I also wanted to be prom queen," she says with a shrug. "Dave Karofsky, he was popular and if I was with him, I was going to win. So, I blackmailed him and we formed this fake ass group called the Bully Whips. I told Kurt we would keep him safe, that with the Bully Whips patrolling, no kid would be bullied any more."

"Did it work?"

She gave him a look.

"Okay, so why didn't it work?" he asks.

"Because I didn't win prom queen," she says. "Dave was king and prom queen went to—"

"Kurt," Blaine whispers.

"Kurt," Santana says with a nod. "Secret ballots. He ran, you know. Didn't go back in there. Never came back to school. He came to competitions, though. Came to Nationals in New York. We lost him there for an entire day. We figured he was dead, you know? Lots of nutjobs out in New York. He just showed up the next day at the competition and didn't even say anything about it. We lost and everyone was mad at everyone so the sleeping arrangements all got a little crazy. I ended up rooming with Kurt and we talked. He told me everything."

"Everything?" Blaine asks.

She gave him a nod. "Turns out old Karofsky wasn't just pushing Kurt around, he was also giving him big smackeroos in dark corners."

Blaine's eyes go wide.

"Kurt didn't want it, of course, but he didn't say anything. Karofsky threatened to kill him, so he just let it keep on happening." Santana looks up, studies Blaine's face. "I know what you're thinking. I asked him, too. It was just kissing, but he was worried it wouldn't always be."

"I feel sick," Blaine says.

"After Kurt stopped coming to school, Karofsky got scared people would ask questions, so he transferred. And then Kurt started getting anonymous love letters."

"From Karofsky?"

"Well, aren't you smarter than you look?" Santana says, with a small smile.

"Are you saying Karofsky was in love with him?"

"Probably not," she says. "I guess Kurt was the only gay guy he knew and he mistook it for more than that." She shrugs again. "Kurt didn't know it was him. He was so lonely all the time. He got a note from the mysterious guy asking him to meet him at Breadstix on Valentine's Day."

"Karofsky turned up."

"Right again," she says. "So, Kurt let him down gently and apparently some guys from his new school saw and teased him about it. Next thing you know his dad finds him dead." She shrugs, but her eyes are dark, sad. "Kurt got a little crazy after that."

"Crazy," Blaine says simply.

Santana lifts her coffee cup and takes a small sip. She places it back down on the table. "I guess he blamed himself. Maybe any one of us would have done the same, who knows?" She begins pushing the cup in a circular motion. "He didn't come back to school, even though his dad tried to convince him, even talked about sending him to your fancy schmancy place. Kurt, he started disappearing. The first time he stayed out for three days. Had everyone crazy with worry. Police searches, the works. Eventually, he just showed up at home like nothing had happened. After that, it happened all the time. Now, we barely see him at all."

Blaine stares down at his own cups and watches as the ribbon of steam dance in the air and fade out into nothingness. He can't imagine how Kurt must have felt, can't imagine the pain he felt. Feels.

"So now what?" Santana asks.

He shakes his head and lets out an unintentional whimper. He doesn't know.

Blaine walks through the door, feeling broken and dark and his mother appears in the hall. She eyes him, but he doesn't look back.

"Kurt?" she asks and the name is always strange on her lips, alien and wrong and he doesn't want her to have him, doesn't want her to think she can say his name and know him, even though he's sure that isn't how she feels.

Blaine shakes his head and doesn't say the word out loud. Instead, he climbs the steps to his (their, their, their) room and locks himself inside, away from the rest of the world. The clock ticks and tocks and he feels his breath quickening, racing, almost too much, almost like he's having some kind of panic attack. Nobody hears and if they do, they don't let him know that they know. Otherwise he would know.

He buries his face in the pillows, still convinced that Kurt's scent is there. It isn't the scent of betrayal any more, isn't the scent of desertion. Blaine doesn't understand, can't pretend that he does, but he knows now, knows the reason, even if he can't comprehend, can't empathise.

Burying his face in the pillows had been a bad idea. He struggles to breathe, sits up, stares at the white of the ceiling, hoping to gain serenity, peace, comfort, but all he gets is a headache. He stands and opens the window, climbs out and sits on the roof, in their place. He looks down. It's not a long drop, but if he fell he would break a leg, maybe. He wonders if the pain of an injury would take away the pain of the heart and he curses himself for even thinking it. He goes back inside, still a little short of breath, but he can breathe. He changes, climbs under the sheets of his bed and curls in on himself, allows sleep to take him away.

When he sleeps, he doesn't think, but he dreams and usually, in his dreams, there's Kurt and he's smiling. This time, he dreams that they're on a rooftop. It's dark, lanterns and fairy lights and the stars, the only light. He walks out onto the roof and Kurt is there, on the other side. He moves quickly towards him, calling for him, but Kurt doesn't flinch. He's looking down, over the side. Blaine feels his pulse quickening, the sudden need to get to him torturing through his body in a way that aches and hurts and makes his insides soar a little. Finally, he gets there. He reaches out and Kurt looks at him, for the first time. His eyes aren't blue any more, they're black, his mouth sewn shut. He turns away again and looks back down. Blaine knows it's going to happen before it does. He opens his mouth, whispers 'no', but it's too late. Kurt steps off.

He can't bring himself to look down.

Blaine jars awake, sweating and cold and convulsing. It's dark. He breathes, it was only a dream, only a dream. He flings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. He's dizzy on his feet. His face feels sticky, warm. He goes to the bathroom, stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn't recognise himself any more, doesn't know who he is. He can't remember who he was before Kurt, can't remember much of anything.

He splashes cold, icy water on his face, gasps, dries and then leaves the house. It's well after midnight and he knows he shouldn't, but he heads into the trees, barefoot and cold. The dirt clings to his feet and he doesn't care. He winds in and out of the trees, around stumps, over bushes and finally he stops. He hears the howl of the wolf. It's eerie. He sits down, because he can't go on, his feet won't carry him and he's tired, so, so tired. He closes his eyes for just a minute and when he opens them, it's morning. The sun is bright and splitting the stones and he feels disoriented, like he's not himself, like he's in someone else's body.

Blaine gets to his feet and stops. He looks down at himself. He isn't wearing his pyjamas any more. He isn't barefoot any more. His pants are dark and tight. He's wearing shoes, no socks. He's wearing a dark waistcoat. It's open over a checkered yellow shirt. He doesn't understand and he feels drunk. When he tries to walk, he winces, because his legs are aching.

The walk home is slow, sore and he tries to think, but he can't, because there is no sense to anything any more. He doesn't know who he is or why things are happening and he doesn't know if there is something wrong with him, something that makes him forget large amounts of time. He feels stupid, lost, like he can't recognise himself any more. When he gets home, he cries again and he's tired of crying, so tired that he's shocked he has anything left inside of him that can produce tears so easily.

Later, before school, he tells his mother he thinks something is wrong, thinks he's sick, broken. She tells him with a smile that the only thing that is broken is his heart. She doesn't touch him, doesn't even cross his path, she simply turns on her toe and leaves the house, car keys swinging from her finger, like a wedding band.

Dalton is familiar and the boys there feel right. Usually. He sits in the senior commons and it's cold, unsettling, like there's a ghost. He's never felt this before.

Today, it feels as if something is missing.

Something or someone.

There's something about the colour of the sky today that feels wrong. It's the wrong colour, the wrong consistency, the wrong everything and he can't bear to look at it. He crosses the plain and lays down in the grass and he sleeps, dreams of a set of honey eyes that he's known for so long, but never long enough. He's lost and he wants to be found, but he doesn't expect it, knows better than to expect it. He knows there's hurt, doesn't know when or what or how, but he knows it comes, yet something, everything, in him screams that he can withstand it, that it's worth it, that he won't regret it because after the rain comes the rainbow and after the hurt comes the happiness.

Behind his blue eyes, the honey eyed boy is smiling sweetly. They're dancing, surrounded by a crowd. He feels like a king.

Even in slumber, his heart twists and shouts in his chest. He's running out of time.