“I’m sorry Blaine, you’re fired.” Christophe says and Blaine stares at him, eyes wide in shock.

“What? I’m the pianist, what are you going to do?” Blaine asks, shocked and trying not to cry or shout. Kurt’s right, Christophe could ruin him and he’ll be lucky to get out of this with his reputation intact.

Christophe smirks as he hears the pianist he’d hired secretly step up behind him and Blaine’s eyes widen to saucers. “We’ll survive, so now why don’t you do us all a favour and go back to LA, forget the show, forget Kurt and go. Now.”

Blaine steps back, his face white and blood running cold. Christophe steps towards him and he sees security down the hallway. Blaine lets his shoulder slump, defeated. He turns and walks out of the theatre, picking up his bag and sheet music on the way. He doesn’t see Santana or Rachel watching him with wide, sad eyes and doesn’t notice Kurt isn’t with them.

He gets halfway to his apartment and opens his phone, dialling a number. He waits for an answer before looking back, checking he’s not being followed and speaks. “I’ve been fired. Plan B.” He ends the call and walks home, fighting tears.

Finn unlocks the door to Kurt’s apartment with his spare key and looks around. The place is immaculate as usual. All clear, clean lines in whites and blues apart from the scuff mark that Finn made last time he came to visit that he and Kurt had tried, and failed, to get off the wall. It’s a little mark, a reminder of him and Finn’s a little glad Kurt’s kept it.

He looks around warily, closing the door silently even though he knows Kurt is at the theatre, rehearsing. His brother, Rachel and Santana don’t know he and Brittany are in New York. It was a surprise cooked up by Blaine when Rachel had told him at least one of them should be happy.

Finn was happy with his life, working and now owning Hummel Tyre and Lube. He’d eventually given up his ideas of joining the army and stayed to help out Burt and take over the tyre shop. Happy, but a piece of him was missing. A Rachel-shaped piece that he’d never even tried to replace, no-one could replace her. Brittany is the same; the piece of her heart shaped like a semi evil Latina instead of semi annoying Jewish girl.

Finn wanders the apartment, looking at everything. It’s been three days since Blaine was fired, three days since the dark-eyed man had called them and three days since he’d seen Kurt. Blaine had effectively been cut off from everything to do with the show and his love. The girls no longer received his calls, Kurt hadn’t been heard from and no-one at the theatre would tell him if Kurt was there, or if he was ok. He couldn’t understand, Kurt had chosen him but he was alone again.

So here Finn was, trespassing, kind of, in his brother’s place.

He looks in every cupboard, on every shelf, turns things over and flinches every time something makes a noise, turning towards the door as if Kurt was going to come bursting in and catch him in the act.

Finally Finn stops at Kurt’s closed bedroom door. He takes a deep breath and opens the door. He’d always been careful not to go into Kurt’s bedroom, a left over from their time sharing a room and a house, Kurt’s room is his sanctuary and he’d probably be killed, slowly, if Kurt found him in here.

The tall man does a circular of the room. There’s a few pictures on the shelf above his desk. The four of them, the Hummel-Hudsons in the various years since graduation, a couple in high school, pictures of friends and hidden behind the rest, a few of Blaine over the years. Finn picks one up from a few years ago and traces his fingers over the glass, his heart heavy. Kurt missed Blaine, even in those years apart, so why was he letting go of Blaine now?

He puts the frame down and wanders into the bathroom. On the side are various bottles, prescriptions made out to Kurt E Hummel. Finn looks around; his brows furrowed and jaw slack. Why would Kurt need medication? He sees a slip of paper and picks it up, across the top in bold, black lettering reads ‘Living with Heart Disease and Arrhythmias’. His hands start to shake violently and he drops the paper, turning just in time to throw up into the toilet bowl. No, no this can’t be happening, Kurt? Why him?

Finn grabs the paper off the floor and reads it. Words he doesn’t understand like congenital, malformation and atrial jump out at him but the last line, in bold lettering has him throwing the letter back onto the side and running out of the apartment as fast as possible, the words running through his mind. Heart muscle abnormalities can lead to heart failure.

Kurt watches the others rehearsing, his eyes hard and cold. He stands regal and tall in his dark blue sparkling leotard, shirt and tights, the perfect vision of an ice prince. Rachel watches him reproachfully, they haven’t spoken since the day Kurt and Christophe talked, when Christophe confronted him and Blaine got fired. She finds it easier to act the heartbroken Dulcie when Kurt is there, the steely, cold version of Kass, when the truth is day by day they’re falling apart, spilling across the stage and neither knows how to put either of them back together.

Kurt flinches as Christophe steps up behind him, a hand on his shoulder. “You’re where you belong, Kurt.” He whispers and walks away, calling to one of the other actors. They open in two days and Kurt’s never felt more unprepared. He looks over at the new pianist; he’s nothing like Blaine, not as good, not as friendly to the other actors or musicians, and not Kurt’s soul mate.

The glasz-eyed man looks around, surveying his domain, no, Christophe’s. Kurt’s hell is a rhinestoned, laced, flashy stage draped in every material known to man, actors who’d love to be nowhere else than adding to his torture and a swing Kurt’s fairly sure he’ll die on.

Santana strolls past him, muttering under her breath and their eyes connect, she turns back and stands in his space, ignoring the few people who fall silent, watching the two actors and friends glare each other down. “Loca.” Santana spits then walks away, waving off the stagehand that follows her.

Kurt rolls his eyes and watches her leave, duh, his mind supplies and he turns on his heel, his glare slicing through Christophe as he leaves to go back to his dressing room. He needs his meds if he’s going to make it through this evening.

His steps slow as he enters the room, closing the door firmly behind him; Kurt lets the façade slip away. His eyes find his cell phone as he digs in his hiding place for his pills. Sadness creeps over him. At first after he decided to give Blaine, and himself, space the younger man had called and texted incessantly, begging Kurt to reply. Now, it stays silent, like those four weeks never happened. He hasn’t slept in days and he needs the calm of his medication, giving him peace of mind that they’re helping, as much as the actual medication themselves.

Usually his fingers find the bottle on the first try but today his fingers find nothing. No cool plastic, just material. Kurt rips open his bag, looks in and under the seats, checks everywhere he can think of, then checks again. Nothing. Cold fear lances through him and he sways slightly on his feet. Outside he hears the voices of the other actors and a knock comes at his door. Christophe’s voice comes through and Kurt has to step closer to hear through the heavy wood. “Kurt? I’m letting everyone go home. Go get some rest and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Ok.” He shouts through the door and Kurt breathes a sigh of relief. He won’t have to deal with more rehearsing this evening and he can get home and take his pills.

Kurt hurries home quickly and closes the door behind him, not noticing the slight changes, the disturbed apartment. He goes to his bathroom and glances at the moved sheet, not paying it too much attention. He checks his pills and his mouth drops. There’s not enough to last him the next couple of days. His body turns cold and he slumps to the floor, crying into his hands.

Across town Blaine stands outside his apartment, watching an older man walk up to him. They smile and hug before Blaine leads him inside. He really hasn’t changed that much. His hair is greyer, his face more wrinkled but he looks happy, he is happy. Now a producer, well-respected and a part time instructor at Juilliard, he’s doing well and has enough gravitas to help Blaine pull this off, and he’s scary pissed off, Blaine’s seen it. Blaine smiles as they walk through his door, motioning the older man in with a grin and calling him by his first name, formality sliding away with graduation day. “Thanks for coming Will. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Will Schuester smiles, glad to help his favourite ex-students and couple. “Glad to Blaine. Now, let’s talk about getting your soul mate back.”

Blaine turns to the door to shut it, a triumphant smile on his face.