By two months past Blaine's death, Kurt's social interactions have been reduced to pitying looks from his friends, concerned lectures from his family, and a never ending barrage of suggestions on how to deal with his own grief.

"It's okay to cry," Tina tells him at least three times a week, placing her hand on his arm.

"I can drive you to the junk yard or something. We can break stuff!" Finn offers, ignoring the fact that Kurt is a) more listless than anything, and b) has his own car and the ability to drive, thank you very much.

Rachel has more creative intentions. In true Rachel fashion, she manages to get a key to the school auditorium. The intention is clear: she wants him to sing it all away.

Rachel Barbara Berry is one of those people who believes that anything, no matter how horrible and traumatizing, can be solved by the creation of art. It's as if somehow Kurt sings out his feelings, they won't keep him up at night screaming into his pillow.

Kurt knows intrinsically that it won't work. A Broadway rendition won't keep him from washing his hands every night because he can still smell Blaine's blood on them. A duet won't warm up the other side of his bed, where he feels pressure but not the comfort of a human body.

Kurt is aware that he isn't the only one grieving. Blaine had helped Tina out with the Asian heritage club when Mike had to quit during scheduling conflicts. Despite initial tensions, Blaine and Finn had spent hours playing video games together when Blaine was procrastinating going home. Rachel and Blaine had become almost sibling like over time. How many times had Kurt heard her accusatory cry when he was ignoring her: "Sometimes I think Blaine loves me more than you do!"?

So he smiles at Tina, thanks Finn, and texts Rachel that he went to sing and it was nice.

He didn't, of course. He hasn't sung since May, and had no intention to ever again if he can help it.

Instead of putting up with it all, Kurt has been spending a lot of time at the library. It's not a place many highs school graduates frequent during the summer, but the enforced silence gives him time to think away from well-meaning friends and family.

At the library, Blaine can sit next to him and play with his hair, whisper things in Kurt's ear, and Kurt can smile back at him and stroke his leg. Everyone around them is so far into their books or computers that they don't notice. It's , Blaine isn't supposed to be around Kurt when he's with other people, because Kurt has a tendency to stare at his dead boyfriend and ignore what's going on around him. They spend most of the daylight hours separate.

At night he and Blaine exchange stories.

"I was shopping with Tina again, today," he'll offer up.

Blaine will laugh. "How can you even afford to buy anything if you go every single day."

"We ran out of money a couple of weeks ago. Now we've been reduced to scraping change for pretzels and window shopping. Who'd you visit today?"

"I was with my mom."

"How's she doing?"

"She's…the same." Blaine struggles to talk about his family just as much as he did in life. He's been following his parents every day for a month now and they haven't visited his grave or mentioned him once. It's like he'd never existed.

It would be easy, he'd told Kurt, if they really had forgotten him or really didn't care, but sometimes he finds his mother crying in the kitchen or his father just sitting in his office and staring at the wall.

"They miss me," he revealed. "I'm just not sure if they're really mourning me or if they're mourning their son."

Blaine doesn't always stalk loved ones though. It's depressing. He also goes away. It's a ghost trick, and Kurt knows when he's been using it because he comes home with a smile on his face.

"Where were you?" he'll ask when he sees a smile.

The answers are always varied. Sometimes Blaine goes to landmarks and people watches. The Eiffel Tower. The Taj Mahal. Sometimes he goes to regular old subdivisions for his adventures.

"There's this one family I was watching today. They live in England," he gushes. "They've got a teenage girl our age and an older son who's in college. They were out on a picnic today and the mom told the family she's pregnant."

A few weeks later he's laughing. "It's a boy. The dad cried."

He visits the family every day for a long time, but one day he is silent. When Kurt asks about his day, Blaine just rolls over and shakes.

Biologically, Blaine no longer produces tears. He no longer produces saliva either, and they can't have sex…successfully (not that they had even kissed since the incident). Kurt knows anyway that Blaine is crying. He also knows what happened to the family.

Not much makes them happy anymore. Lima doesn't hold joy anymore. It's only whispers of what could have been.

That's why Kurt knows he'll have to leave.

* * *

There is at least one member of Blaine's family who visits him. Every Sunday after church lets out, Cooper pulls up in his car outside Kurt's house. They never talk during other parts of the week to make plans, but Kurt always makes sure his time is free and Cooper always shows up.

They chat casually during the ride, and Kurt lets Blaine come along as long as he stays out of Kurt's line of sight.

Kurt talks about his friends and Cooper talks about his job, but mostly they talk about Blaine. Cooper has hundreds of stories of their childhood, most of them so embarrassing that Kurt hears outraged groans from the backseat. Kurt fills in the gaps for Cooper, telling him about the parts of Blaine's life he missed while he was away.

Talking about Blaine with anybody else but Cooper is a taboo. Everyone is too stuck on his death and never mentions his life. With Cooper, there are no tears and the murder is never mentioned. It's like Blaine never even died.

Well, it's like that until they get to the graveyard.

Kurt never cries. Cooper always does. Kurt sits on one side and strokes his hand up and down the older man's back and Blaine whispers comfort from the other side, even though the words fall on deaf ears.

They talk about telling Cooper. Kurt is for it. Blaine is against.

"He's going to heal, Kurt," he insists. "If he thinks I'm still around, he won't be able to."

"What about me?" Kurt asks. "When do I get to heal?"

That shuts them both up for the rest of the night. Kurt does not suggest telling someone again.

July bleeds into August, and one Sunday Cooper does not unlock the car door for Kurt.

"I'm heading out. Gotta get my life back on track, squirt," he says, reaching out the window to ruffle Kurt's hair.

"Are you going back to California?" Kurt asks.

"No," Cooper says, and then he leaves.

Kurt stops going to the graveyard after that.

* * *

August is thick and hot, but eventually it begins to cool down. Kurt feels it in every inch of his body.

It's time.

"I'm going to college," he announces to his dad and Carole over pork chops and green beans one night. "I've already informed OSU."

His dad puts down his fork to rub his forehead. "Are you sure?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Do they know about what happened?"

"No."

There's a deep breath and a meaningful exchange of glances with Carole.

"I'm not comfortable with you going and no one knowing what happened,"Burt reasons. "Do you promise you'll tell student health or something?"

"It's not my health, Dad," Kurt snaps. "It's Blaine's. He has a funny little ailment. Maybe you've heard of it? It's called death."

Burt shoots a glance at Carole, who plasters a comforting smile onto her face before interjecting. "I think your father is concerned about you not being around anyone you know, Kurt. Big state universities can sometimes be a little impersonal, and we don't want you to feel alone."

"Because everyone treating me like a porcelain doll is totally making me feel loved and like a sociable human being." He'll feel bad about this later, he's pretty sure.

Burt's eyes are hurt, but when he opens his mouth his tone is level and controlled. "We're not going to make you stay, Kurt. You're eighteen. You're an adult. I'm asking you to stay, as your father. You're not ready for this."

A lump is in the back of Kurt's throat and he wants to swallow, gasp for breath, do anything but cry in front of his father. Crying will prove his dad's point.

Fight or flight. The age old instinct. He has always done both. Spit venom at bullies and then run for his life. Yell at the doctors after his mother's death and then not speak about her for months. It's part of his basic biology.

But Kurt is sick of fighting.

"The school year starts tomorrow," he spits out. "'Cedes is driving me."

And then he runs up the stairs.

* * *

Sometimes when Kurt isn't around his friends, Blaine will visit then. He does so the night before Kurt leaves.

The scene he describes when he returns is so normal. Mike, Brit, and Artie hanging out at the park together, laughing at some stupid jokes and making plans for Mike to come back and give dance workshops for the newbies.

"They don't act like that in front of me anymore," Kurt tells him.

"Really?" Blaine is surprised. "How do they act?"

"Like we're all still at the funeral."

"Oh," Blaine looks sad, almost guilty.

"I remind them of you," Kurt continues. "They've all moved past you, mostly at least. They're trying to be gentle with me, that's kind of why they're so weird, but I think it's more than that." Kurt closes his eyes. It's all very clear now. "I remind them of what we lost when you died."

"What was that?" Blaine asks, running his fingers through Kurt's hair.

"Our invincibility."