He had to take a cab to the airport. Normally his dad drove him. 

But seeing as how Kurt's father was now dead, and he was leaving Lima after just attending Burt’s funeral, that wasn't possible.

He internally winced at the thought, taking a breath. That wasn’t something he wanted to think about. It wasn’t something anyone should ever have to think about. 

Kurt swallowed, ignoring the stinging in his eyes and the tight knot resting in the back of his throat that came with holding back tears. Not now. He told himself. Wait until you're alone.

He'd already allowed himself to fall apart far too often in inconvenient places. On the the plane coming home, at the grocery store, on the cold, concrete streets before ending up on Blaine's front porch.... It wasn't like he didn't have a good excuse. But it just seemed like he’d only managed to hold it together during all the worst parts, before slipping deep into this dark sadness as soon as the moment came that he should be keeping his feelings close and guarded.

Kurt blinked, wiping away his tears before they managed to fall, and sunk back into the seat, willing himself to fall back into it completely and disappear. 

“Kurt?”

“What Rachel?” He moaned from his place underneath his covers. It was too hot, and he felt a little claustrophobic, his breathing erratic, but he didn’t have the energy to move.

“It’s almost noon. I brought you a croissant from that bakery you like.”

“Can you leave it on the counter? I’m not hungry.” 

There was a long pause.

“Of course.” She finally said. 

Kurt wrapped the blankets around himself tighter, trying to smother out his own sorrow. He curled up, clenching his eyes tight. He felt sick. He felt sick everyday. He had told Rachel that, and she asked him if he had a headache or a stomach-ache or if she could get him some medicine. When he tried to explain to her it wasn’t like that, that he didn’t hurt physically, not really, she didn’t get it. 

“Then where do you feel sick?” She had asked. 

He had just told her to forget about it.

“Hey, Kurt. How have you been?” Carole’s warm voice sounded unusually tired, even through the phone. But then again, so did Kurt’s. 

“Okay.” His tone said otherwise. 

She sighed, “Me too, sweetheart. You know, I’ve been seeing a counselor.”

“...oh?” Kurt was immediately skeptical of where this conversation was heading. 

“It’s really nice to have someone to talk to, you know. Maybe you’d like it.”

He sighed. He didn’t want to talk to some stranger about his problems, to have them poke and prod at his head until they determined his mental stability, “I don’t think I’d like that, Carole. I have my friends to talk to here.” Not that they would ever bring his father’s death up, and neither would Kurt, but regardless. If he really wanted to talk to them, Kurt was sure he could. 

“Oh, okay. Of course. I understand.” 

The conversation didn’t last long after that.

“Have you signed up for your classes yet?” Rachel asked him.

Kurt shook his head no. 

“Why not?”

He shrugged, fiddling with the remote in his hand and never breaking gaze with the tv, currently playing a rerun of America’s Next Top Model. 

“Kurt.” 

“Hm. What?” 

“Can you pay attention to me for one minute?!” Suddenly Kurt’s view was blocked, as one Miss Rachel Berry was standing in front of him, hands on her hips. 

“Can you back off for one second?” He snapped back, hoping she’d just leave him alone. Honestly he should have known better, “Stop interrogating me!”

“I’m not interrogating you! I’m just making casual conversation! It’s what Kurt and I, my friend, used to do!” 

“Yeah, well, sorry if I’ve had a slight change in disposition lately. If you hadn’t fucking noticed, my father died. But you’ve been so busy prancing around with Brody all summer, it doesn’t surprise me if you hadn’t!” Somewhere in all of this, Kurt had stood up, his voice rising an octave. But the second he’d finished, he spun on his heel and raced into his room, slamming the door behind him. 

There was a quiet knocking on his door, “Come in.” 

Rachel slipped inside, but stopped in the doorway. She stood there, fiddling with her hands, until the awkward silence had apparently gone on long enough for her, “Kurt, I’m-”

“Don’t. I shouldn’t have... I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. It’s not your fault.” The words were bitter in his mouth. That wasn’t what he wanted to say. And it wasn’t even close to what he was thinking. Kurt was still pissed. But apologizing was what friends did. He said sorry, she said sorry, they moved on. 

Apparently Rachel didn’t know that, because she replied softly in a tone that was certainly not an apology, “Oh, it’s fine Kurt. I know how hard it’s been for you.”

Anger, hot and cruel, ripped through his sadness. It seemed to be the only thing that could nowadays. Happiness of all kinds was fleeting and bittersweet, and everything else just got mixed in with that dark feeling that seemed to encase his very bones.

But he tried his best to push it away, and forced out the words, “Thanks, Rachel.”

“Make sure you sign up for your classes, soon! I know since you’re a freshman,” she grinned here, though Kurt couldn’t manage to muster one in return, “you can’t take all that many of the fun classes. But it’s still really important you don’t wait too long!” 

“I won’t.”

“Good. Now, I have to go. Dinner reservations tonight! But I’ll see you later?” 

“Sure.” He had gotten very good at learning how to quickly end conversations. Giving short responses was always a good idea. 

Rachel left then, and Kurt closed his eyes before taking a deep, steadying breath. His anger slipped away, but his sorrow only replaced it, and it wasn’t long before tears were seeping out from under his eyelashes, he brought a hand up to his face, and sobbed into it, hoping to stifle the sound.