Letter 11: March 2nd

I've nowhere else to go
But I cannot stay where I don't belong

(Evanescence – Exodus)

The beautiful mahogany front door was pushed open, filling their nostrils with a scent of cleanliness – detergent mixed with air-freshener. Kurt couldn't help but let his facial muscles spread his lips in a wide grin. A glance back at Blaine proved their expressions were identical.

'Welcome home, honey,' said Kurt, trying not to start prancing around happily like a child on Christmas morning.

'You too,' replied Blaine, taking Kurt's hand.

They crossed the threshold together.

The hall of their new house in Upper East Side was filled with boxes of things that had been shipped from their tiny apartment in Brooklyn. The apartment they were now finally out of for good. They could afford buying the house thanks to the immense success of Kurt's debut line of clothing.

It was now beginning to feel for Kurt like they were a family. Not just a couple living in a cramped apartment and working hard on their careers. Now they had a house, an actual house that they wanted to make a true warm home for themselves and the children they would one day have.

Kurt stopped in the middle of the hall, inhaling the chemically flavoured scent and taking in the view of the beige walls and dark wood-panelled floor, the stacks of boxes packed to the tops with their lives, their memories and their plans.

They didn't speak; words weren't necessary. They knew exactly what the other was thinking.

A few minutes passed with them standing almost completely still, their hand joined, their eyes wandering around the rooms. A single tear of happiness slipped from the corner of Kurt's eye.

And then, perfectly at the same moment, their gazes turned towards each other, and they smiled again.

Now it was time for unpacking.

***

Kurt put the last of Blaine's papers in a box and closed the lid. It had taken him over four months to tidy everything up and stack it in the middle of Blaine's study. It had been an ordeal, the pain of taking care of Blaine's stuff hindered the process.

But now it had to be done, it had to finally be finished. The real estate agent told him to be ready to move soon; after all, the house was in mint condition, with beautiful interiors and the location was great.

He still hadn't decided what to do with Blaine's boxes, as he called them to himself. On the one hand, he wanted to leave the house in order to get over everything, to move on from the overwhelming memories that everything that had ever had anything to do with Blaine evoked. So why not throw all this stuff away, maybe keep a thing or two?

But then, how could he ever do that? How could he just get rid of everything that his husband held dear? It almost felt like spitting on Blaine's grave to even consider that.

The house, though, was something he needed to abandon.

All these months had passed, and he still expected to see Blaine at the piano, turning to him with a smile and his disheveled curls over his forehead. Or leaning on the door frame with a mug of coffee in his hand, looking at him from the threshold of his study, while he was working. Or kissing him on the cheek in the morning to wake him.

The house was as full of Blaine now as it had been before his death, but frighteningly empty at the same time.

Kurt placed the last box on top of a stack of others, immersed in his reverie, when the front door was slammed shut downstairs. Heels clicked on the wooden floor.

'Kurt?!' Rachel was clearly upset. What about Kurt had no idea, and at this moment he didn't really care. He needed to be alone with all this.

'Up here,' he responded with a sigh.

After a series of hurried footsteps on the stairs, Rachel entered the study and crossed her arms over her chest.

'What the hell is this?'

'His stuff,' he answered curtly.

'I mean, why in the world would you be selling the house?!'

She came up to him and pulled his arm to make him face her. He shook her hand off.

'I have to.'

'But why, Kurt?'

Kurt didn't respond; he froze with his eyes glued to the small red box still sitting on the otherwise empty desk. For the first time in months he hadn't taken the letter out before the day when he was supposed to read it. And it was already noon and he still hadn't read it. He hadn't even opened that stupid box. He couldn't.

Lately, for some unfathomable reason, the loneliness he felt in the big empty house seemed to be increasing. Why only now, when he was gradually becoming reconciled with the idea of spending the rest of his life alone, instead of spending it with the love of his life, he couldn't understand. But that was the reason why he'd decided to move out of the house, to try and drive away the memories that reminded him of what the world was like when there was someone beside him in that huge cold bed.

And the letters… He was beginning to think they only made things worse.

'Did he tell you to?,' Rachel asked quietly, breaking the silence.

Kurt shook his head.

'Why then?' Her voice was now barely audible.

Another moment of silence followed.

'I can't- I can't stay here,' he said finally. Rachel stayed silent, but he knew she wanted him to continue. He took a step in the direction of Blaine's favourite armchair and sat down, rubbing his temples. 'It's that he- He's everywhere.'

'It was his home too, after all.'

'No, it is his home. It's our home. Not mine. Something is still missing. He's missing.'

Rachel bit her lip; she couldn't think of any way to make Kurt feel better or change his mind. But a tiny voice in the back of her head told her she had to persuade him to at least give a second thought to moving.

Not knowing what to do, she approached the almost entirely wiped out desk. The only thing left was a rectangular red box, bearing a sticker with Kurt's name on one of the sides. She glanced at Kurt from the corner of her eye, noticing he had buried his face in his hands and wasn't paying any attention to her. She lifted the lid.

Inside there was a stack of maybe a dozen of unopened letters, and the top one said Kurt. Mar 2nd.

'Kurt?'

'Hm?'

'Why haven't you read this letter? It says March 2nd…'

Kurt's head snapped up and he jumped from his seat to tear the envelope from Rachel's hands.

'Kurt…?'

Holding the crumpled letter in one hand, he stormed out of the room and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He slumped to the floor by the bed, panting as if he'd just run the marathon.

With one decisive movement, he opened the letter.

Darling, darling Kurt,

Can you believe that it's four years today since we moved in here? Obviously, when you're reading this, it's already five years. Even more incredible!

I don't know about you, but this place is really what I always wanted my home to be like; full of love and warmth. With a real fireplace and pictures of the family on the mantelpiece. And I never loved living anywhere as much as I love living here.

Now you're probably feeling lonely in here; it's a big house after all. Sorry I can't sneak up on you while you're working anymore. Or kiss you good morning and goodnight. I only spent a couple of weeks alone in the house over the years, and I could hardly stand it! It felt so cold without you here. I hope it's not as bad for you without me.

But if it is, imagine for a second I'm there. That I'm standing in the doorway with my coffee, looking at you, while you're sketching a new collection, completely consumed by the vision in your head. I used to picture you like that when you were away on business. I know it's all different now, because I'm not coming back, but… Try. Maybe it'll make you feel better.

I just want to ask you one thing: take care of the house. It's yours now. I'd hate to see you leave it.

I love you,

Blaine.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut. His resolve wavered and broke.

Yes, it hurt staying in the house. It hurt like a million knives were going into his flesh at the same time. It was torture to wake up and know no one was there to kiss him and hold him.

But would it really be any different elsewhere? Moving would only mean leaving the place where he felt safe and loved for most of the last five years.

He fought back tears and got up. When he pulled the door open, Rachel was standing on the other side, visibly frightened.

'I'm not selling the house.'