Letter 14: April 28th

In my field of paper flowers
And candy clouds of lullaby
I lie inside myself for hours
And watch my purple sky fly over me

(Evanescence – Imaginary)

Kurt sniffled, wrapping himself more tightly in a blanket in front of the lit fireplace. He was shivering all over, despite the heat that filled the house. Outside, the weather was wonderfully springy; the sun was shining brightly, birds chirruped happily, and only the nasty, powerful wind seemed out of place, bending the freshly green branches of trees all around New York City.

'Is it even possible to catch a cold in late April?,' Kurt moaned, reaching for another Kleenex.

A chuckle echoed in the kitchen.

'Yes, honey, it is.' Blaine emerged into the living room carrying a large, steaming mug in his hand. 'One double honey and lemon very hot tea.'

Kurt sent him a grateful little smile and extended his hand to take the mug.

'Careful, it really is hot,' warned Blaine.

Handling the mug gingerly in his still trembling fingers, Kurt glanced at him with a playful twinkle in his eyes.

'Not as hot as my husband.'

Blaine let out a heartfelt laugh.

'Well, I guess we can establish once and for all that you're not sick. You're talking sense.' He sat next to Kurt on the sofa, putting his arm around his husband's blanket-covered shoulders.

'You're going to get sick, too.'

'It's not the flu, it's just a teensy little cold. I'm gonna be just fine.' He leaned to kiss Kurt's unhealthily hot cheek. 'But next time, please, take a scarf.'

Kurt rolled his eyes at him.

'I thought it was warmer,' he said defensively. Another sudden shiver shook his body. 'But I'll remember now. Scarves.'

Blaine nodded, getting up from the sofa.

'Good. Don't even think I'm always going to be here to nurse you.'

Almost spilling his tea in the process, Kurt grabbed a cushion and threw it straight at Blaine's belly.

***

The view of Blaine bent over the toilet was one of the worst in Kurt's life. He kept on trying to convince himself it was just a food poisoning that would pass in a day, but he failed at each and every attempt. There was no way to forget that it all was a side-effect of the chemotherapy. The chemotherapy that wasn't really going to work. Not well enough to save Blaine, anyway. It was just delaying the sentence. From six to twelve months if they were lucky.

The feeling of helplessness crept over Kurt, urging him to do something, anything to ease Blaine immense discomfort. The chemo made him irritable, implacably nauseous and increasingly exhausted. And it was just the first round of the treatment.

Kurt extended his hand to stroke Blaine's hair, but as soon as his fingers combed through the tangled curls, he knew something was wrong. He jerked his hand up, realizing in horror that streaks of his husband's hair stayed between his fingers.

Even though he'd known all along this would happen sooner or later, it was still astonishing and horrifying.

And it made him feel even more helpless.

***

Whenever Blaine had chemo, Kurt would drive him to the hospital and sit in that sad room across from him, reading out the juicier bits from TMZ or talking to him about unimportant things; anything to keep his mind as far away from the chemicals dripping into his bloodstream as possible.

It rarely worked without a hitch, but Blaine appreciated the effort. He kept telling Kurt he didn't have to tag along every single time, but he wouldn't listen.

'In sickness and in health, remember?,' he would say, and discussing the matter any further was pointless.

***

Kurt had been turning the letter in his fingers for a good while. His morning coffee had long since gone completely cold, and he still couldn't get himself to open the envelope.

The stack of letters in the red box was growing thinner and thinner, and it seemed to Kurt he was running out of them much too fast. Weren't they supposed to help him deal with the situation? With his life? And he still missed Blaine as much as the day of his death.

He sighed heavily, before finally ripping the paper open.

Darling, darling Kurt,

I know I've been a pain in the ass, with the constant fatigue, puking all the time, and the seizures. You have to be fed up with that. And going to chemo with me has to be so depressing, too.

But you never complain. I haven't heard a single word from you about it. Somehow, you're still able to make me forget about everything, even when I have an IV needle in my arm, and everything smells like hospital. You drag me into a perfect little world, where there is just you and me, and a dewy meadow of lilacs. Even if it's for just a few minutes, it helps so much more than all the crap they've been pouring into my veins all these months.

I know what you want to say right now. "In sickness and in health." I just wish we didn't have to check, whether we were serious by fighting an unconquerable cancer. I'd prefer we could stick to hot teas and colds.

There was also another part in the vows: "Till death do us part." But I believe there is nothing that could really part us now. You're as much in my bloodstream as my blood cells and the damned chemo stuff. We will never be truly separated. No matter what happens, I believe I'll still be there, somewhere underneath your skin. Or maybe I'm just flattering myself by thinking that.

But you're the best husband anyone could ever wish for, so make someone as happy as I am now, when I am gone. I'm saying it one more time: you shouldn't be alone.

I love you,

Blaine.